USA > Massachusetts > Essex County > Andover > The sesquicentennial record : in commemoration of the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the founding of Phillips Academy, Andover, Mass., May 18, 19, 1928 > Part 8
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"No, I should say that you are criminals - invol- untary criminals, or fools if you prefer."
"How so?"
"Let me repeat to you a formula - a deadly formula of my own devising, and see if you can squirm out from under it! Here it is: 'However sincere many of our pacifists may have been before and during the Great War, it is not their fault that the Central Powers failed to win.' Can you do anything with that?"
My companion sat in thought for a moment.
"Why, no! I cannot deny that ... I see what you mean: if we had been more numerous, the United States would not have entered the war, and Germany would have won. Yes, one has to admit that . . . But now?"
"Now? You see what a pack of fools you pacifists have been. What makes you think that you are any- thing else now?"
We talked amicably enough for an hour longer; then I wished him good night. I glanced back as I left the compartment. He sat on the edge of the seat, with his unfinished cigar between his fingers, and his eyes look- ing out into the black night.
Dr. Stearns at his desk
Page Fifty-five
AFTERNOON LIGHT
Wl'ater color by Robert Hallowell, '06
WIND AND SUN Water color by Robert Hallowell, '06
Page Fifty -six
American Art Today and Tomorrow
BY ROBERT HALLOWELL, '06 Artist and former Editor of the New Republic
A RT is one of those things, like Progress, Heaven and Shakespeare, that everybody takes for granted and seldom takes for anything else. Let a distinguished Chinaman come to New York and ask what's worth seeing, and we will all tell him, without batting an eye this, that and the Metropolitan Museum. He would think we actually knew what was in the Metropolitan, and that perhaps we spend a good deal of our time there, the way we crack it up. But let that Chinaman, who nine chances to one does know a whole lot about Chinese painting, ask who are the outstanding American painters, or what are the distinguishing traits of American painting, and we will remember right off that the cocktail hour has arrived and switch the talk to prohibition Yes, there's no denying, art does rank high among us- in theory. It is the most lip- worshipped of our idols, and the least loved.
But it is doubtful if that will be true much longer. An art renaissance of genuine vitality is dawning in America, and the signs are not lacking that in another generation or two America may actually wrest from Europe the Art leadership of the world. Not only is art receiving more lip-worship than before, and more discriminating lip-worship; it is being more and more widely seen as something of at least potential social significance.
Crossing the water a few weeks ago, there was de- livered to my stateroom, on leaving, a letter from an Andover undergraduate asking advice concerning the best education - whether college or art school - for an artist. In the dining saloon I found myself, at the first luncheon out, seated quite by accident at the same table with two young American artists: one, an East
Side Jew, a sculptor, headed for Berlin, because he "could afford to live there"; and the other, a painter, an ex-instructor at one of the New England universities, an American himself for generations, headed for Paris, because, like myself, he "could afford to live there". There was another painter on the boat; and on the trip before, to America, a similar situation was encountered. And today the Latin Quarter in Paris, and particularly Mont Parnasse, is, of course, as much American as Latin.
This rising tide of art interest in America, in the land of practical achievement, is one of the outstanding manifestations of our adulthood as a nation. When young men and women in surprisingly growing numbers elect to live, for the sake of their art, as artists generally still must live, in comparative or very real poverty; when they turn voluntarily from remunerative occu- pations to this most precarious calling known to man; when stern banker fathers are cajoled or brow-beaten or in some way won over to an acceptance of their folly, something is doing.
I ought, it would seem, as a practising artist, to be able to say precisely what it is that's doing. One thing is sure; a frightful lot of near-art, and not-art, and bad- art is being turned out; a good many, too many cig- arettes are being smoked and fines drunk; and, I sup- pose, the canvas-, paper-, paint-, and brush- makers must be getting rich. But there's a residue of good art, and some perhaps even great art, that is coming out of all this activity, the like of which America has never seen before. And most of all, what is coming out is the conviction on the part of thousands, that ugliness is stifling and that the creative spirit is the life spirit.
Why?
BY GEORGE T. EATON, '73
M' Y reader should deem himself fortunate if he can say, "I too attended Phillips Academy". And if he asks himself why fortunate, the answer is at hand.
The winds from New Hampshire bring health and vigor; the view from the hilltop reveals Wachusett, Monadnock, and the lesser slopes to the north and west.
The contact with schoolmates from all quarters of the world opens wide visions of democratic living and possibilities of service.
The student of today may also rejoice in the beauty of his physical surroundings in recitation rooms, chapel, playing fields, and auditorium.
But, above all and beyond all, is the inspiration that comes from the past, the far-seeing wisdom of the Founders, the ever lengthening list of notable men who have added lustre to the Phillips name, and the unselfish labor and sacrifice of those who have here lived their lives, endeavoring to mold the character of those whom they have met in classroom and on the campus.
Page Fifty -seven
. CHPLOT. 1/20
THE MOUNTAIN BY CHARLES A. PLATT
Exploration
BY WILLIAM BEEBE Author, Scientist, Explorer; Lecturer at Andover, 1927
Ti ) write a paragraph or two about exploration is like dipping up a glass of water from the sea and showing it to persons far inland, and expecting them, therefrom, to visualize the sea.
My only word is that there is enough exploration for generations to come. If one cannot go far, remember that only five per cent of the life-histories of the insects within fifty miles of New York City are known. Six months spent on a square rod of jungle or shore will yield more than most trips of a thousand miles.
Fifty miles up in the air awaits someone - a mile down beneath the surface of the sea - someone else. The mystery of the power of concentration of the human mind is still a mystery.
And there awaits the man or men who will learn how easy it is to go year after year with only five hours sleep each night, and who can work or play with the concentrated enthusiasm which should make of every precious minute of life on this splendid ball of whirling earth, a supreme joy.
Page Fifty -eight
A Letter from the Labrador Doctor
BY SIR WILFRED GRENFELL
O VER thirty years ago, before I ever saw the United States, in the wonderful Labrador fiord, called Nakvak, I picked up a dying boy on a beach. He owned nothing on earth, not even any clothing, and was so ill he was left to die. Next day the chief trader of a Hudson's Bay post, coming on board, recognized the child as he lay on the companion hatch of my little steamer in the sunshine. "I have a letter for that boy," he said. "What? A letter?" It seemed impos- sible that any one could possibly write to this waif of the wilderness. But he brought it on board and it bore the post mark of "Andover" .* I opened it and found in it a photograph of a smiling old face, radiating the love that had prompted the letter. I put it in front of the boy's eyes and asked, "Who is this? Do you know him?" He looked at it for a while. A glad smile lit up his wan face, and he said, "Yes, me even love him."
A year later, by the old man's request I visited An- dover to speak in a Congregational Church. I would gladly have gone anywhere to shake hands with that man. I expected a small congregation in a "non-con- formist chapel". I found all churches of all denomina- tions had closed down for the evening, and not a seat was empty in the largest church in town. In Andover for the first time in my life had I seen such brotherhood between Christian churches.
Those who rate life's values as I do, can see that I already owed Andover debts I could never pay. Since
*This letter had been sent by the Rev. C. C. Carpenter, late of Andover, who through this incident influenced Dr. Grenfell to come to the United States. The first place that Dr. Grenfell addressed an audience in this country was at Andover.
then I have known Phillips Academy, its Headmaster, and seen the spirit of its boys, who have worked with me in far-off Labrador.
What we grade a colleague by, in our work, has nothing whatever to do with his opinions, as we have long ago become convinced that even the most infallible persons alter their opinions. What we think counts in life is what a man is himself and what his opinions lead him to do. Without a single exception, those who have come to help us from Andover have shown that unsel- fish spirit of service and that joy in giving of themselves as opposed to getting for themselves. That, to us, spells the qualifications of the true Knight. Andover, I have every reason to know, offers all the information to its pupils that any other school does, but to us it is a true educational school, because it leads men out of themselves and furnishes thus the only real essential of education; viz., the inspiration that makes its graduates regard life as a field of honor and not as the sorry tragedy of grabbing all one can of its animal satisfac- tions. As the quota of its alumni who have served with us passes through my mind, I see men of courage, of physical strength, and, above all, with that true love that forgets itself, laughs at physical difficulties and set-backs, makes the most of what assets the environ- ment affords, radiates that common-sense and good humor which makes the world a joy under any circum- stances and so truly reflects that love of God which is the one essential of any true religion. We of the staff of the Labrador Mission take off our hats to Phillips Academy of Andover, Massachusetts, under its beloved head, Dr. Alfred E. Stearns.
In the Mamertine Prison
(II Timothy 4:6, 7) BY LOUIS UNTERMEYER Author and Poet; Speaker at Andover, 1927
And all night long the wild beasts roared behind him, And, daily, he could hear the long applause
Of wilder beasts whose pleasure had consigned him To Rome's convenient laws.
His body, never shaped to be a hero's, Bent down upon its bones.
Two years. Disciples turned away. He suffered Doubt that was even colder than neglect.
He waited. He was ready to be offered. He wrote. He stood erect .
A year shrugged by. The applauding world was Nero's; And Nero, longing for an hour's resistance The prisoner's world remained unlistening stones. Entered the Circus, talkative and light.
"What food for lions! Bah! These spineless Christians. Not one of them will fight."
Page Fifty - nine
The "Sea of Faces"
BY GRANT MITCHELL, '92
T HE theatre audience, traditionally described as a "Sea of Faces," is to the actor a perpetually interesting subject for study. Sometimes, alas, the sea appears as a sea of empty seats - and sometimes again a sea of empty faces, which is even worse. An audience so definitely uninterested as to seem positively antagonistic is harder on the actor than one which is merely absent, and, therefore, passive in its opposition, - negative in effect! For, as long as there is an auditor in evidence who is obviously not interested, any actor deserving to be called such will try with all his energy to "get his man", - whether he wishes to do so or not. Voluntarily or involuntarily, he will expend, if necessary, all of his vitality in the effort.
This may in a measure account for that intense, ever-present interest felt by actors in the reactions of their audience. One frequently hears the layman ascribe this interest to vanity - expressing his belief that if the actor were more of an artist he would be quite oblivious of his audience. This, of course, is perfect nonsense. There are undoubtedly great moments on the stage as in real life when the individual, swept along by a great wave of genuine or pseudo- emotion, forgets, or almost forgets, everything in the world except that emotion. But with the actor it will never be more than "almost" forgetting. If he failed to, even subconsciously, remember his audience, - failed to remember that he was acting, - not really "living the part", - we should behold on our stage such spectacles as actual murder - instead of merely what the critics call "murdering the role"; we should have our beautiful, tearful heroine transformed into an unattractive woman with red nose and swollen eyes; characters would become inaudible in their moments of great emotion, and, at points of dramatic importance, be found in positions from which they were invisible to their audience.
As to comedy, if the situation were 100 per cent "real" to the actor -- if he were totally oblivious of his audience, how could he "time" his "points" so as to "get them over"? How could he make those necessary pauses in his speeches while the great bursts of laughter sufficiently subside for his next line to be heard?
All this is very obvious, though so many persons amazingly fail to realize it. Slightly more subtly, the actor must just as infallibly feel the pulse of his au- dience, regulating his tempo and varying his method to suit, at every moment of his performance. The restless, listless, or coughing audience can often be won over by his speeding-up the action or the dialogue; if the " house' is "so still that you could hear a pin drop" the actor knows that he holds it in the hollow of his hand, and can play with it, by slowing up a bit and being as subtle as he chooses.
Questions constantly asked are, "Do your audiences differ in different cities?" "Do they differ in the same theatre from night to night?" What a thoughtless question the latter is! Even the inexperienced theatre- goer cannot have failed to notice how those seated about him seem sometimes to have entered upon a compact obligating one group to take up the coughing where another leaves it off; how one little party, by subdued chattering, distracts the attention of all of those in its vicinity; or how, in some section of the house, loud, raucous laughter either disturbs by coming at most inopportune points, or, even if appropriately timed, may be so conspicuous that the audience soon begins listening for its recurrence, and laughing at the individual laugher instead of at the comedy on the stage.
A play is not a play, as distinguished from a book to be read, without an audience. The reaction of the audience is such an integral part of the production - and an audience is so sensitive in its reactions (even though totally unconscious of itself) - that it becomes of tremendous importance for the actor to be constantly feeling its pulse. This, of course, he does, after a little experience, instinctively. It becomes impossible for him to be oblivious of response or lack of response.
The fact that a theatrical company may have been presenting the same play every night for two years does not in the least lessen the sincere interest with which the actors continue to say to one another, "How are they tonight?" - "Weren't they dumb in that act!" or, "They're waking up at last!" And this is the great answer to that perennial question, "How can you go on saying the same things, night after night?" Things are never exactly the same. We may play our same cards in the same sequence (barring the ever-present possi- bility of mishap), but we never know to a certainty how the audience are going to play theirs! Certain cards we can, to be sure, rely upon to take the trick (in the absence of a miracle, a cry of fire, or a deafening cough!), but just how heavily that trick will score, one can never tell in advance. To make a very common- place comparison, the motorman in a metropolitan street takes his car over the same route, at the same hour, day after day, indefinitely, but is his trip ever twice exactly the same? He has his "full house", his standees, or his empty seats; at any corner his fickle public may stop him or allow him to speed by; if any- one appears to be asleep in his path, may he ignore the fact? Or can he pursue his way through the city re- gardless of either his passengers or the "audience " that he sees before him? It is all team work, after all!
As to the question whether audiences are of noticeably different character in different parts of the country! Certain fundamental differences exist, such as that one
Page Sixty
city is notoriously more hospitable than another to the risqué or daring play, and that the smaller cities positively repudiate as indecent many a "show" that has flourished for a season or two on Broadway (true though it is that these "Broadway" audiences are largely recruited from citizens of those same smaller communities, - citizens who, when in Paris, "want to see Paris, Sunday or no Sunday!"); yet I think every actor would agree that the rapid standardization of the lives of all of us is bringing it to pass that one can no longer exclaim, "A typical Washington audience!" or "Wouldn't you know this was Pittsburgh!" This standardization is due, of course, in large part to our improved facilities for travel - the obliteration of local provincial traits which follows in the wake of the motor, the radio, etc.
Naturally, then, we find more similarity between the theatre audiences of widely separated cities of the smaller size --- audiences usually made up of all grades of local society - than we find between audiences in different sections of New York City itself! The author, the actor, the manager, all know that certain types of play, certain scenes or lines, will "go" best in the sophisticated theatres of "Broadway", others in the Bronx, and still others in various remote sections of Brooklyn. These audiences differ, naturally, just as the theatre neighborhoods themselves differ with their inhabitants of varying types, races, or nationalities.
If it were not for the fascination of an audience, no one, of course, would ever "go on the stage". If satis- faction were to be had by merely impersonating a role, all of us young things would have done our acting in our own rooms in leisure hours at home!
The Audience makes the theatre, as truly as the Actor does. And such intoxication as lurks in the conscious swaying of an audience is largely the explana- tion of that unfailing fascination exerted over the actor by his calling. Victim though he may be of the mood of his audience - utterly destroyed for the moment by a cough or an ill-timed laugh! - still he knows that at any instant a small crisis may arise in which it will depend upon him alone whether the audience is to react in the one way or the other.
For instance, take the case of some slip, some ridicu- lous mistake in the speech of an actor. If the guilty one pause to correct himself, thereby calling attention to his error, gales of laughter are certain to follow, ruining a "serious" scene; whereas, by utterly ignoring it and going quickly on as if nothing had occurred, the catas- trophe may be averted.
One night, years ago, playing in a popular farce in a huge, crowded theatre of Chicago, I stood in the center of the stage alone with the charming ingenue. The author intended to convey to the minds of his audience at this point, early in the play, that the young charmer and I were lovers. Her "mother", appearing at a doorway at the extreme right of the scene, called out, "Aren't you coming, Gwen?" and she was to reply, "No, mother; I'll stay here with Bob". On the memor- able night in question the ingenue made the mistake, more or less excusably, of listening to her own sweet voice instead of thinking of her words; when the maternal question came, "Aren't you coming, Gwen?" she replied, ever so sweetly (and, oh, so clearly!), laying a hand upon my arm so that the dullest intelligence in the far reaches of that vast audience could not possibly mistake her, "No, I'll stay here with Mother"! Al- though the horror of that moment whitened my hair, and, I doubt not, shortened both of our lives, we some- how held our ground, going right on with the dialogue. The audience was still as a mouse. After the act, she exclaimed to me, "Oh, wasn't it awful!" "Yes", I replied; "nothing worse can ever creep into our lives, but you deserve a crown of laurel for not correcting yourself. If you had done that, they'd have been laughing yet. We could never have finished the play." True, too! The psychology of it being of course that if the actor betrays no consciousness of having made a mistake, each individual auditor thinks that he himself has misunderstood, and mentally supplies or substitutes the intended word.
If we give them time to exchange notes, and “get together on it", we are lost.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we are in your hands, - quite as truly as you are in ours.
Let us go on together !
Petrarch the Humanist
BY NATHAN HASKEL DOLE, '70
TT is probable that most persons know of Francesco I Petrarca, or, as the name is generally spelt in Eng- lish, Petrarch, only as the lover of the beautiful Laura, to whom he wrote his famous sonnets, so often trans- lated. He was born a little more than six and a quarter centuries ago at Arezzo, where his parents, exiled like Dante from Florence, were at that time living. After receiving the highest education possible both in France and in Italy, he travelled widely, and then lived first at Avignon, where six hundred years and one ago, he met
the fair and virtuous young wife of Hugo de Sade, to whom before her death in 1348 she bore eleven children. There was nothing sordid or impure in Petrarca's love for her, and probably her husband was as proud of the poems she inspired as Laura herself was. On receiving word that "that light was withdrawn from this light (ab hac luce lux illa subtracta est)" he commemorated his eternal passion for "that most chaste and beautiful body" and his grief that he should never again behold
(Continued on page 74)
Page Sixty-one
"The equipment was meager"
The Old School
BY BOYD EDWARDS, '96 Headmaster of the Hill School
A NY old Andover boy who loves his school for all that advances her finest prestige, progress, and prospects must feel an inexpressible gratitude to Dr. Stearns. If one happens to know the academic world of our day he realizes the honor and affection with which educational leaders give respectful attention to Dr. Stearns' record, opinions, and words. He incarnates the standard we all acknowledge at our best. He has steadily built "foundations under the air-castles", until Andover's material equipment is now as nearly com- plete and suitable as any educational institution of our time. Every old boy must rejoice in his courageous and statesmanlike program for due recognition to men like Forbes and Benner and others, whose dynamic per- sonality, devoted service, and brilliant teaching have added fresh distinction to our great historical school.
Life at Andover in my time was simple, the equip- ment meagre, but I can never be grateful enough for that friendly, inspiring, personal interest which Eaton, Freeman, Graham and Newton of the instruction staff of my own day, and still active, gave me. I would also make loving mention of Mrs. Whittemore and her Bible class in the Academy Chapel.
Speaking as a headmaster, who realizes how deeply men impress boys without realizing it, and how much the fidelity of colleagues means to one who carries the great trust and noble responsibility of leadership in a boys' school, I welcome the opportunity to pay a
tribute and assure them of an affection and gratitude beyond all words.
Nothing can ever take the primary place in the edu- cation of boys which has always been held by men of memorable personal quality. Their words may die out of memory, the subjects they taught may pass out of current interest in our increasingly crowded lives, even the mental and moral discipline they guided may blend with many other disciplines which life has brought us; but they - the men - in all that revealed their man- liness, their friendliness, their kindling love of honor and truth, make the radiant peaks on our horizon of life. We lift our eyes to them still whenever we review the whole landscape of our experiences. Whenever we look forward to the Andover of tomorrow we shall be con- fident if men like them shall still be rousing and guiding the sons of today who father the future.
My greatest debt to Andover is due to Dr. Bancroft's trusting me once when he might have doubted me. From that time on I was bound, by every sense of honor possible to me, to merit his trust. The highest suc- cesses lie with the men who deserve the faith of boys, and can make boys resolve to deserve to be trusted ever more and more fully.
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