In William Alfred’s unfinished autobiography he wrote, “Lillian Hellman used to say that I loved people as compulsively as dog-lovers did dogs. She was right. My students intrigued as much as delighted me. I held open office hours night and day…After nine-thirty each night, I served coffee to whoever came and talked them deaf, dumb, and blind on every subject from Stevens’ ‘Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction’ to the latest ups and downs in classroom romance. One night I particularly remember a boy and a girl came so on the outs they talked to each other only through me. When I asked what was the matter, the girl said, ‘I got an A-minus and he got a B-plus.’ I offered them sticky buns for Otto’s; and thank Heaven, they smiled and made up.”
Does anyone have memories of Alfred teaching at Harvard that they would like to share?
6 comments:
William alfred was not just a great teacher but was also a magnificent human being. He is greatly missed.
This is one more example of how William Alfred could make sympathy and humor compatible. In the passage he makes fun of himself ("deaf, dumb, and blind") and lightly of the two quarreling students. Sticky buns are an appropriate diversion from the bone of contention.
Thanks you so much for setting up this blog. I would love to be able to read Mr. Alfred's unfinished autobiography. Is it available? My own memoir about him should appear soon.
Peter Grudin
This lovely passage is one more example of how easily Mr. Alfred mixed his enormous ability to sympathize with humor and satire.
He makes light fun of himself when he says he "talked them deaf, dumb, and blind" and then there is a wonderful light slyness when he gets the quarreling lovers to trade in their bone of contention for sticky buns.
He taught me that kindness need not overwhelm good sense.
Bill Alfred was mu tutor in Kirkland House from 1953-55. I was an indifferent student at best but he took an interest in me and we frequently lunched together in the dining hall. One day I asked him how he graded his classes. I've never forgotton his answer, "If you tell me what I told you, you get a C, if you tell me something I didn't tell you, you get a B, if you tell me something I didn't know, you get an A". I never got an A.
I never had the pleasure of a friendship that many enjoyed with Professor Alfred, but I have never forgotten his teaching. He had the ability to create an aura, a time and place apart from the little room where we were meeting for "Beowulf". The room would quieten in anticipation, and it felt to me like the lights were dimming to the red coals of an ancient firepit; and each student was not a twentieth century erudite studying a long dead language, but rather we were all alive, sitting around the mead hall more than a dozen centuries earlier. I imagined smelling the smoke from the fire as it wafted towards the ceiling. Then Professor Alfred would start....
"Hwaet! We Gardena / in gear-dagum..."
with that richly cultured voice, and it was clear that no, we were not listening to a dead language at all, but one that was brought very much alive by Professor Alfred.
I probably deserved to fail the first semester of Old English; I had been indifferent all semester and completely choked on the final exam. But a desperate plea, written by me at the end of my blue book, was apparently heeded with his legendary kindness, and a barely acceptable in-major grade of C- was given to me by this forgiving man. I took the second semester, Beowulf, and earned a B+, my highest grade ever (save one) at Harvard, and my most cherished, for I had fulfilled his faith in me. I always said a special prayer for him when I saw him at mass at St. Paul's, and even now I still do at times. The kindness we do for others, especially that which can never be repaid, is the truest measure of our humanity.
Dave LeLacheur '87
Where is this unfinished autobiography? Has anyone edited it? I volunteer.
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