Portraits of Harvard Figures

Frederick Walbridge Hoeing, proctor, instructor, raconteur, and goldfish keeper par excellence, sits at the desk before his History 1 "C" section. With eyes tightly closed, legs intertwined, and head resting on one hand, he rambles on, pointing out on the floor with his free hand the precise geographical situations of the Roman Church and the Holy Roman Empire. If, perchance, an extremely important idea hits him, be will make a vicious, but apparently meaningless line on the board, soon to be crossed by another equally pungent and equally obscure. At times of special stress the lines may become arrows flying in remarkably different directions.

In moments free from pedagogy, Hoeing pursues his trade of proctor by breaking up incipient riots or by chiding over-jubilant young things in Holworthy Hall; he writes upon a thesis of undetermined subject matter, or he talks to his goldfish, of which there seem, to the uninitiated, to be an infinite number and variety.

In outward appearance a true Harvard man. Hoeing confesses to the heathen background of an Amherst A. B. (Cum Laude 1929). He smokes innumerable cigarettes, without removing them from his mouth; from this is derived, no doubt, in an attempt to escape the smoke, the tilt of his head and the squint of his eyes. Nights he is to be seen returning from Hazen's beer parlor, an aged grey slouch hat perched on his head, and the eternal butt in his mouth.

Not content with this list of distinguishing characteristics, the gentleman must needs become a philosopher, and will drape himself in a chair and discourse by the hour, and entertainingly, too, on anything from the late Mr. Napoleon to the publicity drives of the local humorous publication. Enhanced by rhetorical jerks and gestures, these impromptu orations are nothing if not picturesque, and show evidence of deep and clear thought.

A sympathetic and kindly hearted man. Hoeing hates to drop his wards from one of the various stages of the History 1 establishment to a lower one, and, though not a vociferous exponent of it, he nevertheless is sufficiently human to smile upon the adage of not "letting one's studies interfere with one's education." An accomplished story-teller, he has an inexhaustible fund, featuring prominently the one about Mr. Lowell and the fire-door, a worthy tale, and one well worth the hearing.

His manifold duties and occupations keep him to a large extent out of sight, but his lanky figure has become a Yard landmark, and his presence is a valuable one.