To the Secretaries

A few years ago when A. Chester Hanford was still Dean of the College, a Freshman walked into the Dean's office and asked for an appointment. "I'd like to arrange to see Dean Hanford," he said. "What did you want to see him about?" the secretary asked. "I just want to see him--see what he looks like, what sort of bird he is. I keep hearing people say Dean Hanford this and Dean Hanford that, and I want to know what they're talking about."

That happened once in the middle of a term to one secretary. At the beginning of every term the same kind of thing happens to secretary after secretary, day after day. They must answer the questions of youths who have forgotten their fields of concentration or who would like to know if they can arrange to eat breakfasts in Dunster House, lunches in Lowell, and dinners in Adams, all at a special rate, if they promise never to ask for seconds.

Every time somebody changes a course, the secretaries go into action with mountains of paperwork. And nine-tenths of the time anybody does anything this time of year, what with book lines, study cards, and elusive tutors, he gets more worn out, more testy more frayed around the nerves, and more difficult for secretaries to get along with.

In spite of this the University's crew of secretaries consistently do an astounding job of staying cool, calm, efficient, polite, and genial. Hats, off gentlemen.