Those Who Dare

Gene Robertson hadn't left his room for three days. In fact, he only got out of bed to exercise (touch your toes ten times, do seven push-ups) and to eat Chinese food which his roommate brought him.

He wasn't sick, he explained to his roommate, "As it happens, I've never felt better. Each day, for the past two years, I have told myself to do something daring; but Cambridge seems to stifle me. For instance, four days ago, when I played checkers, I planned to use a decisive attack. I decided to get all my kings out of the back row, and move my men in sort of a phalanx. But I didn't know how to do it."

He paused for a bite of chicken fried rice. "When I lost the game," he continued, "the whole pattern came clear. The whole dull routine, class to class, book to book, learn a few facts and bull your way through an exam which doesn't make sense anyway. I decided to give it up for awhile, to stay in bed and read some books carefully and listen to some records."

For the next few weeks, Gene was happier than he had been in two years. Several of his friends visited him and related news of the outside world. ("Professor Levin read us all of Love's Labour's Lost today.") A Yalie, who had somehow heard of Gene's plan sent him a Care package with a letter of encouragement. Gradually, Gene began to vary his diet, and at the end of a week, was familiar with Chinese, Armenian, French, and Greek food. He read The Autobiography of Alice B. Tolkas, U.S.A., all of Marlowe's plays, Jane Eyre, To the Lighthouse, and a book by Erich Fromm. He was vastly impressed by Gertrude Stein's fear, at the age of fifteen, that soon she would have no more books to read.

One day, two and one-half months after Gene had begun his idyll, there was a Faculty meeting. When the discussion became dull, four professors who were sitting next to each other started to gossip. Each of them, it turned out, had Gene Robertson in his class, and knew of Gene's defection. "Let's visit him," one said. "When the boy meets us in person, he will see the light." "Knowledge is a wonderful thing," they told each other incidentally, "and we will (and have and shall for evermore) tell him what is important."

The next afternoon, they went to Gene's room. "Gene Robertson," said one of them, "you are wasting a valuable opportunity. When I lectured this morning, every student had his pencil on his paper, writing down valuable information."

"And in my lecture," said another, "we read portions of six major novels. After the class, students were asking each other how Middlemarch and the rest ended. Their curiosity had been stimulated."

"That may be," said Gene, "but--"

"In my lecture," remarked the third, "we analyzed every word in three poems. If you had attended, you would now understand poetry."

"I--"attempted Gene.

"And in my lecture," said the fourth, "we covered 16 different areas of learning. It would have been 18, but I arrived five minutes late."

Before Gene could answer, they walked out of the room. "I think he is convinced," they agreed.

A week later, Gene did decide to attend lectures for two days at least. Each of his professors made a special point of greeting him and saying (in more or less the same words) "Congratulations. Now you will begin to learn again." They sounded to Gene like television announcers, but he decided that it would be fun, occasionally, to go to classes. He particularly liked to pretend that the students were dominoes when, in unison, their heads and hands toppled down to inscribe the lecturer's latest truth.

For the rest of the term, he was the best checkers player in his House.