----------by B. H. Brown-----------
When Ernest Fox Nichols assumed the Presidency of Dartmouth College in 1909, one of his first jobs was to find a competent professor of mathematics.
The situation which Dr. Nichols inherited was this. There were two resident professors of mathematics, Frank Asbury Sherman, and Comas Wilson Dorr Worthen, who had announced their intention of retiring in 1911 after 40 and 37 years, respectively, of service. These were men of standing and repute in the community, but no one would have said they were high-powered mathematicians. The College could claim international prowess for its physicists; astronomers, chemists, geologists, and biologists had made substantial contributions. But the College had never had a trained mathematician who could teach, do research, and inspire students.
President Nichols, himself a physicist, formerly a Dartmouth professor, wanted a really competent man to assist the last efforts of the worthy, aging Frankie Sherman and Tute Worthen, and then to go on and develop a first-rate Mathematics Department. His choice was Charles Nelson Haskins, who accepted the position of Assistant Professor with reasonable expectation that two years later he would take over as Head of the Department.
It should be remembered that in those days, the Head of a Department had unusual powers. He could hire and fire. Within limits fixed by the Trustees, he set all salaries. He prescribed the textbooks, and assigned duties to all the others. Teaching was not a very attractive prospect unless you happened to be the Head. It was towards this goal, and with reasonable hopes of success, that were expended the very considerable efforts of Charles Nelson Haskins.
Charles Nelson Haskins was born in 1874 in New Bedford, Massachusetts, the son of a cabinet-maker. Throughout his life he was an excellent carpenter and wood-worker, and his collection of edged-tools, inherited from his father, grew to fantastic proportions.
When he entered high school it was obvious that he was a gifted, conscientious, and extraordinarily methodical student. Every one of the 20 year-courses which he took had a note-book, with assignments, class discussions, copies of all written work handed in, and summaries. These note-books, preserved to his death, showed a ferocious approach to the Job of getting an education. But the youthful Haskins was no fool, and he was as opinionated as ever: "Macbeth, damn fool, let his wife run him;" "L'Allegro, full of dirty lines;" "Hermann und Dorothea, Hermann war ein Dummkopf;" "Wentworth, Plane Geometry, Book III, Theorem 18, proof incomplete, vid infra."
Now follows his professional preparation, and if I speak with some authority here, it is because I know something about it. I was perhaps his closest personal friend; after his death, it was my duty to dispose of his papers. And his papers were extraordinarily revealing papers. The man emerged crystal clear, erudite, determined, and very much the individual.
Haskins went to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and the old M.I.T. of 1893 was a rugged place. You learned mathematics, physics, chemistry, and mechanics in the sweat of your brow. You also learned English, French, and German. You emerged a competent carpenter, machinist, welder, draughtsman, surveyor, plumber, and electrician. Charles Nelson did all this; he also did what relatively few of his fellows did: He emerged a master of some of the liberal arts.
The bound note-books of High School days were discarded. Every intellectual effort from 1893 on was embalmed in a 7-ring note-book with standard 8 1/2 by 11 inch pages. This practice he continued through life. Now this is the way he operated: Say he takes a course in the Calculus, text - Osgood. He buys three copies. One he reserves to study. From the other two he cuts out all the problems, and pastes them meticulously, one per page, at the top of 8 1/2 by 11 inch blank sheets of paper. With rubber stamps (of which he was a profuse operator) he indicated text, page, and number. Say 1200 problems - this would take eight note-books of 150 pages each. Then he solves all the problems. Data in green ink, work in black ink, answer in red ink. As a carpentry project he made racks to hold three colored bottles of ink, with holes for pens, duly colored. (He despised fountain pens.) These racks were everywhere available: study, class-room, bed-room, in case he got an inspiration.
After graduation from M.I.T. in 1897, his Journeyman days were impressive. De following is an inadequate summary of the effort of a man who worked sixteen hours a day, 365 1/ 4 days a year:
Assistant in Physics, M.I.T. 1897-99 Graduate student at Harvard, M.S. 1899 Graduate student at Harvard, A.M. 1900 Graduate student at Harvard, Ph.D. 1901 Postdoctoral study abroad 1901-02 Instructor in Mathematics, M.I.T. 1902-03 Instructor in Mathematics, Yale 1903-04 Assistant Professor of Math, Cornell 1904-06 Assistant Professor of Math, Illinois 1906-09
The credentials and recommendations were impressive, and President Nichols undoubtedly thought he had the right man. On his hand, Haskins saw a real opportunity; a New England Yankee, he wanted to get back to New England; and finally his wife was not well, she needed a quiet life with some seclusion for a few years. Dartmouth, with a residence in Etna, three miles away, was exactly what he wanted.
Such a man, precipitated in 1909 into the calm life of Hanover Plain, would in any event have produced some measure of conflict. To his genial and aging colleagues, men who knew nothing of the mathematical developments of the past 40 years, he must have been a severe trial. The faculty in general could make nothing out of this somewhat uncouth, unsocial man with his unexpected manual dexterity, and his terrific erudition. c e students decided the matter. His vast bulk inspired the nickname "Hippo," and they sat back in their seats appalled by, but completely failing to understand the terrific blasts of mathematical rigor which he turned loose in every class. Student groups on occasion can be cruel and unfair; they may ruin the career of an earnest but unorthodox teacher. I do not think this was true in his case. I think the Dartmouth students of Professor Haskin s early days recognized that he was a master of his art - but in all fairness made it perfectly clear that they could hardly understand two consecutive words that he said.
For the man never was, and never could be, a good undergraduate teacher. On the mechanical side, he constantly intruded his vast bulk to cover up what he wrote; his handwriting was execrable, and the eraser in his left hand constantly obliterated what his right hand had written. It was impossible to tell him that students prefer x, y, and z to the Greek xi, eta, and zeta; and Haskins' xi, eta, and zeta were indistinguishable squiggles. He had no feeling at all for what a student would find easy or difficult. In those days there were very few things that a mathematician could do other than teach. Today he could be a mathematical consultant in any one of hundreds of concerns; he could organize and carry through the most difficult of projects. And how he would have loved a modern computer! As a teacher he was completely out of his element.
The Trustees decided to keep the man, but they did not dare to make him Head of the Department. Instead they brought in as Head a younger man -John Wesley Young - a man who had an established reputation as a scholar and teacher. And for 20 years - until Young's death in 1931- these two strong men disagreed, and fought for their beliefs, and respected each other, with reservations. No two men with a common passionate bond, mathematics, could have been more different. Haskins was a rock-ribbed Republican; Young could embrace the Progressives, Democrats, Pacifists, and flirt with Socialists. Haskins never had any social life; Young Joined every interesting, congenial group. Haskins worked all the time; Young changed gradually from a serious research worker to a dilettante. Haskins gave years of intense effort to the interests of the Library; Young paid no attention to the College Library, but founded and ran a co-operative book-store to enable him and his friends to keep in touch with all the best sellers. His could go on and on.
Curiously the Mathematics Department took this continuing disagreement in stride. me substitution of a rotating chairmanship for a Head in 1919 removed any real likelihood of a dictatorship, and the younger men maintained their independence. It is true that from temperament and preference Morgan, Mathewson, and Silverman often sided with Young; and Beetle, Forsyth, Wilder, and Brown with Haskins. But party lines (if they were such) could change with rapidity. It was a rather formal group which had in common only three things: mathematics, independence, and integrity. Socially the group had nothing in common, and never tried to achieve any fake camaraderie. Yet it was a pleasant group. Good stories, and rough stories were told and appreciated. It was a reliable and dependable group.
In retrospect I can't remember any hard words that rankled for very long. zings that seem funny now, to the best of my recollection seemed funny then. One of Young's pet theories was that no mathematics section should have more than 18 men; he wanted intimate contact, less lecturing, more Socratic drawingout. D e rugged Hasklns stood out for 24. Some of the rooms in old Chandler Hall had 24 seats: Young had six of them taken out. When Haskins became Chairman he had them put back. Young succeeded Haskins, and the chairs vanished; later Haskins put them back. These were men of conviction and action. (It's a far cry from the sections of 125 which we consider standard today.)
Nothing could be more striking than the difference in the recruiting methods employed by these two men. Young had secured Bill with degrees from Acadia and Yale, Silverman from Missouri, Forsyth from Michigan, Mathewson from Illinois, and later Tamarkin from Russia. Haskins, commissioned by the Department to recruit a young instructor, would teach his morning classes, take the noon train to Boston, go over to Cambridge, and ask who was the best bet in this year's crop of Ph.D.'s - native born New England Yankees preferred.
By staying overnight with one of his Harvard friends, he could keep the cost to the college for such a trip well under ten dollars. These sallies produced Wilder and Brown in 1922, Perkins in 1927, and Robinson in 1928. Obviously the addition of four Harvard-trained New England Yankees doesn't make for a well-balanced Department. Young would at times mildly demur, suggest that we go farther afield. He suggested the Central States, the West, Canada, and he noted that extremely competent mathematicians were coming to this country from Europe. Haskins would growl: "Better the Devil you know than the Devil you don't know." Haskinas unimaginative, horse-and-buggy procedure had obviously nothing to commend it except for the fact that his efforts secured for the Department four men who have contributed an aggregate of some 150 years of service to Dartmouth College. I leave the evaluation of this to others.
I shall venture a personal word at this point. Early in March 1922, I was invited by Harvard Professor Kellogg to his home where Haskins was his guest. This was a breakfast invitation; Haskins asked me how my thesis was going, and although he preferred an analyst to a geometers he was pleased when I said I had an N.-S. condition in the complex domain for a one-sided surface. Next day I got a telegram from Dartmouth offering me an instructorship for one year only at $1800. I accepted, and later in March I Dame up to Hanover to see what I was getting into. It was a cold, untoward season with great piles of snow and ice, and deep and unexpected pools of water. Chairman Hasklns took me to Chandler Hall, introduced me to my future colleagues, and took me to lunch at the Inn. His last was probably a trial for him, he disliked social life, and one fork was enough for one man. After that he got his mare and sleigh at the Inn Stables, and took me for an extensive ride around Hanover, His aging, but still lively mare, he referred to as that damned hayburner. He drove, not well, and with maximum concentration.
We were both of old New England stock; we were both inclined to shyness and reticence; our academic backgrounds were more or less the same - and although he was so much older it was evident he had taken a real liking to me.
He talked more that long white afternoon than I ever knew him to talk again. It was not Polonius to Laertes advice: it was half to himself, completely disconnected, ideas, suggestions, mingled with the distinctive Haskins aphorisms.
Had I seem the latest Old Farmer's Almanack? Good touch in the Calendar: Dec. 28: Holy Innocents: Woodrow Wilson born. Hanover isn't an easy town for a young man to get a start, a fellow should be careful, and careful not to offend, but not a mouse. It is true that it's the squeaking hinge that gets the oil, but afterwards you take it out on the hinge. Too many distractions in Hanover: bridge, skiing, fraternal lodges, bridge, parties, and that damned bridge. Too easy to get into too many things; but if you do it's your own fault. It's the willing horse that gets tetched up. Two snarling dogs which annoyed the hay-burner drew the comment: "Every dog has his day, but some days have two dogs." A model-T Ford, obviously Outing Club, with skis replacing the front wheels, drew the comment: "Why do all the funny things go by when I haven't got my gun?" Mere had been, it appeared, some doubt in the Department about the wisdom of offering me a Job. Harvard had said I would be satisfactory, but if I were really any good, why hadn't Harvard kept me? Some people thought there was too much Harvard crimson in the outfit already; perhaps it would be worth while to take a chance on some of these Europeans who were flooding into the country. Charles Nelson Haskins repeated his thesis: "Better the Devil you know than the Devil you don't know." The ski-Jumpers who were hurtling down the icy slope drew from him the comment: "Heute sind die Narren los." As this was about the only German maxim in a dozen that I had understood, I answered that the fools might be free today but in the Hospital tomorrow. And he was delighted to see what a profound student of German I was.
There was much more of this, but subtly I was being placed on my mettle: I could see that Professor Haskins had put his money on me to win - not place, or show. Finally we pulled up at the Inn, and here I got-one piece of straight advice plus a confession as unexpected as it was heartfelt: "I want you to make good. Don't wave the Crimson banner too much: that is the mistake I made."
Haskins' early research on invariants of quadratic differential forms was goods this was followed by a first-rate paper on momental constants, and a dozen second-rate papers. Considering the amount of time he worked, his productivity was a little disappointing. I do know that he held up a number of papers because he did not think them good enough. He did relatively little in his last twenty years.
At Dartmouth, his chief interest was not in teaching, nor in research: it was in the Library. First, in the development of an adequate mathematical collection; second, in organization and general policy as Chairman of the Faculty Library Committee; third, in planning the new Baker Library. These three deserve detailed descriptions.
First, the mathematical collection. When Haskins came to Dartmouth in 1909, the Mathematics Department probably had the poorest collection of books of any Department in the College. By shrewd purchases he stretched a limited budget to provide:
(a) Complete runs of all the important Journals;
(b) Collected works of the masters;
(c) The important new twentieth century treatises.
A dozen years later, when I first saw it, I can vouch for the fact that it was a sound working collection, surpassed in New England only by Harvard, Yale, and Brown. And he kept it good, using excellent Judgment in purchasing up to his death. It was especially strong in (b), for Haskins' hobby was reading (and annotating) collected works. "A mathematician should study the masters; " perhaps no one ever lived who so thoroughly carried out this principle. But he also mastered a formidable number of the more recent treatises, and was surprisingly well versed in almost all fields of mathematics, including applied fields.
Second, to the Chairmanship of the Faculty Committee on the Library, Haskins brought a vast erudition together with a somewhat surprising ability to work harmoniously with mature scholars. He could point out deficiencies, and urge departments to remedy them. There were of course complaints that the money was spent for the faculty and not for the students. That was, is, and always will be claimed. But any scholar at Dartmouth who had some particular interest, found his needs supplied. And over the years the Library changed from a second-rate hodge-podge to a first-rate working library for scholars.
Third, when the Baker Library became an assured reality, Haskins was made Chairman of the Faculty Committee to work with the Trustee Committee, Librarian, and Architect. For two years he gave up everything else and devoted himself heart and soul to the building, equipping, and organizing of Baker Library. No better man could have been found for this, and these were the happiest and the most rewarding years of his life.
All his M.I.T. training now came into its own. Haskins was in almost constant contact with the architect, J. Fredrick Larson. He personally carried out the most exhaustive tests in lighting; and the somewhat inferior lighting actually installed, was against his rather strenuous protests. He fought for, and got, faculty studies. He bothered himself about heating, ventilating, and even plumbing. Later he told me that he probably made a mistake in trusting too much to himself, and not relying enough on experts. This may be true, but Haskins was a pretty fair all round expert.
When the corner-stone was laid, Haskins was invited to play the leading role. He was as pleased as a school-boy. He went to the bank, swore them to temporary secrecy, and at an expense of $39.41 secured a coin of each denomination bearing the current date. (Twenty-dollar gold pieces were actually available at that time.) Newspapers in the copper tin might disintegrate, but Haskins felt that coins and their dates were eternal. Later Haskins saw to it that the coins went in, and he personally saw to it that the tin was properly welded.
Architect Larson rose to the occasion. He had a Union card made out for Haskins (who incidentally took a dim view of Unions) and presented it to him. At the ceremony, to the considerable surprise of the boss mason, Haskins showed his M.I.T. training by applying the level personally, and assuring himself that the stone was set true. He slapped on one dinky little dab of mortar with the ceremonial silver trowel, then picked up a masonws trowel which he wielded in a highly professional manner. He was then presented with a pay envelope:
"To 1/4 hour labor 25 cents"
I am not competent to sum up all his services during the construction of Baker Library, but I would like to refer to the Bezaleel Woodward room on the west mezzanine. This room contains the remnants of the original library, and relics Of the earliest days; in addition it was completely furnished by Haskins as a gift to the College. I know that at least $3,000 went into this, plus a tremendous amount of time and effort on the part of Mrs. Haskins and himself in assembling authentic articles. Haskins complimented me by consulting me on the inscription which reads:
THIS ROOM
CONTAINING THE SURVIVING LOOKS
OF THE
FIRST LIBRARY
OF
DARTMOUTH COLLEGE
IS EQUIPPED IN MEMORY OF
BEZALEEL WOODWARDs A.M.
A TUTOR, TREASURER, TRUSTEE
AND VICE-PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE
ITS
FIRST LIBRARIAN
AND ITS
FIRST PROFESSOR OF MATHEMATICS
AND
NATURAL PHILOSOPHY
"ET HIS PRINCIPIIS
VIA STERNITUR AD MAJORA"
I take no credit, for I simply agreed with what he had written, but the story behind the last two lines is this:
Professor Haskins was a great admirer of the German mathematician, Riemann. Partly for his own pleasure, partly for the profit which others might receive, he translated from the original Latin the great paper of Riemann on the flow of heat, for which he received the prize of the Academy of Paris. The translation is preserved in the Dartmouth Library. Fortunately, it is in English, for Haskins' German was almost as formidable as Riemann's Latin. Riemann in submitting his paper -anonymously, but with a motto, as was the custom of the time - chose as his motto:
"Et his principiis via sternitur ad maJora.'
This Haskins translated with discrimination:
"And by these principles the way is prepared for greater things."
The Library completed, the Trustees showed their gratitude for service rendered by awarding Haskins an Honorary Doctorate of Science. It is unusual to give such a degree to an active member of the Faculty, but this was an unusual situation. He must have been gratified, although he never mentioned it. Sometimes I think he valued the 25-cent pay envelope even more.
The change back to a teacher could have been an unhappy one, but for the next ten years three younger members of the Department (Professors Browns Perkins, and Robinson) were Chairmen, and they made an honest and fairly successful effort to utilize Haskins' very considerable talents in a profitable way.
Obviously the man was not a success with Freshman or Sophomore classes. By now he recognized this as a fact. But a newly created major in the actuarial sciences gave him a chance to expend his formidable efforts on a few very capable and very hardworking young men. Actuarial students have to pass examinations, which until quite recently, were modeled on the old British examinations which stressed difficult, tricky questions which required a mastery of curious techniques, plus a positive legerdemain in throwing algebra around. Haskins could do exactly this, and he could teach talented students how to do it. He enjoyed it; his students liked him, and profited greatly.
One curious fact. Two years away from teaching amounted to a complete separation from the older traditions of the undergraduate body. When he returned, no one knew him. The nickname "Hippo" was completely lost, and was never heard again except from an alumnus, or some old crony like Johnny Poor or Leland Griggs. Dartmouth was growing up - the old names "Clothespins," "Eric the Red," "Dutchy," etc., had no successors, and with the retirement of "Cheerless" Richardson, an era closed.
During the 1930's, Charles Haskins worked as hard as ever. He worked out and published a complete system for determining the orbits of asteroids and comets. Against considerable opposition, Haskins had purchased several of the old-time crankand-turn computing machines, of which he made considerable use. How he would have welcomed a modern computer! His tremendous personal library was carefully catalogued, as was his terrific collection of reprints and papers. Actuarial mathematics at that time had been largely developed by the Scandinavian countries. Haskins had learned French and German - in fact he thought and wrote in German more than he did in English - also he wrote and spoke Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian. His wife had taught Latin and Greek, and with her help he became an accomplished classicist. The Scandinavian challenge he met in a manner completely typical of the man. He would buy a Danish dictionary and a Danish grammar The grammar mastered, and with a small working vocabulary, he bought a Danish book on Arctic exploration, and an English translation By such means he mastered Norwegian, Swedish, Danish, and Icelandic. But his first love was always German which he had mastered in the New Bedford High School. He thought in it, wrote it, and quoted Goethe's Faust to his students and colleagues who blinked a dazed - and often fake - acquiescence.
The words "Haskins" and "vacation" may seem incongruous, but the fact is that he took a vacation every year -his kind of a vacation. Some fifteen miles south of his native New Bedford is , a small island, Cuttyhunk, with perhaps fifty inhabitants. During the summer a small power boat makes the trip two or three times a week. Tourists, in general, are not welcome. Haskins found a pleasant family who would put him up for a few weeks, and leave him alone. Armed with a collection of books and a portable computing machine, Haskins arrived, alone. The sunlight and glare on a small sandy island with few trees bothered him, so he worked out a new regimen. He worked all night and until the sun began to gather power. Then he ate a large meal and slept through the day. Waking in the afternoon he had a light lunch, and went to work. He preferred going to Cuttyhunk in late August or September because, as he put it, the nights are longer and he could get more work done.
The hurricane of Wednesday, September 21, 1938, will not soon be forgotten by New Englanders. College was due to start Thursday, September 22. Haskins, vacationing at Cuttyhunk, took the boat for New Bedford at 2:00 p.m. Wednesday. It was then blowing a full gale. They rode into New Bedford on following winds that grew to hurricane force, plus a high tide. As Haskins put it, "Fortunately the Captain was an ex-rum-runner who knew his way around. But we came in like a bat out of hell." Haskins, a New England Yankee with a consciences had a 2:30 p.m. Thursday class. No trains were running. I can detail his progress, for without thought of effort or expense, he taxied from New Bedford to Providence, Springfield, and eventually Hanover. He pulled up at my house at noon, Thursday. His first question was, "Is Edith safe?" Luckily I had found out that although his place had lost a lot of trees, there was no excessive damage, and that Mrs. Hasklns was all right. I told him that, adding that classes were off for the day. Could he telephone his home? No, unfortunately, the wires were still down. Had I got his telegrams? Again, no. Well, he would go home; but first he would stop at Gile and Co., Insurance Agents. He took out $20,000 hurricane insurance on his Etna house, and then went home. As he put it: " If a hurricane strikes once, damn it; if it strikes twice, damn me for a fool." During the next five days, some eight belated telegrams from him traced his progress north from New Bedford.
In a small college town like Hanover, the skilled workmen maintain a rather curious balance. They have a genuine respect for intellectual ability coupled with amazement that many professors are unable to tackle a blown fuse or a leaky faucet. They are good workmen, but they are given to explanation and small talk _ and you pay for their time. Now Haskins was probably the best carpenter in Hanover; he was a skilled electrician and a competent plumber, and for some years he did very intricate things to his Etna home. He told me he personally installed a bathroom, to replace the primitive out-house, with no help except a plumber's assistant. However, in later years, his weight and health prevented him from doing any heavy work. But as he put it: "I am a complicated man; I live in a complicated house; and I have to do things in a complicated way." He knew who the really good workmen were, and his encounters with them were not without humor particularly if you could hear both sides of it. Haskins recognized their proneness to talk, and as he put it: "I stand over them with a double-barreled shot-gun, and they know I'll shoot." The workmen admired his competence, and added somewhat to their time by letting him explain how to do things right.
A fabulous carpenter, one Perley Gates, described the summer of 1928, which he referred to as "the great caster-summer." Haskins liked "flexibility," he liked to push furniture around, and that can be difficult. As Perley had it: "We put casters on every damned thing in the house. When it came to a filing cabinet, we made a wooden dolly with casters to go underneath. We put everything on wheels. Mrs. Haskins had a rocking chair in the parlor. Haskins planned an auxiliary attached dolly. Move this lever arm, and the dolly came down. Then you could roll her out on the porch; push the lever back, and she rocked. Cost him $18.45. He could have got another rocking chair for much less than that; but he got his money's worth planning it, and showing it off." Again Perley: "Another time I was here installing a drawing-board, and Roscoe was round putting in another wash-hand basin. Haskins asked Roscoe how high he was setting it. You know Roscoe is pretty short with anyone who butts in on his business, and Roscoe said, 'Same as always, Just high enough for a man.' Haskins puts down his shot-gun and goes out to the lavatory. In about three minutes he's back. "By God, you're right."
Charles Nelson, by physique, was not the military type, but in World War I he did yeoman service as a mathematical expert at the Aberdeen Proving Grounds. The man had a positive genius for preparing manuals which said: "Do this, do this, do that, add, and divide by 2." As a member of, or leader of a project, his abilities were shown to advantage. Norbert Wiener in his autobiography, EX-PRODIGY, draws a vivid picture of influenza days: "We all wore flu masks, and the elephantine Professor Haskins of Dartmouth smoked his pipe through his."
In September 1939, after the outbreak of World War II, Haskins foresaw the gravity of the situation, and urged some of us to organize emergency courses in mathematics. He recognized that this was not his forte, but he gave us every encouragement. The records will show Dartmouth College well organized before Pearl Harbor.
His domestic reaction to the war clouds was prompt, decisive, and characteristic. His study, which faced west, admitted the late afternoon sun. He concluded that all natural illumination was undesirable, so he blacked out his study permanently, and used only artificial light _ day or night. He had his attic treated with some non-inflammable material so that any casual German incendiary bomb would have its difficulties. And he laid in a two-year supply of coal so that (a) he would not be left helpless, and (b) he would not have to request transportation if things got tough.
His war-time reactions to the needs of the College and Town were energetic and specific. Certain valuable records should be preserved regardless of expense. Himself an unrivaled user of the College photostat which he had personally installed and operated for years, he had photostatic copies made of:
(a) the records of the Trustees of Dartmouth College,
(b) the records of the Town of Hanover,
(c) the meteorological records of the Shattuck Observatory.
Copies of (a) and (b) were deposited in safe places. The meteorological records (made in triplicate) were installed in widely separated places. Let the Germans and the Japs do their worst, the records were safe.
Haskins was too independent to be a Joiner, but he had a strong sense of town and political duty. He attended the Hanover town meetings, and saw to it that the modest needs of Etna were not neglected. Himself no politician, and no campaigner, he was convinced of the inherent virtues of the Republican Party, and made cash contributions to the cause. I once asked him - and this was not a completely naive question -what he thought of Franklin D. Roosevelt. Now Haskins had never forgiven Theodore Roosevelt for bolting the party in 1912, and his answer was heartfelt: "One Roosevelt in one geologic era is one Roosevelt too many."
I mention this with some hesitation, principally because I know he would not like to have it known. But it adds a new facet to the picture of a complicated man. The Haskins' had no children, and it would be absurd to imply that Haskins liked to have children around him. But he wanted to help crippled children who by surgery or treatment could be benefited . This desire was local; he did not contribute to organizations; it was limited to the children of his Etna neighbors. A good few little Etna boys and girls now lead full lives, and never knew whose help made this possible. This was done through the local Hospital, pledged to secrecy. But he told me Just enough so that I have an idea of the extent of this service. And I shall never forget an occasional comment such as: 'the saw-bones took the cast off Edna yesterday. She will walk." After that, he would damn the Democrats with unusual vigor.
With his colleagues he maintained reserved but pleasant relations. He would say that all he asked was that a man know mathematics, get along with his students, and keep out of Jail. But if a young colleague was reasonably reliable, showed some ability, and real interest in his work, Haskins would put in a good word for him with President, Dean, and townspeople. I recall the first time I asked Xor a small loan at the local bank, the President, the late Perley Bugbee, a staunch upholder of rigid practices, asked a good many searching questions, and then wanted a very substantial amount of collateral. A little later, a similar request was immediately granted, collateral waived with the comment: "Professor Haskins says you are doing pretty well." (Haskins was a Bank Trustee.)
Haskins lived the way he wanted to live, and I don't think he was a lonely man. His wife, recovering from early invalidism, gave him complete understanding. Admittedly the man was not easily approachable. Among the Faculty, his close friends were Craven Laycock, John Poor, Nat Goodrich, Leland Griggs, Harry Burton, and myself. He was by no means lacking in a sense of humor, and even enjoyed shocking some of the more squeamish members of the faculty with racy stories. It was from him that I first heard that New Bedford classic "Thar she blows." He told me with glee that whenever he visited the office of Dean Craven Laycock, the Dean's secretary, a very prim lady, would close the door between her room and the Dean's with firmness. But friendship meant merely an hour's conversation (not always on a lofty plane), it did not imply more. His nature drove him to work -a often work demanding mental effort, sometimes manual work, sometimes puttering work for the sake of work. It was characteristic of the man that he would pick up for the tenth time a page of difficult algebra problems, and re-solve them against time, Just as a concert pianist practices scales _ and for much the same reason.
He worked in good health and bad. And it was often bad. He contracted cancer of the throat, submitted to operations, and made a complete recovery. His huge frame, and a disregard of certain elementary precautions, made him subJect to a series of tedious maladies _ all of which he surmounted, apparently by sheer will power. But as the war clouds gathered and broke, it was clear he was an old, tired man. He died November 14, 1942.
An independent, complicated, difficult man. Not easy to get along with unless you met him on his terms. A long, hard, laborious life devoted to scholarship; an unexpected furtive tenderness toward the handicapped; rigid, unyielding standards and principles; but an abiding faith in his country, in democratic procedures (preferably with Republican overtones), in education for all worthy of it, and in Dartmouth College.