A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A UNIVERSITY
A university is a society of brighter-than-average men and women learning, teaching, thinking, living and dreaming. To find out just what’s happening on a typical day in such a community, one Thursday last April a team of 15 Maclean's reporters descended unannounced on the University of Toronto, buttonholed more than 100 people and asked, “What are you doing today?” Their answers produced this revealing glimpse of the wide variety of experience that makes
C. P. Snowland
At Massey College it’s never Robertson Davies or even Dr. Davies. It's always, as Oxbridge tradition demands, The Master. His secretary checked his office and returned instantly, saying, “He's not here." Right behind, looking like the friendliest of all teddy bears, was The Master himself. “Who’s here? What do you want? How long will it take? You'd better come in."
His cruciform den-office is lined with books, except for one glass wall overlooking the quadrangle where jets of water bounce into a reflecting pool. The Master indicated one of the antique chairs and sat down beside an elegant desk. His smile was benign; the atmosphere was super-academic; the setting was straight out of one of C. P. Snow’s Oxbridge novels.
The Master had spent the morning dealing with correspondence about Massey. He lunched in the Toronto Club, returned to interview students about theses and allot marks, began an article about the University Drama Centre and joined his wife for cocktails at 6 p.m. They have a house that is part of the college complex. He had one
martini (“Rather an old-fashioned kind, I’m afraid. Two parts gin, one part vermouth with a drop of bitters. Not at all fashionable").
After dinner he attended a string - quartet concert with his wife. “Then at 11.30 I shall make a round of the college to see that nobody has an anguish to report." An anguish? “If someone
goes mad or has a terrible grievance or is ill. I would have to do something about it.” If nobody had an anguish. Dr. Davies planned to retire to bed and read the autobiography of Augustus Hare, “a 19th-century writer of guidebooks rather given to seeing ghosts.”
The next day, said Dr. Davies, would be more inter-
esting. “We're having one of our bimonthly dinners. The six guests at the high table will include John Wain, the British trade commissioner, and Jacques Barzun from Columbia. We have two rules pertaining to these dinners. One: no guest may be asked for any favors. Two: nothing any guest says will be quoted after dinner."
Monte Hummel, a secondyear philosophy student, was snuggling with his girlfriend in a college common room. He was feeling tired. He'd heen out late the night before. celebrating a friend's engagement. Hummel lives in residence and spends his spare time juggling tennis balls, playing his guitar and painting. His paintings had been smiled on by a local insurance company and he was going to have his first show in their lobby. He likes to do landscapes.
"I got up late and spent the morning reading Aristotle's Metaphysics,” said Hummel. "One of the guys who is in maths and physics brought in a philosophy essay he had just written. I read and corrected it. At two I'll go to my room and study. We have a quiet period until five. If somebody is charged with breaking the quiet he’s brought before a mock court. Tonight I'll go out with my girlfriend.’’
Student of the night kids
Janice Higaki, born and raised in Toronto, has a quick and beautiful smile. Her eyes flash with enthusiasm. Life is fun, learning is stimulating and the world seems gay and young. Her day unfolds in a rush:
9.15 — "Got up but no breakfast. Just tried to think myself into being awake.
10.00 — "Sociology theory with Prof. Lewis Feuer. Such a wonderful man. Came here from Berkeley after that controversy. you know'. Wrote that article in the Atlantic saying the worst offenders against free speech were the organized Left, not the administration. A n y w a y, he talked about Freud’s theory of the primordial horde. It’s so great the way Prof. Feuer talks to us. He’s like Santa Claus without a beard.’’
12.15 — “Coke and spumoni ice cream for lunch. The spumoni wasn't too good. Not many places have good spumoni.’’
1.30 — “Handed in my sociology research paper. It's called The Cycle of Yonge Street Activity between Dundas and Genard between 1 a.in. and 6 a.in. Had a great time doing it. You expect all those night kids to be really rough and bad. but they're really friendly. Just don’t have any place to go. Lots of them from the Atlantic provinces. especially Newfoundland. Spent about six nights down there."
6.00 — “Stayed home all evening. Had to study deviates for a test tomorrow. Who do I go out with? All kinds of boys — frat types, pub types, intellectual types. You kind of adjust to each one. Studied until midnight and then read Henry Miller’s Tropic of Capricorn until about two. Sometimes I think Miller's a put-on like Warhol and Mcl.uhan, you know? But every now and then he throws in something really beautiful. It makes you feel more peaceful. It makes you feel good."
Cubes in perspective
“What have I been doing today?” asked Joanne Swadron, a nubile, dark-haired student at the Ontario College of Art. “Well, mainly I’ve been playing with ...” she rummaged through her purse and produced a small device “ . . . playing with this thing.” It was a length of string with a wooden cup on one end and
a small wooden ball on the other. The idea was to flip the ball into the cup, a trick that is considerably harder than it sounds.
She’d spent the morning at drawing class — “You know, how to put a cube, a sphere and a cone into perspective” — and now, at three in the afternoon, she was having a coffee and a smoke during a break from her life-drawing class. “The model's name is George,” she said.
Learning what came first
The sign on the door in the basement of the zoological building said DEEP COLD AREA - NO ADMITTANCE. Behind the door was a laboratory cluttered with petri dishes, boxes of film, bits of wire, a Type 502A Dual-Beam Oscilloscope and, inside a tiny screened-off area, a Polaroid camera attached to an expensive-looking Reichert microscope. The lab — which, despite the sign, was pleasantly warm — also contained a cheerful young PhD candidate named Brian Scott who, for the past three years, has done little else but peer through a microscope and
take pictures of the individual cells of chicken embryos.
“What have I been doing? I’ve been photographing neurons. I’m using embryonic chicken material. It’s rather hard to get human material. People don’t like to give up their neurons very easily. Right now I’m working on electrophysiology. I’m doing it by sticking micro-electrodes into embryos. Then I give the cells a shock through other electrodes, and record the twitch on the oscilloscope.
“The main problem is getting the micro-electrode inside the cell without damaging it. The trick is to give the wire a tiny little tap — but I shouldn't be telling you that. It’s supposed to be a trade secret.”
The opera man
“He’s the most gorgeous man on two feet,” said one of the students at the university’s Royal Conservatory of Music. The object of her admiration, 43-year-old Peter Ebert, was outlining his plans for the revitalization of the conservatory’s opera school. He had just been appointed the school’s new director.
"I want my students to have more confrontation with audiences,” explained Ebert, who also plans to put more emphasis on practical opera. “Students have to learn about lots of things beside singing. We must teach them the technology of props, costumes and sets and the language
of mime and of movement.
“Today I drove out to the airport to pick up a friend at 8.30 and got back to the office about 9.30. Worked on budgets, publicity, programs and timetables. Then read opera scores and interviewed some students. Next we had a conference on sets and costumes for Tales of Hoffmann, which the Canadian Opera Company is producing.
"At lunchtime I attended a funeral; one of our students died of leukemia. This afternoon I’ll take a staging class and watch a rehearsal for Les Dialogues des Carmélites. the opera now in progress. Next week I’m off home to England, where my wife and our nine children live.”
Landscape of a trachea
Margot Mackay, 25. and the daughter of artists, is a thirdyear student in the Art-inMedicine department, whose eight students make it the biggest university department of its kind in North America. With her BSc in the subject, Margot will be a certified medical illustrator, qualified to produce those detailed, if slightly giisly, drawings of human organs that illustrate medical books, pamphlets and magazines.
Margot’s day began with a glass of liquid breakfast at her bachelor - girl apartment and a ride on her Honda to the department’s third - floor studio - classrooms on McCaul Street, where she finished some sketches illustrat-
ing an operation to repair a rare injury to the trachea — windpipe, that is. She said, “It’s discouraging. I saw the film of the operation yesterday, and this morning I’ve had to keep going back to the doctor who ordered the drawings because the damn man cither didn't know what he wanted, or couldn’t tell me properly.
"I had lunch at my desk because I had a lot of eyes to do — the ophthalmology department wants me to do some displays for their openhouse exhibition. We had a girl who wanted to make eyes her life’s work. When we asked her why, she said because they were so pretty.
"They are quite gorgeous, you know, all those lovely sunsetty colors. What am I doing tonight? Tonight I’m baby-sitting for a friend.”
“What are you doing today?”
continued on pape 57
UNIVERSITY DAY continued from page 19
“The Western world,” said McLuhan, “is going oriental”
PHARMACY AS A GAMBLE
It is probably inevitable that the Faculty of Pharmacy should smell like a drugstore. Here, coming out of her favorite class. Pharm. Chem. 35, is the prettiest pharmacist of all, Carol Holland. 21. a third-year student from Saint John. NB. with blue eyes, black hair and a red-vinyl raincoat.
“I transferred from Dalhousie because the course here . . . well, it’s better. F.ven though my fiance is back there, dammit. He's taking physics. I board out in the suburbs. Pharmacy for me was just sort of a gamble. I wanted a practical course. I didn't want to just come out with a degree. Pharmacy — you can apply it in the home. I’ll work for a while in a drugstore in Toronto. I guess. Then we'll probably go to the States because of his work. I don't want to go. I’m a Canadian. I love it here.”
COP AND GOWN
For Bernard West, an ex-bobby from Yorkshire and now chief of the U of T police department, traffic control and parking are the main headaches. He came on duty at 7.30 a.m. Here's his report:
8 a.m.: Brief day constables and
THE MESSAGE MAN
T he greatest academic guru of the 1960s burst into his small cluttered office at 11.05 a.m. and immediately began talking. “This morning I've been reading a new book called Caliban Reborn, and Caliban here means pop art and pop music,” communicated Marshall McLuhan. “It's by an old friend of mine named Wilfred Meilers. He’s a professor of music at one of the new English universities, I forget which one. He wrote a letter and sent me his book saying he owed a great deal to me. Yes. it is very close to my theme that the Western world is going oriental. Electronics is forcing us all toward oriental culture. We're losing our mechanical approach to things in favor of the electronic. This is something I said in the Galaxy and it was in Understanding Media, too.”
McLuhan paused for breath and began fumbling around his desk. “Now where’s that thesis? Didn't I have it in my hand when I came in? I'll look outside. Oh. here it is on the desk.” He explained that this was not a typical day.
“I'm making a recording right here in the office at noon for the Finnish Broadcasting Corporation. Then a policy-making luncheon to discuss next year’s program while I'm away at Fordham. Next, a thousand and one little things to do because I'm leaving tomorrow for La Costa, near San Diego. It’s the annual meeting of the Association of Television Broadcasters and I'm speaking there. I'll be gone about 10 days. The mayor of Los Angeles phoned me . . . what's his name — Horty, I think ... no, that’s right, Yorty. He wants to see me about TV policy in relation to education and city politics.” Then McLuhan went back to rummaging in his desk. “Now where’s that letter?”
give out details of parking spaces to be reserved for meeting of the Senate in the evening.
9.30 a.m.: Meet with assistant to discuss special parking arrangements for forthcoming conventions in July, August and September.
11 a.m.: Instruct constable to investigate four petty thefts. They in-
volved articles left in public places. Chances of recovering articles or apprehending thieves are nil.
1 p.m.: Tour east campus to investigate traffic problems arising out of the heavy use of construction vehicles.
4 p.m.: Brief the four-to-midnight guard shift. Collect and distribute pay
cheques for 40 watchmen and 28 parking attendants. Make parking arrangements for a wedding reception in Hart House.
GIRL WITH THE PINKY-GOLD THIGHS
The co-ed. an 18-year-old first-year Arts undergraduate, was wearing a navy-blue miniskirt that hitched up when she sat down, revealing a pleasant couple of inches of pinkygolden thigh. She was sitting with two
friends at a table in the Place Pigalle, a basement beer parlor three blocks north of the campus, and she was depressed. “I got a psychology test back two days ago and I failed it. But that isn’t what’s depressing me. What happened was the marker made a mistake that cost me 30 marks. I didn’t really fail at all and everything’s fixed up now, but 1 just started thinking, what would I do if somebody made a stupid mistake like that on the finals? What could I dol"
So she skipped two lectures — “I certainly hope my professors don’t read this” — and walked up to the Place Pigalle where nobody thought to ask if she was under 21-year-old Ontario drinking age. After a couple of hours and six draft beers, she began to feel slightly mellow and her mind turned to matters more philosophical than marking errors.
“I’m glad I’m a girl. If I were a boy, I’d have to decide what to do after university and I'd probably end up doing something terribly dull in an office or something. 1 really don’t know what I want to do. I don't think about it. 1 can’t even think a month ahead, not even a week. I just do things as they come along. That’s the best way. This summer I’m going to work for a trust company and then in August I’ll take the money I earn and go to Mexico City for awhile. I’ll go with somebody, though I don’t know who. I do know it won't he a boy because that would just lead to sex, and I want a platonic holiday.”
CASE OF THE PLAGIARIZED ESSAY
It was a spicy morning for Terry Heinrichs, a tall, intellectual-looking student from Berkeley who’s taking his MA in political science. He was marking papers and. just before lunch, he was found busily documenting a case of plagiarism in an undergraduate’s term essay.
He’d look at a paragraph in the essay, then riffle through a copy of Peter Woll’s American Bureaucracy and — aha! — find something damnably similar on page 20 or page 114. The dean came into his office and Heinrichs informed him that he’d spotted another case of cribbing.
Dean: “Oh dear. He’s upstairs
waiting for it now. I'd better send him down.”
Heinrichs: “What he’s done, he’s just changed a few words here and there. It’s all out of Woll.”
Dean: “That’s bad.”
Heinrichs: “It makes me wonder how many other cribbed essays walked by.”
Dean (glumly): “Quite a few.” (Then a sharp, malicious laugh.) “When you give the essay back to him, don’t forget to tell him his mark.”
The dean exited, and Heinrichs talked with his visitor about the problem of being stern with an errant student only a few years younger than himself. “I guess I'll just tell him it's nasty—you know, tell him it shouldn't he done. His mark? Well, I could give him anything from a zero to an F.”
FRAT HOUSE BREAKFAST
At 10 minutes past 10 in the morning, fourth-year physics and chemistry major Mark MacDonald was sitting in the front-room lounge of the Phi Delta Theta fraternity house, wearing red sweat pants, a blue Phi Delt shirt, a two-day growth of black beard and a groggy look. He'd been up since the previous midnight studying for his finals, and now he was about ready for bed.
“That's how I work at exam time,” he said. “Study all night, sleep all day. Not very exciting.” The biggest event so far in MacDonald’s unexciting day occurred at 5 a.m., when he got up from his hooks, went downstairs to the Phi Delt kitchen, rummaged around in the refrigerator and cooked himself a plate of eggs and sausage.
WHERE THE BUCK STOPS
Most Canadian universities are selfcontained villages. The University of Toronto is a self-contained city, presided over during the last nine years by 51-year-old Dr. Claude T. Bissell. During that time the U of T has doubled in size to 22,000 students.
At 1.50 p.m. the president, looking a bit like Anthony Eden on the morning after something more triumphant than Suez, was sitting in his expansive office (Scandinavian modern dominated by a gigantic bronze bust of the late Sidney Smith, Bissell’s predecessor). He had just gulped lunch and was briefing himself for a meeting of the Presidential Advisory Committee on Scarborough and Erindale, the university's two satellite arts colleges, which would take up most of the afternoon.
The night before he had been up until 3 a.m. hosting a reception for Columbia philosopher Jacques Barzun, one of the U of T’s Centennial lecturers. He reached the office shortly after nine, worked on a speech he would give next day to the Medieval Academy, attended administrative and budget meetings and left for lunch at the Faculty Club about 1 p.m.
If his afternoon meeting finished early, he planned to return to his office to sign letters, give dictation to one of his four secretaries and answer phone messages. That evening, one of the rare blanks in his social calendar, he was determined to watch the Toronto-Chicago NHL playoff game on TV at his Rosedale home.
“The pressure is on me all the time but it’s not as tough as it was in the early days,” said Dr. Bissell, charging out of his office. He has taken a year’s leave from his post to start a new program of Canadian studies at Harvard University and was looking forward to the change. “There’ll still be pressures at Harvard. But they’ll be different pressures.”
continued on page 60
Boom year for—surprise!—poets
BIRNEY AT LARGE
Earl Birney, engulfed in wispy Regency sideburns, was munching an apple for afternoon tea in one of the student cafeterias. It was the last week of his two-year appointment as the U of T’s Poet in Residence. (This term he’s at the University of Waterloo.)
“Writer in Residence would be a better title,” said Birney, who is 63. “This year I have helped about 100 different student writers of all sorts. Novelists bearing novels, playwrights bearing plays, poets bearing poems. It has been my privilege to meet most of the bright, creative students on this campus.
“Today I have such a bad cold that just to appear was a triumph. I reached my office in Massey College about 10 this morning and spent most of the day talking to writers and making phone calls. Three other Toronto poets and I are attempting to organize a League of Canadian Poets. We already have 75 members.
“This has been a very busy year for me. I calculate I’ve traveled more than 20,000 miles across Canada, attending seminars and giving speeches. Because of Centennial, the country has become so narcissistic that they even like poets.”
THE MOD MEDIEVALIST
David Hemblen was so Mod he looked medieval. He was wearing a Mod belt, tight trousers, Chelsea boots and
a CND button. His blond hair was long enough to allow him to play one of Cinderella’s ugly sisters in Pantomime. In fact, Hemblen. 25, a teaching fellow taking a Master of Philosophy degree in Medieval Studies, was appearing nightly in the name part of a 16-century play by Nicholas Udall called Ralph Roister-Doister.
"But my hair is usually this long anyway.” said Hemblen. “It’s just fortunate that it fits in with the time and character of Ralph. The play is being produced by the university's Poculi Ludique Societas, which means Cups and Games Society. The membership is drawn mainly from the staff and students of the Medieval Institute. Here's my schedule for today:
“9 a.m.: Got up. My wife Judith and I share an apartment with another couple. Judith is 23 and is studying for a PhD in sociology here. We both have Canada Councils for next year and will go to England. We couldn't do it without the Pill.
“10 a.m.: Gave my lecture, a firstyear course in Chaucer.
“11 a.m.: Had breakfast.
“Noon — 5 p.m.: Worked in my office — studying, reading, marking papers with several breaks for coffee and arguments with colleagues. Vietnam is the eternal topic.
“6 p.m.: Dinner downtown with Judith.
“8.30 p.m.: Curtain goes up on continued on pape 62
"/0.30 p.m.: Adjourn to the Embassy Tavern along with the rest of cast and stage crew.”
LIFE WITH JAY
Susan Elgie, a fourth-year sociology student at Victoria University was wrapped in her bluc-and-pink flowered dressing gown, drinking coffee and smoking at 9.30 in the morning. She’d been reading I he Social System, by Talcott Parsons: “I.ike that’s for my essay . . . it’s due on Saturday.” What was she doing today? “I’m taking 222s and having Jay, my boyfriend, for lunch." Susan lives in a fraternity house where “you have to realize that it’s quite illegal to have hoys for lunch,” hut she was sure Doris the cook wouldn't mind.
Next, Susan went off to the library. To get some books? “Well, no — to sec my girlfriend to talk shop. We write our essays together, like. There’s quite an active social life in the library. you know. My boyfriend. Jay, has a choir practice after lunch, so I’ll go to his room to study. It's over in the slums by Spadina. He lives in two rooms with his boyfriend. They share the facilities with a 19-year-old couple. They're not married or anything and the guy's on probation or something.”
The other girls in the fraternity were talking about the Honda they have so they can ride around when "life gets boring.” Susan doesn’t really go in for Honda riding: "I have this thing about ritling on Hondas with piris.”
AQUINAS AND FROGS
Bespectacled Gary Speirs, 19. of Bangor, Maine, began his day at 9.30 a.m., later than usual because he’d been up until 1 a.m. the previous night, studying for the religiousknowledge test at St. Michael’s University. “I had to rush breakfast (toast and milk) to make it to the zoology lab by 10 a.m. We dissected a live frog. That was kind of fun. You have to anesthetize the frog first but our demonstrator didn’t do it too well and so it was twitching a bit while it was being dissected. I felt a bit squeamish and the girls looked a bit green, but no one threw up.”
He then wrote the religious-knowledge test (Question: what is inspiration?), had lunch at his residence (ham salad), went to the physics building to hunt, successfully, for a mislaid slide rule, and then looked in on the botany department in a vain bid to find a teacher. “I wanted to ask what type of test to expect.” He spent the afternoon watching TV and the evening studying for the next day’s chemistry exam.
DIABETICS AND DRIVING LESSONS
Michael Albisser. 25 and working toward his doctorate in biomedical engineering. walked to work early because he was troubled about the automatic centrifuge he is designing to separate the red blood cells from white cells and plasma. The centrifuge is part of equipment he is designing that continued on pape 64
will take blood samples from a diabetic patient, analyze them, feed the results to a digital computer programmed to determine the kind of medication needed and order a medical attendant to provide it. “Eventually, the computer should be able to supply the medication to the patient as well,” he explained.
“I spent the morning designing a minor component for the centrifuge and ordered our machinist to make it. Lunch? Well, I had it with colleagues and we talked about gravity because I’ve been worried about it recently. I’ve been wondering whether we could investigate and control the gravitational field as well, since we have already got into the areas of the electric field and magnetic field. At present, we don’t know much more about gravity than its effects.
“After lunch I attended a lecture by Dr. Anatoly Tutin from the Kiev Polytechnical Institute, who’s here at the moment, and I took off early to give my wife her third driving lesson. It’s not supposed to be sensible to teach your wife to drive, but I think it’s hilarious. She weaves in and out of the traffic at about two miles an hour and she knocked down a rack of oil cans at a gas station last time.”
ONE BLOODY RUSSIAN
“You want to find me again? You just come to Massey College and ask the man on the door for that hloody Russian. You find me.” Dr. Anatoly Tutin, 34, exchange student and researcher from Kiev Polytechnical was explaining that there’d he no difficulty in arranging another meeting.
“My day begin with breakfast, but there was no eggs, just bacon and sausages, so 1 had sausages. That was at Massey College where I spend the school year. It is a fine place. Massey College. It is said it is very English. They have a Massey College necktie. I am going to buy one because it’s very interesting. We have something similar, some student identification, in the Baltic republics, Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania.
“After breakfast I attended lecture continued on pape 66
“I can’t find Canadian artists on TV”
on English because I need to practise my pronunciation. After lunch I give my own lecture — I am working in the field of nonlinear analog computers at present — and then 1 talk a lot with friends and take a driving lesson. It's important two of the three Russian students learn to drive because we arc going to drive across Canada from Vancouver to Montreal to Expo. Then we will go back home in summer aboard the Alexander Pushkin which is the finest, most magnificent ship in the world ... so they say.
“Tonight? Well, tonight I have a party with friends. Most of my evenings and weekends I spend visiting Canadian families. At first, I think some people were suspicious of me— perhaps we were both victims of the propaganda — but now I have many friends. Anyway, I prefer visiting and talking to watching television. Your television is not very interesting, mostly because I can't find out anything from it about your Canadian artists, your singers and dancers and playwrights and actors. You have them, I suppose, but it's not like at home: ours are on the television for us to see.”
LA PETITE MOOR
Dark-eyed Judith Levy-Bencheton, petite and 21. had just had a serious argument with a philosophy professor about her essay. She figured her mark was too low. “But the professor is always right, no?” Right.
And is that a French-French accent?
"No, a French-Morocco accent. I come from Casablanca three and a half years ago with my family. Before this I studied in Strasbourg. English is still for me a great handicap.
“I’m in second year Arts, and French is, naturellement, my best subject. I played the lead in a French play done by the university last term. Today I got up at seven, studied in the library most of the morning. The big point today was the argument about my philosophy essay. I am furious. Tonight I shall go home and listen to classical music. 1 don’t worry.”
VALEDICTION TO READING
Dr. George Heiman, an intense middle-European who teaches political science, was sitting at an uncluttered desk in his office, working against a press deadline that's a lot easier than the ones he used to beat as managing editor of Liberty magazine. He was re-reading Herder's Social and Political Thought, a book by a Saskatchewan political scientist named F. M. Barnard, and jotting down notes for a review he planned to write for the University oj Toronto Quarterly. "It s certainly not meant to entertain,” he says. “That's why I quit Liberty 14 years ago and took my PhD. I'm not an entertainer.” Dr. Heiman gets gloomy whenever he thinks about the future of Canadian magazines. Sometimes he even gets gloomy about the future of print in general. “The me-
dia’s changed.” he says. “Maybe McLuhan's right, and reading’s become less important.” On that morose note, he left his office and went over to the faculty club for a sandwich.
POKER, POOL AND VOLPONE
Drew Clarke commutes from suburbia to the campus every day. usually on his Yamaha 250. But today it rained. “It's not that I'm worried about flipping; it's just that I don't like getting soaked.” Drew didn’t have any money and the bus fare in Toronto is 25 cents. After a half-hour search he found a silver dollar in his cufflinks holder.
“At the bus stop there was this beautiful girl with an umbrella. I was determined not to look at her but she asked me if I wanted to stand under her umbrella. We rode downtown together and just talked, you know.” Drew missed his 9 p.m. history tutorial, so he went to the Victoria University coffee shop to “sit around.” “I watched a game of bridge for about 20 minutes then I started reading English — Volpone, by Ben Jonson. I can't stand the library. It's really massive. Two hundred kids sitting in there and nobody makes a sound. I’d rather be where there's noise. Anyway, I was reading Volpone when a girlfriend came along with a few guys. 1 didn't have any money for cigarettes, so we played poker for cigarettes. That's when I got rid of my gum — when I had my first cigarette. I probably won't have any lunch — no money. This afternoon I’ll play pool. We just play for the table.” Drew's friends all knew one another before university; they went to school together. “If you come to Vic and don’t know anybody, you may as well eat lunch on the park bench for the first two months.”
MAC THE PORTER
Sergeant-Major Norman McCracken, the porter at Massey College, spent 22 years with the Queen's Own Rifles and even in academe is still every inch a soldier. As he sorts the morning mail, his waxed moustaches bristle and he hup-one-twos happily to himself. His duties start at 7.30 (“Practically midday for the army — this job's a soft touch”) when he opens the big wrought-iron gate. Then two hours with the bursar going over the accounts for the dining room and bar (he didn't quite call it the officers’ mess).
All calls, queries and complaints go through him. "If I can handle it. I handle it. I’m more or less a publicrelations man. I live with my wife here at the gatehouse, so we're close to the job. I always handle The Visitor — Vincent Massey, you know — to see if he wants or needs anything and that everything is copasetic and up to scratch.”
THE BEETLEBERRY BARD
Hans-Werner Tolle is a 21-year-old second-year English undergraduate. “Today? Well. I got up at noon and glanced through a couple of books for exams. Then came down here and just sort of drifted. Sure, exams are less than two weeks away, but that doesn't worry me. U of T can be bad . . . you lose interest in other things,
more important things.” Hans was an apprentice actor last summer at Stratford and had a part in CTV's production of Henry V. He's also involved in Hart House, and writes plays, acts, and directs.
"I write poetry, too. I guess that's the most important thing right now. I've been. ahem, published in the Canadian Forum. Like last night, for instance: another poet and I got together and composed The Collective Poems of A miel Borgwash w hich, right now, consists of about six poems with titles like “The Farm Next to My Father’s Beetleberry Farm.” I don't know what we'll do with them when we're finished. Might try to get them published, but at the moment it's just a lot of fun.”
Boys outnumber girls two to one on the campus, so the competition can be tough. It's a problem that has never worried Joe Toby. He's a fourth-year student in food chemistry and 99 percent of his classmates are girls. He could take his pick. There's only one trouble: Joe's already married.
Very married. Even though his first class wasn't until 11 a.ni. (the study of mammaliam enzyme regulation), he got up at eight to drive his wife to work. After the class he had lunch (a pickled egg in a pub), and then returned for a 1.30 seminar. At the seminar he presented his wrap-up report on his year's research project: an analysis of freeze-dried beer.
Does that mean instant beer? “It didn't work.” says Joe sadly. “The humulones that should be there aren't.” (Humulones are bitter crystalline antibiotics.) In the evening Joe planned to take in a movie w'ith his wife and then visit friends for some talk and a few beers. Bottled beers.
THE STUDENT’S MOUTHPIECE
As soon as Horace Krever, 37, arrived at the Law School, about 8.45 a.m., he posted a notice canceling his two lectures in civil procedure. “I've got to appear before CAPUT at 10.30 this morning, and God knows how' long that’ll take, CAPUT is the university disciplinary body and I’m acting for a student who has been charged with a library irregularity. That may sound harmless, but it isn't. The boy could be expelled. I take on this kind of job because I have a lot more practical courtroom experience than most of the staff around here.
“This is a rotten day for the CAPUT thing to come up. I have three lectures to prepare for tomorrow. The chairman of the Ontario law-reform commission is coming in to see me later about I don't know what. I'm an editor of the Dominion Law Reports and at the moment I’m way behind in reading head notes for cases I think should be reported. I want to get at three arbitration awards I must write. And my office shelf is loaded down with material I should be reading for the public hearings next week of the Committee on Healing Arts. It’s a royal-commission deal and I'm one of the committee members. But right now I've got to think about that bloody kid who got himself in dutch with the library.” ★