Lady Professor

by Switzer, Robert L. ;

  Emma gathered up her notebooks and a sheet on which she had written out her conclusions and summarized the supporting evidence and strode excitedly down the hall to her mentor’s office. The door was closed, but she burst in.

  “Dr. Weatherbee, I think I have enough evidence now . . .” She stopped, immobilized by the sight of her mentor in an intimate embrace with another woman, whom she recognized as the secretary to the Dean of the college. “Oh!” she mumbled. “I’m sorry. I . . . I should have knocked.”

  She backed out quickly and pulled the office door closed behind her. Trembling, she retreated to her desk in the lab. Embarrassment was overcome with anxiety about the consequences of her foolish intrusion. Would her beloved professor be angry with her? Would she turn cold and avoid her? Emma had occasionally heard whispers that Professor Weatherbee was an “old maid” and “not a natural woman,” but she had always discounted them as the usual intolerance for independently minded single women. Perhaps there was some truth to the rumors after all.

  Emma didn’t care whether they were true or not. How could she discreetly assure Dr. Weatherbee that she didn’t condemn her for her private life? Affection and pleasure, she knew full well, were to be found outside the bounds of conventional marriage. But the two of them had never discussed such intimate things. How could all this be set right?

  After what seemed an agonizingly long time, but what was actually less than fifteen minutes, Dr. Weatherbee softly approached Emma, placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “Emma, would you please come into my office for a moment?”

  “Dr. Weatherbee, I’m so sorry. I should not have . . .”

  “Hush. We’ll talk about it in a minute.” In the neat little office with the door closed behind them, Dr. Weatherbee waved Emma to a seat and cleared her throat. “My dear, about what you witnessed just now. I must ask for both your discretion and your understanding.”

  Emma blushed deeply and fighting tears, did not reply.

  “Miss Hudson and I have . . . maintained . . . a special friendship for some time now. I hardly need explain to you that any . . . unfortunate . . . rumors . . . could have . . . serious consequences. She could lose her job. Indeed, so could I. Even with tenure. This is a church-supported college. I trust you understand.”

  “Of course,” Emma cried. “I would never . . . I will never speak of it. Ever. To anyone.”

  “Thank you. I felt certain I could rely on you.”

  “It’s none of my business. I’m so ashamed that I just barged in like that.”

  “It was a simple mistake. We . . . were . . . not thinking either.” Professor Weatherbee paused, as if considering what to say next. “I hope you won’t think less of me. I don’t think one has much choice in such matters, but it corrodes the soul to be absolutely alone.” Her eyes shone in appeal. “A woman who wishes to achieve at the highest levels must give up a great deal. Marriage, children, the comforts of domesticity, even respectability. She should not also have to give up love.”

  Emma shivered. Would these sacrifices really be required of her too? “No,” she replied with surprising heat. “She should not. Please, don’t worry, Dr. Weatherbee. I’m no angel myself, not good enough to judge you.”

  “Thank you. Now, Emma, tell me about your research. That’s what you wanted to discuss, wasn’t it?”

  AT THE END of his course on genetics Professor Gillespie devoted several lectures to the subject of eugenics, which he described as “the application of the laws of heredity to the improvement of the human race.” An enthusiastic supporter of the eugenics movement, Gillespie summarized the evidence that the laws of heredity applied to humans. He followed this with a long list of diseases that were known and suspected of being genetically transmitted. He traced the occurrence of hemophilia, an acute bleeding disorder, in the royal families of Europe. The students were required to read Charles B. Davenport’s well-known book, Heredity in Relation to Eugenics, and Gillespie read with relish aloud to the class, Davenport’s description of the wretched “Jukes” family:

  On the other hand, we have the striking cases of families of defectives and criminals that can be traced back to a single ancestor. The case of the “Jukes” is well known. We are first introduced to a man known in literature as Max, living as a backwoodsman in New York State and a descendant of the early Dutch settlers; a good-natured, lazy sot, without doubt of defective mentality. He has two sons who marry two of six sisters whose ancestry is uncertain but of such a nature as to lead to the suspicion that they are not full sisters. One of these sisters is known as “Ada Juke,” also as “Margaret, the mother of criminals.” She was indolent and a harlot before marriage. Besides an illegitimate son she had four legitimate children. The first, a son, was indolent, licentious and syphilitic; he married a cousin and had eight children all syphilitic from birth. Of the 7 daughters 5 were harlots and of the others one was an idiot and one of good reputation. Their descendants show a preponderance of harlotry in the females and much consanguineous marriage. The second son was a farm laborer, was industrious and saved enough to buy 14 acres of land. He married a cousin and the product was 3 stillborn children, a harlot, an insane daughter who committed suicide, an industrious son, who, however, was licentious, and a pauper son. The first daughter of “Ada” was an indolent harlot who later married a lazy mulatto and produced 9 children, harlots and paupers, who produced in turn a licentious progeny. Ada had an illegitimate son who was an industrious and honest laborer and married a cousin. Two of the three sons were licentious and criminalistic in tendency and the third, while capable, drank and received outdoor relief. All of the three daughters were harlots or prostitutes and two married criminals. The third generation shows the eruption of criminality. Excepting the children of the third son, none of whom were criminalistic, we find among the males 12 criminals, 1 licentious, 5 paupers, 1 alcoholic and 1 unknown; none were normal citizens. Among the females 3 were harlots, 1 pauper, 1 a vagrant and 2 unknown; none were known to be reputable. Thus it appears that criminality lies in the illegitimate line from Ada and not at all in the legitimate—doubtless because of a difference in germ plasm of the fathers.

  Gillespie continued this recitation of the woeful Jukes family history through two more generations, well aware of the shocked reactions of the students. The story of the Jukes was followed by an elaborate family tree tracing the line of descent of the “Kallikaks,” supposedly the result of an illicit union between a normal man and a feeble-minded servant girl. The subsequent generations were described as overwhelmingly mentally defective; of 480 descendants, 143 were said to be feeble-minded, 80 had died in infancy, and only 46 were described as “apparently normal.”

  These sensational descriptions soon gave rise to many jokes about the Jukes and the Kallikaks among the Hancock College students, but Gillespie was serious in his advocacy of eugenics. Many states already mandated the sterilization of “imbeciles,” he said, and he argued that the betterment of the human race could be much advanced by restricting the reproduction of persons who carried the genetic traits for disease, feeble-mindedness, and physical disability.

  Most of Emma’s classmates seemed to feel that Gillespie’s ideas were reasonable, but she was uneasy. She wasn’t sure whether her feelings resulted from her growing dislike of the professor or from distaste for his rash prescriptions. She was troubled by the censorious tone of Davenport’s writing, his frequent use of the term “harlot” to describe female descendants of the Jukes family. Harlots were sexually promiscuous women. Could not such a term be applied to her because of the pleasure she took from her infrequent couplings with Victor? Many would do so, she knew. She was shamed and angered to see such behavior lumped together with feeble-mindedness, drunkenness, and idleness as inherited defects.

  When she raised the topic of eugenics with Dr. Weatherbee, she sniffed. “Oh, that disgusting little man. Going on again about eugenics, was he?”

  “Yes. But what do you think? Some of the genetic arguments s
eem sound to me.”

  “Well, I suppose there is some rational biology there. The evidence that some diseases are inherited is very strong, so probably some feeble-mindedness is inherited too. But these studies of families—these Jukes and Kallikaks—overlook the effects of growing up in a poor family environment. If a mother is feeble-minded or alcoholic or a pauper or whatever, the child cannot develop normally. That’s not in the genes. Besides, humans are not cattle or dogs that can be bred to create whatever characteristics we want. The whole idea is morally repugnant.”

  “Perhaps I should raise these questions in class?”

  “Waste of time, my dear. Now, let’s go over your paper again. I would change the title to ‘Demonstration of Transmission of a Hereditable Trait During Sexual Reproduction in Paramecium.’ You want to stress your most important findings. I’d reserve mention of motility to the main text. And, here in Table 2, I’d reorganize it so that the reader scans across rather than down. Otherwise, it’s nearly ready to submit. Your Results and Discussion sections are very clear and concise.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for all your help. Dr. Gillespie said he didn’t have time to read it.”

  “Too bad. If he could get over his biases, he might have had some useful suggestions. But, never mind that. There’s something else we must get to. You need to start making applications to graduate schools.”

  “Oh my, already?”

  “Yes. Now let’s think about where to apply. Unfortunately, some of the best universities won’t take women, and some of the others say they do, but in fact rarely accept any. We won’t waste your time with those.”

  “You know which ones they are?”

  “I’m afraid I do. It will also be a bit more difficult because Hancock is a small Midwestern church college, not so well regarded out east. I want you to apply to my alma mater, Cornell. I think that, with my strong support, you can be admitted there, perhaps even obtain a small scholarship to help with expenses.”

  “That’s a terrible source of worry, Dr. Weatherbee. I’m already deeply in debt to the Oosterfelds. I have no idea how I’m going to pay for graduate school. I expect I will have to teach for two or three years to save up the money.”

  “Too bad. A dream postponed often becomes a dream extinguished.”

  CHAPTER 7

  1924

  THE CORNELL UNIVERSITY campus lay before her, a park-like city of higher learning, so much larger than Hancock College, thrilling in its peaceful beauty on this early fall day, and yet, intimidating. The hilly campus was divided into quadrangles, each surrounded with formal academic buildings; Emma’s undergraduate college would have fit into just one of the “quads.” The multiple lawns and clusters of buildings sloped gently toward Beebe Lake, fed by a creek that flowed through the campus. McGraw Tower, a tall bell and clock tower topped with a pyramidal cap, presided over the graceful landscape. The rugged hills and woods surrounding the campus, while scenic, contrasted to the gently undulating open fields and treeless prairies of Emma’s Illinois years and was somehow strange, unsettling.

  Emma should have been exhilarated, triumphant in the realization of a fiercely sought dream—she had arrived in Ithaca three days ago to begin studies toward a Ph.D. in biology—but she seethed with anxiety, uncertainty, and anger. This was going to be so strange, so difficult, so unfamiliar, and she was going to have to face it alone. Would all of the faculty be as indifferent or hostile as her just-completed conversation with Professor Osborne had been? Was she strong enough to do this without the warmth and encouragement she had received from Dr. Weatherbee? By God, she would have to be strong enough; there was no going back to Stanton Mills.

  When Emma entered his office for her first interview with a Cornell advisor to discuss her academic program, Professor Osborne, a corpulent, bald man in a dark three-piece suit with a gold watch chain drooping from his vest pocket, did not rise from his office chair. He waved her to a chair and scanned the papers in her file, emitting an occasional humpf or grunt as he did so.

  “So, Miss Hansen, what are your intentions in enrolling in graduate study?”

  “I wish to pursue a doctorate in biology, sir.”

  “Um, yes. The few women graduate students we have had did not continue past the Master’s degree.”

  “Oh, but I intend to go on to the Ph.D.”

  “Why?”

  “It is my ambition to become a college professor, to teach and conduct research.”

  Osborne’s eyes widened with incredulity. “At a university? Like this one?”

  “Possibly. Why not?”

  “Forget it. It’s simply not done. There are no lady professors at research universities. A few instructors and research assistants, but professors? No. Perhaps at a lady’s academy . . .”

  “I would be happy on the faculty of a smaller college. Like Hancock, where I took my Bachelor’s degree.”

  “Never heard of it. Where is it?”

  “Hancock, Illinois. It’s a small town in western Illinois.”

  “Is it a church school?”

  “Yes, sir. Lutheran.”

  “Hmm. Do they permit the teaching of Darwinism? Do you know about evolution?”

  Emma felt warm, tension slowly twisted her arms. “Of course. There was no interference in the teaching of modern biology. You will see from my record that I have a thorough background.”

  “I see course titles, but that tells me little about content. About rigor.”

  “Well, I propose that I enroll in the usual graduate-level courses. We’ll soon see if I am adequately prepared.”

  Osborne stared at Emma for a moment over his glasses. “Um, yes. You should take a wide range of advanced biology courses if you intend to teach. I see that you taught in high school for two years. Why did you not enroll right after graduating?”

  “I had to earn sufficient funds for my expenses, sir.”

  “Oh. Most of our students are supported by their families.”

  “That’s not possible in my case. In fact, I want to apply for a position as a teaching or laboratory assistant as soon as I can.”

  “Well, we might consider that after you’ve been here for a year or so. After we’ve had a look at you. A lab assistant would be out of the question. Do you even know what research is?”

  “I certainly do,” Emma replied hotly. “I have published three research papers. There are offprints in my file. Didn’t you see them?”

  Osborne shuffled through the papers in Emma’s file. Emma suppressed a slight trembling in her hands during his long silence. She had not expected such hostility.

  “Well, you might wish to show these to prospective Ph.D. thesis advisors, if you can find any.” He scraped his chair back, leaned forward, and fixed his gaze on Emma. “I’ll be frank with you, Miss Hansen. I, and many of my colleagues, are not enthusiastic about women in the Ph.D. program. Cornell prides itself on co-education. That’s all right for undergraduates, perhaps, but many of us feel that the limited resources for graduate education should be reserved for men, who have families to support. Women generally drop out, marry, have children. They don’t pursue serious professional careers. It’s a waste of our efforts. I’d suggest that you take courses toward the Master’s, then return to teaching. The smaller colleges will accept faculty with Master’s degrees. Alternatively, if you prove to have any capacity for research, you might attach yourself to a professor somewhere. A husband, perhaps.”

  Emma glared at him. “With respect, sir, I ask that you not question my seriousness without giving me a chance to demonstrate it. I will certainly take an intensive course program, but I intend to seek a research director. I have become quite interested in genetics, as you can see from my last two publications. Can you suggest some professors—professors who don’t share your prejudices?” It was a mistake to make an enemy so early in her graduate career, she would reflect after her anger cooled.

  Osborne merely shrugged. “You might talk to C. B. Hutchison. He works on
genetics of maize—what you Midwesterners call corn. I believe he has females in his group. Maize genetics has obvious practical consequences—unlike these, uh, paramecia. This is the College of Agriculture, Miss Hansen.”

  NOW, AS EMMA stood outside, looking out over the Ag Quad and trying to settle her nerves, to quiet her anger, she thought, so, that’s how it will be. Fight for it. No coddling by Dr. Weatherbee here.

  It had taken two long years since she graduated from Hancock College in 1922 to get to Cornell, two years of frustrated waiting, years in which Emma was ashamed that she had grown away from her family. The grinding labor of farm life and the gradual disintegration of the Hansen family consumed all of their emotional energy. To these miseries had been added poverty, brought on by the severe and persistent depression in farm prices that followed the end of the Great War.

  And Henrik—her beloved brother Henrik—lost to her now too. He had simply disappeared over a year ago. The family truck was found parked on Main Street in Stanton Mills, but no one knew where Henrik was. Papa had held his nose and entered the speakeasy behind the hardware store to quiz the regulars, but none of them could offer an explanation for Henrik’s disappearance or had any idea where he was.

  “He might of hit the rails,” one man offered. “He used to talk about getting out of here.”

  Was that it? Had Henrik jumped into an open freight car down at the railroad tracks and ridden it to wherever it was headed? Emma had heard stories of such hobos who rode rail cars, lived in shanties—or worse—by open fires, begged or stole food, dogged by railway officials and local police. Drunkards, many of them, and slightly mad: a description that sadly fit Henrik as he was now. Lost to his family, lost to her. Would she ever see him again?

  No one from her family came to Hancock College for the graduation ceremonies when Emma received her Bachelor of Science degree in 1922; they couldn’t get away from the farm, they said, and there was the expense to consider. Emma had coaxed Mama and Papa to come, arguing that Bjorn, Henrik, and Susan could milk the cows for three days. And she had offered to pay their train fare, but they declined. Eventually—and this filled her with sadness—she realized that they were embarrassed, intimidated by the thought of mingling with “fancy people” and “them professors.” They had never traveled anywhere by train.