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Salient. An organ of student opinion at Victoria University, Wellington. Vol. 23, No. 9. Wednesday, November 9, 1960
Memo To All Students
Memo To All Students
From almost any Professor
Subject: Attitudes and Behaviour in Class.
| (1) | When I reach the point in my lecture where the main problem begins to emerge, I will make a signal with my hand. At that time all students with hidden pocket radios will please turn them off. |
| (2) | I don't mind students glancing at their watches towards the end of the lecture, but please don't shake them unbelievingly. |
| (3) | Those students who are geared to wake up when I say, "And in conclusion let me say … " will soon discover that I drop that remark about midway in the lecture. |
| (4) | Those who must sleep should arrange for classmates to call them at the end of the period. A bad appearance is created when one or more students remain dozing in their seats after the rest of the class has left the room. |
| (5) | I wish the students would give more attention to their dress. My impulse Monday morning, after glancing around the classroom, was to inquire if the poolroom had burned down. |
| (6) | When I ask you to do some outside work, I wish you would not consider this request as "controversial." It isn't. |
| (7) | In rotating papers for discussion, please remember that "It stinks" is not constructive criticism. |
| (8) | Students seeking self-advancement by laughing at my jokes should listen more attentively. On Thursday, just by glancing up from my notes and pausing expectantly, I got quite a laugh from a sentence of Spinoza's. |
| (9) | Students who wish to take a short cut to getting terms by referring in class to a book that I have written should not call it "the green one." Learn the title anyway. |
"And yet I fear this nostalgia too. Again, a man must not be entangled. A man must move freely, without these trailing tendrils of cobwebs blinding his eyes, or tying his heart. They talk about the slavery of the senses. These are nothing compared to the slavery of the heart. All Ireland for me, is in and about Rathkeale. A dead lousy flea-bitten, snoring pig of a town that I cannot think of without going as soft as a woman."