Category: Funny Business

 

The following faculty skit from the M.I.T. economics department apparently had multiple authors. The last act was penned by Robert Solow–it was the only part of the script that was written in long-hand and only Act VI of this skit is found in Robert Solow’s papers in the Duke archives). Unfortunately Act V “The Thesis Defense” was not included in the Graduate Economics Association (1961-67) folder of the Economics Department Records at the M.I.T. Archives.

Attempts at racial, ethnic and gendered humor need no further comment than to note their respective shelf-lives expired two generations ago.

____________________________

GEA Christmas party 1964

Appetite of a Man; Income of a Boy
(The Seven Stages of a Student)
a play in six acts

Cast

Student—played by [blank]
Registration Officer—played by [blank]
Other students, professors, deans, etc.

Act I—The Admission Interview
Act II—Registration
Act III—Talk to the First-Year Class
Act IV—The General Examination
Act V—The Thesis Defense
Act VI—Employment: Going out into The World

TO THE CAST: IF YOU DON’T LIKE A LINE, IMPROVE ON IT.

 

Act I: The Admission Interview—Student and Admissions Committee

Student Applicant: Sir, I believe you have an economics department here at MIT. Can you tell me why?

Prof. 1: Why does a dog have fleas? To keep things stirred up. But how did you hear about it?

Student: Oh, I follow the basketball scores very closely. If this is the Admissions Committee, I’d like to apply.

Prof. 2: How did you do in college?

Student: I averaged 27 points a game.

Prof. 3: No, we want to know how you did in your college work. Tell us something about your grades, about your preparation, especially in economics and mathematics.

Student: We’ll get to that jazz in due course. But let me remind you, I am interviewing you, not you me. You tell me about fellowships, about student loans, and about parking stickers, how are the students fixed for the things that count.

Prof. 2: Well, you can get a Woodrow Wilson.

Student: If I was going to deal with Woodrow Wilson, I’d have gone to Princeton where they have the school and $35 million, to say nothing of $5.3 million on the side in history.

Prof. 1: There’s the National Science Foundation.

Student: Whose got the balance-of-payments disequilibrium. I am talking of how much money you are going to give me, not how much money I am going to bring to you. Now get this straight: I have expenses. These Triumphs cost money to maintain, and my girl likes steak. I also want refinance my stock market operations from my broker’s 6% to what I understand are your 2% loans for students. You give me tuition plus $5,000, plus another $5,000 loan, plus a ticket to park my car inside the Grover C. Hermann Building, or I’m on my way to Yale on a NASA.

Chorus: Nasa’s in the cole, cole groun. [Song by Stephen Foster “Masa’s in the Cold, Cold Ground”]

 

Act II—Registration

Reg. Off.—This stuff is pretty cut and dried: 14.121 Bishop, if you’re strong enough to turn the crank and carry the script; 14.451, mathematics, statistics, and a course like history, labor, trade, money.

Student: Whoa, back. Not so fast. First, let’s worry about the languages. There’s Spanish.

Reg. Off. We don’t let students take Spanish unless they are interested in development in Latin America, and have a need to read the limited literature.

Student: I guess I prefer Portugese.

Reg. Off. Development in Brazil.

Student: The Bossa Nova. But after the language, I think I’ll start on the minor: some of the 15 courses: Social Distance and Proximity during and After the Office Party, that sounds interesting; and maybe Design Packaging, how to get a nickel’s worth of stuff into a buck’s package; and Engineering Social Change for Chemical Engineers, or what to do after the Stink Bomb drops by mistake.

Reg. Off. And 14.121

Student: and some courses in the soft option: what is it this year, trade, labor, development? What about that course I heard about in which the students all graded each other on how they related to one another—a children’s party with an A for each kid.

Reg. Off. And 14.121.

Student: And a course at Harvard with real razz-matazz: Lady Jackson [Barbara Mary Ward, Baroness Jackson of Lodsworth, a development economist], and Man Galbraith, and Senor Chenery, and Don [here the honorific title for a nobleman] Hirschman.

Reg. Off. Look pal. Everybody takes 14.121.

Student: You can’t mean that we do too, those of us here on athletic scholarships.

 

Act III—Reg. Off. To the First-Year Class.

Student 1 whispering to Student 2: They say it’s a terrible experience. Students faint and dragged out. Chills come over them. There’s a lot of talk of Cs and Ds, and fellowships being taken away, and students walking the plank.

Student 2, whispering to Student 1: Naw, it’s no worse than a bad cold, and you’re not a man until you’ve had it.

Reg. Off. “Look to the right of you, look to the left of you. Of the three of you, only one will be here next term.” What famous book on economics started that way and the edition had to be suppressed. You students really have it made. Appetite of a man; income of a Boy. How much better you are off than my older colleagues, with their income of a man, and appetites of a boy.

Student: What about Grades?

Reg. Off. Grades? Grades? Who pays any attention to grades? Grades are trivial; the second order of smalls; a mere epsilon, nothing. Of course you need one A to get tuition money for the second year, and a second A for every $100 of coffee-and-cakes money. But grades? Who needs ‘em? They’re for undergraduates, for grade hounds, for Phi Beta Kappa or College-Bowl kids. Concentrate on higher things like saying Stolper-Samuelson and not (repeat not) Samuelson-Stolper.

 

Act IV: The General Examination

Prof 1: Good morning, Mr. Mittlablook.

Prof 2: Good morning, Mr. Pswoom.

Prof 3: Good morning, Mr. Pixyquicksel

Student (aside): Isn’t it lovely, they all know my name after two years.

Prof 1: Let’s get down to business.

Student: Must we?

Prof 2: What would you like to be examined in first? I see we have economic theory, economic history, and textbook writing and consulting fees.

Student: I am afraid I am not responsible for any of those.

Prof 3: We would all like to say the same.

Student: I was told when I came that I could be examined in comparative economic systems, the difference between capitalist and socialist economies, and free enterprise sink or swim.

Prof 1: Those fields were discontinued this morning.

Prof 2: Yes, I am afraid you’ll have to take the exam in economic theory and history.

Student: I think that is dreadfully unfair.

Prof 3: Well let me start you off by asking you a question in economic history. Consider the period which used to be known as the industrial revolution. This was accompanied, as you know by a large population explosion. Would you discuss the relative roles of (a) men and (b) women, in this development?

Student: Well, I suppose you could say that they each contributed something but the truth lies somewhere in between.

Prof 1: Wrong; you are supposed to say that the roles are neither reflexive, symmetric, nor transitive.

(STAGE DIRECTION: The last time we tried that line we stepped on it. It should be read with greater expression.)

Prof 2: That question was meant to combine economic history and economic theory. Let me ask you one about the history of economic theory. Name a business cycle theorist who was also a Russian cowboy.

Student: Evsey Domar.

Prof 3: Wrong again; Tugan Baranowsky. (general groans)

Prof 1: Now we come to your third field which is, I understand, professor imitating.

Student: Yes, I have learned to make noises like a professor now and then.

Prof 2: That will be no doubt fascinating at the Christmas Party.

Prof 3: Imitate a professor.

Student: How can I imitate a professor when I am a professor imitating a student?

Prof 1: Imitate a professor imitating a student imitating a professor.

Student: I am not responsible for infinite sequences.

Prof 2: Could you leave the room while we discuss you please. You’ll hear from us in about three years Thursday. (student leaves)

Prof 3: Well, what shall we do? He is a bright boy but he didn’t do too well.

Prof 1: On the other hand, I thought he was a stupid boy but did very well.

Prof 2: I see that as usual we are in complete agreement.

Prof 3: There is only one thing we can do. Give him an excellent plus and tell him not to write his thesis.

END OF SCENE.

 

Act V. The Thesis Defense
[missing]

 

Act VI. Employment

[Handwritten mimeo, author: Robert Solow]

Student sitting grandly in chair, feet on table, cigar? Del Tapley shows in two interviewers, I₁ and I₂.

D.T.: Mr. Auster, sir, these servile wretches represent Princeton and the University of Minnesota. They have an audience, I mean appointment, with you.

1. Come in chaps. Sorry to have to see you two at the same time like this, but my schedule is very crowded. I have to squeeze in the rest of the Big Ten this morning; and this afternoon I’m seeing Yale, Chicago, and a representative of the Free Speech Movement at Berkeley.

I₁: You mean…

A: Yes. Radner almost made it with that beard. But somehow he was just a little too much Commander Whitehead [president of Schweppes U.S.A. and featured in the Schweppes advertisements] and not enough Fidel. Anyhow, he’s been dropped. The FSM [Free Speech Movement] has eliminated the middleman. Mario [Savio, a leader of the Free Speech Movement] may come himself. We’re sending a delegation to meet him, at the B&A [Boston and Albany Railroad] yards. Must remind Marcelle and Cynthia not to comb their hair. But what can I do for you, or vice versa?

I₂: Well, we do feel Minnesota has a lot to offer a young man…

A: Stop feeling and start offering.

I₂: Sorry, sir. Our special CRAP salaries…

A: What?

I₂: Charles River Assistant Professorships—they start at $17,500. Unfortunately since Walter [Walter Heller] got back they’re only allowed to go up at 3.2% a year, but we try to make it up in sly ways. That’s for 9 months, of course…

A: Nine months?

I₂: Well, not nine full months—we do have a special slush fund to cover the week between terms. And we send you all expenses paid to the annual Christmas meeting any time it is in Miami. Of course if it’s not in Miami, we just send you to Miami.

A: Only fair. Pretty cold out there. Of course Adelman goes to the Virgin Islands every winter.

I₁: I’ve heard that Solow curls up in a hollow tree in Concord and hibernates.

A: How can they tell? Never mind. Seventeen-five sounds reasonable. What about the teaching load?

I₂: Teaching load? I didn’t realize you were actually willing to do any teaching. In that case you begin at 20,000, naturally. What were you thinking of teaching?

A: Why near-decomposability, of course. Is there anything else? By the way, do you have a Community Antenna Television Association [CATV]?

I₂: No, but…

A: No buts. I’m not interested. But you ought to see Bridger Mitchell [MIT graduate student, a telecommunications expert with Charles River Associates] while you’re here—I understand he won’t go to any university within 100 miles of a CATV. Tell me about Princeton.

I₂: But I haven’t told you about the 13/9^th summer pay, or the every-other-year sabbatical, or how you get Leo Hurwicz for a research assistant, and girls, girls, girls,…

A: Sorry. Not interested. Actually, I’m not anxious to leave the East coast anyway. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure how to do it. Tell me about Princeton.

I₁: I do hope you will think seriously about Princeton, sir. We’re rather different from this Johnny-come-lately place, you know. More like a way of life. Gentlemen-scholars. Culture. Charm[?] Ivy. Yet intellect. We did have Einstone, you know.

A: You mean Einstein?

I₁: Well, we suggested he change his name. Don’t think we’re stuffy, however Princeton had a Negro student as long as 30 years ago. And one of these days we’re going to have another one. Our salaries may not be so high nor our teaching loads as light as those cow colleges’, but we’ve got class.

A: Even if I don’t take the job, I’ll put a tiger in my tank. But just how big is the teaching load?

I₁: Eleven hours.

A: Eleven hours a month isn’t too bad—after all, I run out of material on near-decomposability after 22 hours. But throw in a few trips to Washington, a week or two at the Bureau for decompression, Christmas in Miami, and the term is over.

I₁: The Princeton faculty doesn’t go to Miami. I’m afraid it’s eleven hours a week?

A: You are kidding. How can anybody teach eleven hours a week and still keep up his ONR [Office of Naval Research] project, his NSF [National Science Foundation] grant, and his consulting for oil companies?

I₂: The whole Minnesota department doesn’t teach 11 hours a week. Don’t be hasty, sir. We’ll buy you a Community Antenna Television set-up.

I₁: Don’t listen to him. You don’t have to lecture for 11 hours a week. You can work off some of it by discussion with graduate students.

A: I don’t see why Princeton graduate students should be treated better than MIT students. What’s the pay?

I₁: Eighty-five hundred.

A: Eighty-five hundred! Is that in 1954 dollars or something?

I₂: In Berkeley a teaching assistant gets 8500 just for picketing.

A: You’re having [?] me on.

I₁: I can see you’re not the Princeton type. Hardly anyone is.

A: How clever can you get? Well, gentlemen, thank you for dropping in. I’ll let you know in due course. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.

I₂: By the way, could you tell me what you’re writing your thesis on and how far you’ve got?

A: None of your goddamn business. But if you must know, Kuh once said that one regression is worth a thousand words. I figure 35,000 words makes a pretty fair thesis, so I’m doing 35 regressions.

I₁: On what?

A: On a computing machine, you dope. Now I’m afraid I have another appointment. I suppose some of the other students have agreed to see you. Miss Tapley will show you the way.

D.T.: Your next appointment is ready. The gentlemen from Harvard and Yale are waiting, the Wharton School has sent Albert Ando and two other people he claim are named Flend [Irwin Friend] and Klavis [Irving Kravis], there is a man from Northwestern who drove up in a Brink’s armored car he says is full of bills in small denominations, and the New York Knickerbockers claim they’ve picked the whole class in the draft.

 

Source: M.I.T. Libraries, Institute Archives and Special Collections. MIT Department of Economics Records. Box 2, Folder “GEA 1961-67”.

Image Source: “From the Flying Car to the Giant R2-D2: The Greates MIT Hacks of All-Time“, by Robert McMillan. Wired, March 20, 2013.

“Boston’s Harvard Bridge is 364.4 Smoots long. And the fact that anybody would remember this in 2013 was probably the furthest thing from MIT freshman Oliver Smoot’s mind on the October 1958 night that he lay himself down, time and again, along the bridge, allowing his fraternity brothers to measure its length (each Smoot is about 5 feet, 7 inches). It was a fraternity prank, but the next year the bridge’s Smoot markers were repainted. Thus, an MIT landmark — and a unique unit of measurement — was born.

Smoot himself went on to become a board member of the American National Standards Institute — a standards man through and through.”