The Art of Student Management in 1876
Before high-tech school discipline, a Seattle professor resorted to canine bait and geometry to manage his unruly charges.
A professor, a teacher of German, was much disturbed by an unruly bench of juniors. At last, in his despair, he said, 'That bench will either be occupied or it shall stay empty.' Whereupon the young rascals cried 'It is not the bench' and left it outside and blandly returned to the room. 'No, no,' said the professor, 'I do not mean that. I mean that the boys will go out and the bench remains.' So the juniors then brought in the bench and sat on it as though that were all that was required of them. Another professor, who was a stickler of propriety, was daily disturbed in the midst of a lecture by students barking like dogs. Finally, he turned to the students and said: 'We may use the dog story by presenting a copy of paper which reads as follows: Wanted—A dog, any breed, answer; highest prices for mongrel. Apply to Professor, room No. 3, University Building.' The dogs thereafter ceased their barking. On another occasion, the professor said to a student who had been doing terribly through recitation: 'How far off are you from the solution?' 'I despair,' replied the student, measuring the distance between himself and the professor, 'about two feet and a half.'
“I despair, replied the student, measuring the distance between himself and the professor, about two feet and a half.”
While school disruptions remain a constant, the 1876 classroom struggle—dealt with by biting wit rather than administrative policy—highlights how the 'University' in Seattle was once a small, localized social environment. Even in a frontier town, the power dynamic between exasperated professors and mischievous students remained the classic, timeless battle of wills.
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