Hartley S. Spatt – 50th Reunion Essay

Hartley S. Spatt

237 Great Neck Road

Great Neck, NY 11021

hss24@aol.com

516-652-7630

Spouse(s): Wendy Spatt, since (1971)

Child(ren): Martin (1977), Samantha (1980)

Grandchild(ren): Marley (2010, Juliette (2011), Madden (2013), Daisy (2013), Nate (2016)

Education: MA NYU, 1971; MA, PhD. Johns Hopkins 1975

Career: SUNY Maritime College, 1976-2016: State University Distinguished Teaching Professor, 2004 —

Avocations: writing; sports; games of chance

College: Timothy Dwight

When I arrived at Yale in the fall of 1965, I declared that I would major in physics—I was going to win the Nobel Prize by the age of 40. Little did I know…. By the middle of my sophomore year, that major had changed to physics and philosophy, one of those great ’60s “interdisciplinary” mélanges; and by the next year I was an English major. Admittedly, some of that change was the result of my confrontation with partial differential equations, but a large part of it was a long-term result of my first semester, when I took a seminar with Richard Sylvester, an authority on Renaissance English literature. He took the “hotshot New Yorker” out of my writing, and showed me that there was much pleasure in the life of the academic professional.

At the time I thought little of this transformation—I thought little of everything. That year I decided to build a bonfire celebrating a football victory—at the base of my Farnam stairwell; it certainly was “filthy Farnam” after all that soot! Alas, I didn’t learn from that experience. Having won the room lottery, my junior roommates and I got a suite with a fireplace; one day we decided we would light a fire there. The log we had was too big to fit lengthwise, so we put one end in, never considering that the flames would spread from the lit end to the other end, which was sticking out into the room a good two feet—more soot!

Having survived these attempts at burning myself to death, I started to find some things worth pursuing. I completed an MA in English, and then a PhD, and began teaching. At first I taught firefighters and nurses, working 12-hour shifts: one class at 8:00 a.m., the same one at 8:00 p.m.—I finally learned fire safety from their essays on the consequences of negligence. Then I taught prisoners at Patuxent Institution for the Criminally Insane, where I saw how hungry people of all backgrounds and status are to gain a sense of self-worth.

In 1976, I became an assistant professor at a small college in the SUNY system, where I would stay throughout my 40-year career. I wrote more than 80 essays, and a book, on the literature, art, and technology of the 19th and 20th centuries; I rose to distinguished teaching professor and served three terms as vice president for Academic Affairs; I considered myself indispensable—still not wholly grown up! After I retired, I returned for the first faculty meeting; the college president asked, “What are you doing here? You’re retired!” I guess I am still learning…

Did Yale prepare me for the life I have lived? It gave me the tools to rise in academia; it fostered in me a sense that we are in some way responsible for those less fortunate; and it tried, but failed, to make me a better person. That last was my fault, not Yale’s.