Myself

Myself

Myself

Myself

Excerpt

I write this biography in sorrow and doubt. It would not be done except for the insistence of my Friday Niters. Several generations of them, on my seventieth anniversary, 1932, presented me with a fund of $1,500 for travel and recovery of health. They set up a Labor Research Library in the University under my name and portrait. There are deposited all the books written by my students, along with my own books and articles covering forty years, in uniform red binding.

Here I am, beyond the biblical years, almost out of action since 1930, quite despondent that my working hours are forced down to two, or three, or nothing, with prolonged vacations and one two-hour lecture per week, living on a Carnegie pension and an emeritus salary. I cannot understand these benefactions from my past and present students, at a time when they cannot afford it and when I look into myself and see many years of mistakes and misdemeanors. Even the so-called "courage," which they played up in a leaflet commemorating my seventieth anniversary, I know was really timidity. I was always experimenting and always trying out theories on other people.

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