Remembering the beauty of Richmond
Editor’s note: Joel Harnett wrote this remembrance about one year before he died.
I came to Richmond College with my brother, arriving by trolley car, then walking onto the campus through dogwoods and azaleas. To this kid from Brooklyn, it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.
I majored in economics and studied with Herman Thomas and George Modlin, two gracious, inspiring and learned men. But perhaps the most memorable professor was Samuel Chiles Mitchell, a curmudgeonly scholar, well along in years, who had continued teaching by necessity during the war years. Upon the assembly of our first class, he asked the students who was the greatest American who ever lived. Like a single shot, the answer volleyed back. “Robert E. Lee!” He chuckled and said the purpose of his course was to teach us history, not allegiance. Mitchell was a radical thinker for Richmond and for his day. He taught the idea of the “reasoned truth.” It stayed with me.
I thought Richmond was the South, therefore warm, so I did not bring appropriate clothing. My dormitory was unheated, and I never forgot how chilled it was during that first winter. I roomed with a young man from Fredericksburg, Va., whose dream was to join the Marines. He spent his nights testing his capacity for beer, yet was always up at the crack of dawn. “Turn the radio on!” His radio blared the Gospel tune. “Listen to your master’s voice. Get in touch with God.” This drove me to get in touch with my pillow and the deep warmth of the blankets, but the admonition burrowed into my consciousness. My roommate was an affable, terrific companion, a marked contrast from some of my bookish Brooklyn pals. He was an important part of my education.
The classes were small, and the teachers often were recalled from retirement to take over for younger professors who got drafted into the military. One of those world war retreads was Robert Loving, who taught physics and referred to me as “the poet.” Robert Smart taught biology and introduced me to the mysteries of science.
There was always a spirit of community and tolerance at the school, a sense of respecting others, and the smallness of the school gave me a chance to flex many muscles. I didn’t think I was being “educated,” but I was learning to express myself and to represent something bigger than I was.
I do not know if a college can prepare a student for life. Knowledge and people change. No one can predict the twists of fate. But a college can nurture an inner resource, a way of thinking or reacting that stays with you forever. For me it was my fellow students and the many teachers who always had time to test our ideas. But perhaps more than anything else, it was the beauty of the campus itself. The lake in particular was magical. Walking around it became a resource in my life to which I retreated in memory to capture a sense of serenity.
Over the years, the University grew, nurtured by generous donors and leaders who appreciated the importance of beauty. I knew five presidentsÑBoatwright, Modlin, Heilman, Morrill and Cooper. I followed the school’s many achievementsÑthe presidential debate, classes abroad, the establishment of a school for leadership studies. I was proud of it all, but the proudest moment for me was the opening of the Modlin Center and its museum of art.
My wife, Lila, and I encouraged the University to deepen its involvement in the arts. During the past decade, we sponsored programs to bring great American artists to campus and to invite the entire community to meet them. The response was terrific.
I hope the school’s fathers never forget the importance of beauty on the campus. The sense of serenity it fosters is an essential ingredient of education.
The University’s art museum is named in honor of Joel and Lila Harnett, as is the University’s print study center. To read more remembrances of the University, go to Richmond Remembrances.
