Truman J. Backus succeeded Henry B. Buckman as head of the English
department in 1867, and for sixteen years held this position. It was
said of him, "He is a born educator," and this was true. He had been
educated for the ministry, but had never been ordained, and his first
sermon was preached in the college chapel.
[Illustration: TRUMAN J. BACKUS
1867]
He was only twenty-six years old when appointed to this post, had
little or no experience, claiming only great enthusiasm and love for
the work of his choice. If age has the courage of convictions, there
is also the indispensable courage of youth. Unhampered by ruts of
traditional methods of education, he dared to try experiments
hazardous often in the estimation of his older, more conservative
colleagues, and much of the progressive, far-seeing policy that
insured the success of that early period is due in large measure to
him. There were no smooth paths beaten out for safe walking in the
higher education of women in the beginning of his career, and
President Raymond relied a good deal for counsel and help on this
youngest member of the Faculty, who was quick to see and quick to act.
Professor Backus appreciated this trust, and always warmly
acknowledged it.
He felt the restraint of constant association with others so much
older than himself, and a certain whimsical humor would sometimes
break out, defying all convention, putting him often in a place to be
severely criticised, and which he rarely troubled himself to explain
away.
He had a genius for discovering latent and unsuspected talent and the
best work that one could do, and never grudged generous recognition
when another overtopped him. He had a dislike for the obvious answer
to the obvious question; liked to mystify, keep you in doubt as to his
real opinion. An essay was once brought in at department meeting with
great pride by one of the critics as especially clever, and far above
the average in grace and felicity of diction. Perhaps the teacher
showed too plainly her counting upon his approval, for he read the
paper aloud, slowly, critically, without the faintest sign of
appreciation, rather as if deadly bored. At the end, when her
enthusiasm had ebbed and she supposed herself entirely mistaken, he
remarked, "If I could write as well as that girl writes, I should be
proud, and I would never do another stroke of teaching as long as I
lived."
Interest was aroused by him in current topics, and I well remember one
day in his English literature class, when walking up and down with
head bent, as was his wont, listening to a brilliant recitation, he
said to the student as she finished, "That is fine. Now can you name
the three men most prominent to-day in the political life of this
country?" She hesitated, faltered. "Can any one of you in the class?"
Still silence. "How many of you are in the habit of reading carefully
a daily newspaper?" No response. Then followed a lecture such as no
one ever forgot and which prompted the formation of clubs which exist
to-day. There were no dry bones of any subject he handled. He made it
fresh, living, vital.
"I suppose these young women have some difficulty in keeping up to the
high college grade?" said a visitor in classroom one day. "On the
contrary," replied Professor Backus, "the students are the ones who
make us all work hard to keep pace with _them_."
His knowledge of civic affairs led him often to be asked to stand as
candidate for some desirable public office, to leave college for what
promised higher promotion. "No, I have but one ambition, and that is
to be a good teacher."
In 1872, he began giving an interesting course of lectures to the
seniors and juniors on the national and political topics of the day.
His Chaucer readings were very popular, and he gave several before the
Literary Society of Poughkeepsie, awakening as much enthusiasm in his
crowded town audience, as among his students in Room J. It pleased him
to get the many inquiries as to the best editions of Chaucer, and how
to study this author, from those whose acquaintance with English
literature had hitherto been very limited, and who he knew would never
bring to the subject the love he did, or find in it the same beauties.
He took keen interest in the development of the Philalethean Society,
and was one of the early speakers chosen to give the address at an
anniversary meeting, having for his subject, "Evolution in the purpose
of education." His lecture on Alexander Hamilton brought him into
notice, and he was often called upon to give it in various places; but
it was more his originality and power in the treatment of public
questions that caused him to be invited far and wide, and to which
invitation he oftenest responded. His Garfield eulogy was a most
beautiful and fitting tribute with its eloquent, impressive close.
His hold on his old Vassar friends never weakened, as scores of loving
testimonials after his death abundantly testify.
Into the dusk and snow
One fared on yesterday;
No man of us may know
By what mysterious way.
He had been comrade long;
We fain would hold him still;
But, though our will be strong,
There is a stronger will.
Beyond the solemn night
He will find morning-dream;
The summer's kindling light
Beyond the snow's chill gleam.
The clear, unfaltering eye,
The inalienable soul,
The calm, high energy,--
They will not fail the goal.
Large will be our content
If it be ours to go
One day the path he went
Into the dusk and snow.