During the second semester of our second year of Business School, 1977, we tried to lessen the tension surrounding job hunting by organizing a contest around who had received the most onerous rejection letter from a prospective employer. Letters were taped to the wall in the student lounge where all could see that even the best students were getting some pretty savage rejections!

Professor Bierman was asked to serve as the judge, which he did with aplomb! Imagine a chaired professor, dressed in a Dime Store cowboy hat with revolver, awarding the "Silver Bullet" award to the person with the most devastating rejection letter. It was one of the most memorable highlights of my two years at Cornell and the foundation of a friendship that extends to this day. Thanks Hal!!

Seventy years ago I entered Professor Tenney's freshman English class. When we were instructed to submit our first theme, we were allowed to select the subject.

I felt rather cocky, having won an award for my achievements in English while a high school senior. Wanting to get off to a good start at Cornell, I carefully planned my subject and proceeded to describe a romantic episode on the pond near my home that was better known as an ice skating rink. Imagine my shock when Mr. Tenney returned my paper graded D-plus.

What could be done to improve my style? The time did not arrive until my last theme. Again we were given a choice of subjects. In the interim, I had learned that Mr. Tenney was a contract bridge fiend. I was also nearing the end of my course in college algebra, where I had studied about permutations and combinations. Then an idea hit me. What about a theme based on the formula for determining the number of possible bridge hands that could be dealt from a deck of 52 cards. The result was a grade of A!

Rather than average all of our grades during the course to determine out final grade, Mr. Tenney was looking primarily for improvements in our writing style. My good grade for the course was based on my tremendous improvement.

Mr. Mizener taught Shakespeare, among other subjects in the English Department. He was generous with his time in giving enthusiastic talks in the evening -- good for non-English majors to be exposed to various subjects they might not have had time to study for a full course. The epitome of the fluent, tweedy, and charming faculty don of his day, he also taught me about not stepping over the line.
As usual, I had procrastinated in writing a paper. I should have sought an extension in advance, but instead, went to him on the day it was was due. We fixed a reasonable time for "Shakespeare and the Law" to be submitted. "One more thing," he said, "whatever grade you get on the paper, I will reduce it by a letter."

"But sir, 'the quality of mercy is not strained.'", I said. He looked up at me in a not unkind way, but said: "I am not Portia -- other people met the deadline." He then suggested some mid 20th Century fiction about the law for me to read in my spare time.

I wrote his daughter a condolance note. I keep her touching reply between the pages of "The Far Side of Paradise."

John Kronik's commitment to his students, enthusiasm for Spanish literature and culture, and talents as a teacher were extraordinary. Each week he would pour over the essays we submitted and return them with copious yet succinct notes of critique and encouragement. In his seminar classes he would ensure that everyone's ideas were heard. As a sophomore in courses with peers as well as graduate students I gained great insights and confidence. Prof. Kronik is a brilliant example of the high quality of Cornell faculty members.

Fred Kahn is a passionate teacher with an incredible fund of knowledge, a fabulous sense of humor, and the ability to engage anyone, however resistant, in some aspect of economics. At 85, he is as charming and cutting-edge as ever, and I cherish our ongoing friendship. I will be eternally grateful to him as a mentor, a role model, and the teacher who made me an economics major because I was so excited by his excitement.