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REMEMBRANCEALUMNI REMEMBER PROFESSOR JIM SHENTON '49Following are excerpts from some of the many letters and e-mails that CCT has received from alumni following the July 25 death of Professor Jim Shenton ’49. Because of the remarkable response from alumni spanning six decades, not every letter could be printed, and many had to be edited for length. We plan to publish more recollections of this remarkable man in our November issue.
On election night in 1956, with former Columbia president Dwight Eisenhower seeking a second term against Democrat Adlai Stevenson, Professor Shenton was providing insightful analysis for WKCR’s coverage. When it was clear that Eisenhower had again won, WKCR signed off. Shenton and a few of the station’s news staff took a walk around the campus to unwind. Passing in front of the President’s House in the wee hours, Jim looked up at the darkened windows and shouted, “It’s all right Grayson [Kirk]; Ike ain’t coming back!” Harvey Leifert ’59, ’61 GSAS Jim Shenton was the closest thing to the true Socratic than any of us are likely to encounter, in this world anyway. More than any other professor, Jim taught me how to teach. Peter S. Field ’84, ’93 GSAS [Editor’s note: The writer is professor of American history at the University of Canterbury in New Zealand.] Jim Shenton was my hero before I ever met him. As a boy in Brooklyn, and a U.S. history fanatic, I religiously watched his lectures on public television, The Rise of the American Nation. I shamelessly became a Jim Shenton groupie. Jim was a major reason for my wanting to attend Columbia and study history. When I met him and studied under him, he became even more the impetus for whatever scholarship I attained. Jim Shenton was the finest, most inspirational and most socially committed teacher I have ever known. He was my faculty adviser, my mentor, my sharpest and most correct critic, my conscience and my friend. In his superb seminar on the Civil War and Reconstruction, he taught me not only that slavery was an evil, but that the struggle for racial justice and equality did not end with Lee’s surrender at Appomattox. In his colloquium on ethnic American studies, he imbued in me an enthusiasm and respect for the diversity of the human experience, so much so that I became a United States immigration judge and professor of international human rights law. Finally, as a truly gentle man, he led me to the understanding that knowledge is but a first step toward wisdom, that character is the superior of intellect and that the search for truth and justice extend beyond the ivy-covered halls of college. His death is a loss; his life was a gift. He will never be replaced, only followed, and hopefully followed well by those of us inspired by his example. Bruce J. Einhorn ’75 "Life does not come in neat packages. If
you cannot accept a world of unanswered questions
and loose ends, you won’t survive.” Shenton was a magnet. His oversubscribed courses
drew disciples early for each class, jockeying for
choice seats. With humor and enthusiasm, for subject
and student, Jim made learning a joy. Joshua M. Pruzansky ’60, ’65L In 1951, as first-year students, Bob Brown ’55 and I and our late classmate, Joe Wishy ’55, had the opportunity on four memorable occasions to lunch with Jim and the late Dean Harry J. Carman at what was then Johnson [now Wien] Hall. We learned about and became more excited about American and world history. Carman told me of his high regard for Jim and his belief that he would certainly be a great teacher and dedicated Columbia alumnus. Over the years, I have learned from Jim’s colleagues that he was unquestionably the hardest-working teacher (along with Ted de Bary ’41). In 1999–2001, after Jim had suffered through eight years of major back infection, surgery and extended rehab, he accepted our invitation to give some talks on campus for alumni (in his wheelchair), which we videotaped. The first talk, “From Omaha Beach to Auschwitz,” covered his years from high school to service as a medic in WWII, when he was present at the liberation of the concentration camps. The tragic events he described left our group in tears. His second talk was to his Class of ’49 at its 50th reunion and the Class of ’74 on its 25th, when he covered the history of New York City. His final talk was to the Class of ’41 on its 60th. For the first time in eight years, he walked without any aid from the back of the room to the lectern and gave a very moving talk, “Have We Learned To Create a Sustainable World?” I had the honor and great pleasure of introducing him on these occasions and have watched the video of the last talk many times and taken notes on his key points. After this talk, he said to me, “I’m still proving I can do it.” I have never met a more knowledgeable, witty, generous person than Jim Shenton. Donn Coffee ’55
I had heard that Professor Shenton had a photographic memory and that he knew the names of all of his students, even in his large lecture classes. Of course, I didn’t know whether this was legend or fact. In my sophomore year, I took his “Introduction to the American Republic,” American History C1001x, and on the first day, he took attendance in a class that certainly exceeded 100 students. He never took attendance again. Several weeks later, I passed him in the lobby of Hamilton Hall, and I said hello. “Hi, Steve,” he answered. I never doubted any legend about him again. Shenton is the reason I majored in American history, and he’s one of the reasons that my four years at Columbia College were so memorable. The traffic light in his office that some students kindly brought in from the street and presented to him; the dinners he provided to my senior seminar; the books he decided to get rid of by throwing them on the floor of his home and letting us scramble for them; the Chinese robe he wore when we visited him; the myths about the American past he exploded on a regular basis; the concluding line of his lectures: “Let me leave you with this ... ” after which the bell invariably rang (like Bob Hope, who died two days later, his timing was perfect) — all of these are great memories. Stephen Steiner ’66 [Editor’s note: The writer served as CCT’s editor in 1973–74.] Taking a history seminar on segregation and racism with Professor James Shenton was probably one of the most seminal events in my college education. Shenton was a fabulous teacher, a wonderful and tolerant person and a great liberal for our time. He will be missed by all. I send my condolences to his family, to the Columbia history department and to the entire Columbia community. Alice Higgins Rice ’90 I heard about Jim Shenton’s legendary lectures from the beginning of my years at Columbia, in 1958. When I finally got into his American history course, I found the legends had understated his impact. The lecture that I best recall was a tour de force on the Spanish-American War — a brilliant blend of factual history, story-telling narrative and standup comedy that had a large hall in hysterics. Shenton affectionately punctured all the myths of 1890s American military prowess and altruism and offered reason to believe (in the depths of the Cold War) that not much had changed in the following six decades … or 10 decades, for that matter. Jim Shenton didn’t just teach us history. He taught us that critical thinking need not despise what it criticizes, and that great teaching springs from great love of the subject and the student. I have tried to follow those precepts in my 36 years of teaching. Crawford Kilian ’62 On the morning of November 26, 1963, following the unending horror and sadness of President Kennedy’s assassination, classes resumed at Columbia. You must remember that in the fall of 1963, a picture of the president of the United States hung on almost every dormitory room wall in “New” Hall. My first class was Professor Shenton’s American history survey course. “Gentlemen,” he said (that’s what we all were then), “you are living through history. PAY ATTENTION.” He then talked of Lincoln’s death days after the end of the Civil War and of Franklin Roosevelt dying before victory in WWII had been achieved. He talked about the Constitution and transition in times of terrible national turmoil. He went on for over an hour, unscripted, as usual, and you could hear a pin drop. At the end he said, “The nation is hurt, but it survives.” And then he added something to the effect that what happened that past weekend probably would influence the events in this country for the rest of our lives. How right he always was! I mourn the loss of my great teacher. Edward B. Wallace Jr. ’66 I first met Professor Shenton in my sophomore “Introduction to American History” course. I will never forget his lecture on the Roaring Twenties. We quickly became close friends. On the weekends, I would drive Jim in the car that he owned but did not drive. After those trips, often to the most wonderful places in New Jersey, we would return to his home, where he would give us history books that he had read. Often, he invited me and other class members to eat at his favorite fish restaurant. During my final, Jim came up to my desk and handed me a bottle of wine. During the summer after my sophomore year, I held a party in Harvard Square, Cambridge, for prospective Columbia students. I invited Jim to come up for the weekend and speak at the event. He launched into the most wonderful speech about the Columbia academic life; I think it impressed everyone. Jim stayed at my home, and my folks got a chance to meet my professor. Many years later, when my daughter went to the College, I reconnected with Jim, and despite being friendly with hundreds of Columbia students, he remembered me as if I were still at Columbia. In the last couple of years, I took the “Great Courses on Tape” edition of American history with Jim. It was like being in the basement of Butler Library again. The course was even better the second time around. Jim was unique, but I soon discovered that my experience was not. He was a mentor to so many of us. I always will cherish his memory. David Victor ’64 Professor James Shenton was Columbia for me. I escaped from pursuing an engineering degree to the relative safety of a history major after an unfortunate grade in first-year calculus. My first departmental course was American history, taught by a young, wildly energetic and immensely entertaining professor named Jim Shenton. I was hooked. Each class was not just an education but an entertainment. There were phonograph recordings of fife and drums as we discussed Jefferson, and flapper costumes when we examined the Roaring Twenties. Taking a Barnard girl to a Shenton class passed for a successful and cheap date. I vowed that I, too, would become a professor of history, but life took its turns, and I turned to business. I have spoken about Jim Shenton often during the past four decades, and he remains my fondest memory of life on 116th Street. Steven Hess ’60 Professor Shenton told our history class. “I can tell whether someone is a Democrat or a Republican just by looking at his house.” (Guffaws of doubt from the class.) Professor Shenton: “Democrats live in tenement houses.” (Hilarity.) Warren Boroson ’57 Professor Shenton’s courses on Reconstruction, ethnicity and WWII, as well as his guest appearances in other professors’ lectures, are among the highlights of my Columbia experience, and indeed, the main reasons for his status as a great professor and Columbia institution. But his activity with students, through his “Immoral Minority” campaign and his debate against Jerry Falwell, his counsel to students in need, his tradition of taking his seminar students to dinner and the “vice” he shared weekly — his mother’s homemade cookies! — and so much more made him a lifelong Columbia friend. Dennis Klainberg ’84 I read with great sadness about Jim Shenton’s death. Jim influenced me in countless ways, from introducing me to Cajun food to going to bat for me when I applied for a Kellett Fellowship. His passion, his engagement with the world outside the University and his generosity continue to inspire me and shape my career. Tom Sugrue ’84 Jim Shenton was my adviser from 1962–67. Anything an advisee asked of Jim, the advisee generally got. Jim was beyond generous. He would routinely gather a few of us and take us out to expensive dinners. His favorite restaurants at the time were the Copenhagen Smorgasbord in midtown, and Grenados and El Faro in the Village. The dinners became such a tradition, and Jim was so congenial about them, that some of us would even bug him when we felt it had been too long since the last. “When are we going out to dinner?” we’d ask. He would unfailingly respond, “Tonight!” For those in his history classes, there was no term paper extension too long. When an advisee took a semester off, there was no letter he was not prepared to write to a draft board, creatively holding off 1-A status. “This young man is performing research for me that may become extremely important in placing the current conflict in historical context … ” His generosity sometimes got him more than he wished. Jim couldn’t drive. An advisee bought an MG convertible, asked Jim to countersign the note (“Of course!”) and then couldn’t make the payments. Jim ended up with the MG, which sat, gathering dust, near his apartment in New Jersey. He would occasionally ask one of us to come over and drive him somewhere in it, just to keep the battery charged and reinflate the tires. During the summer of 1964, Jim got a call from a former advisee who was working near Orangeburg, S.C., organizing in the civil rights movement. He told Jim they needed money and asked Jim if he would help out. Jim called me and said, “I need you to drive me to South Carolina this weekend.” I wasn’t going to say no, so Jim and I took off and drove down and back in three days, both getting heat stroke and horrible sunburns from driving with the top down. We hauled a big wad of cash and a trunkful of groceries and, as I recall, some French wine from the Shenton family liquor store. We got a strong whiff of fear and oppression and returned with hearts full of admiration for the black and white male and female activists we met who lived and worked every day in circumstances that scared the hell out of us in just one weekend. Jim also was gleeful about his atheism. When I was a freshman and fancied the only defensible theology to be agnosticism, I challenged him to sell me his immortal soul for a buck. “Draw up the contract!” he said. I did, paid him the buck, he signed it, and I lost it sometime after leaving Morningside Heights. If he’s changed his mind, I hereby release it. John Boyd ’67
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