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¶ Columbia's Carl William Ackerman, 66, dean of the Graduate School of Journalism, which has turned out such noted news and magazine men as Lester Markel of the New York Times, Co-Editor Bruce Gould of the Ladies' Home Journal, and Columnist George Sokolsky. A graduate of the school's first class in 1913, Ackerman became dean in 1931, turned the school into a one-year graduate institution with as stiff requirements and standards as any in the country. He helped found the American Press Institute and the Maria Moors Cabot awards for journalists who serve inter-American understanding. His own Gresham's Law: in a free press, "good news, meaning truthful information, always has and always will drive bad news, meaning false information, out of circulation."
¶ Yale's Botanist Edmund Ware Sinnott, 68, who as director of the Division of Sciences and dean of the Graduate School has as much as any man led the way in eliminating narrow specialties at Yale and in making sure that all Yalemen get in common the broad "background of all human knowledge." A gentle-mannered man who signs his amateur paintings "Edmund Ware" and is an authority on old Connecticut tombstones, Scientist Sinnott has spent a lifetime trying to heal the split between science and faith. "The two roads to truth . . . the way of science, confident in reason, and the way of faith, depending on the insights of the spirit, do not follow the same course." Yet man should not "regret these differences but rather rejoice in them. They are the two halves that make men whole; from tension between them, character is born."
¶Johns Hopkins' Kemp Malone, 67, brother of Biographer Dumas (Jefferson and His Time) Malone and himself a top authority on Old English literature. Because of his musical ear and his knowledge of phonetics, scholarly Kemp Malone could charm his classes by making the Canterbury Tales sound as if Chaucer himself were reading them. He could also terrify his students by storming at them over the slightest mistranslation. He continually failed to recognize even the brightest English majors, seldom entertained his colleagues, seemed to have an ingrained aversion to lunch at the faculty club. But for all his crotchets, he commanded his full measure of respect, and on his retirement the university paid him an unintentional compliment. Henceforth, it announced—with no Malone around to make it worthwhile—Old English will be dropped as a requirement for a Ph.D. in English literature.