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The son of a World War II commander of the aircraft carrier Enterprise, Hardison started out to be a biophysicist at M.I.T., lost interest, drifted with a bohemian crowd as a nonstudent in Berkeley. He enrolled at Chapel Hill, where he lived on campus in a tent, dabbled in leftist causes, followed the literary criticism of T. S. Eliot and Allen Tate into an engrossing interest in the Renaissance. It is a period, he says, that raises "unsettling new ideas that are constantly relevant to life today."
Hardison taught for a time at Princeton, found it "a little elegant." But he loves tree-shaded Chapel Hill, where his two classes of 50 students each are small enough so that he can read all student papers at least once, and the best ones twice, and comment critically on all. He revises his courses each term, insists that professional publication stimulates teaching, and bears out that belief with a flow of books.
Living Math. Caltech's H. Frederick Bohnenblust, 60, is a veteran dean of graduate studies who remains perennially ecstatic about teaching basic mathematics to undergraduates. He handles a class of 100 students in almost Socratic fashion, keeping up a gentle, good-humored patter with students in the front rows and offering a soft "Thank you" when they chuckle at his phrasing. A symbol is "this thing," formulas are "pleasing and esthetic."
"Once you've understood that math is just straight thinking, just plain common sense," he says, "then anyone can do it." He makes it even easier with his slow-paced, nontechnical language, constantly links math's logic to life. Launched on a spirited application of math to the lift of an aircraft wing at a recent class bell, he talked on clear through another bell. No one stirred. When he finally finished, Caltech's unexcitable young scientists burst into applause.
Enchanting in class, Swiss-born Bohnenblust nevertheless maintains an Old World reserve in his relations with students. "I hate to spoon-feed math to a student who's not interested," he explains, "and I love to talk math to a student who is." Too many students, he feels, "expect to be given things" rather than seize the opportunity to learn. "I chose mathematics as my profession, not teaching," he adds, "but I love math and want to communicate its ideas—especially to the younger generation."
An Onstage Presence. For "Bohney," there is great satisfaction when he puts one of those ideas across. He knows he has scored, he explains, when, "before I get to the punch line, I see a smile on the student's face because he knows what I am going to say next. How much better that is than a look of astonishment when I've delivered my last sentence."