Why In Heaven's Name
are You Majoring In Greek?
Classical Association of the
Atlantic States
Princeton
April 29, 2000
(This is the text of a talk given at the Spring CAAS
meeting by Lynn Sherr of ABC News)
Good afternoon.
If I had any guts I'd begin this talk the way an
incredibly gifted professor did in my Greek 101 class at
Wellesley. The legendary Barbara McCarthy -; who stood
about 4' tall and almost as wide -; strode into a
classroom full of slightly nervous students and boomed
out in her rich Irish baritone, "Menin aeida theia…"
etc. I was mesmerized -; as we all were -; and absolutely
hooked for the next 3 years. I also understood not a word
that she said.
Miss McCarthy had more guts, and infinitely more
knowledge, than I in many ways, so I will yield to my
intimidation of your own scholarship and stick to the
language I know a lot better. Which I probably know a lot
better because I majored in Greek, but that's getting
ahead of myself.
Let me say at the outset that I am delighted to be
here with you, even though, when Judy Hallett first asked
me to do this, I was baffled. What, I asked her, could I
possibly say to a room full of Classics Scholars? Judy, I
elaborated, I don't do anything with my Greek. She
gave me a sly look and asked again. And again. So here I
am. Then she called me a few months ago to confirm the
date and to find out the title of my speech. I was
feeling a bit flippant (and no doubt totally rushed by
some deadline or other), so I said, "Oh, let's call it,
Why in Heaven's Name are You Majoring in Greek?"
And then I realized, that that's a sentence that's
been in my brain for nearly 40 years, because that's what
everyone always asked me then, and still does. And that's
when I understood that in fact, I am doing
something with my Greek -; I am living it every day and
using it in everything I write and read and say.
The short answer to the question is simple: Why did I
major in Greek? Because I liked it. Loved it. And yes, I
think it's made me a better person. Really.
I suppose I ought to start at the beginning.
I knew from a very young age that I wanted to be a
journalist, but that didn't make it any easier when it
came time to get there.
When I graduated from college in 1963, women weren't
supposed to have careers -; we were supposed to marry
them. The perennial joke at my alma mater concerned the
college motto -; Non ministrari, sed ministrare. You all
speak Latin, so I needn't translate -- "not to be
ministered unto, but to minister"; or, not to be passive
but active. Thousands of cynical students re- interpreted
it as, Not to be ministers, but ministers' wives. My
class captured the feeling further with a spoof that
showed graduates in training not to be diplomats, but
diplomats' wives. You will no doubt sleep more soundly
tonight knowing that Madeleine Albright was not in my
class.
The real world reinforced that attitude. When I got to
New York and started job-hunting, all the doors were
slammed against female applicants. Like all of my female
pals, I was told point blank by most news organizations
that they "just weren't interested in women." Time and
Newsweek routinely told us that as girls (and that's what
we called ourselves then), we could get hired at the clip
desk, which means clipping articles out of newspapers for
the files. Boys who graduated with the exact same skills
were automatically hired as junior writers. Glass
ceiling? We weren't expected to raise our eyes above the
pile of folders on our desks. As for television news,
forget it. That was another exclusive men's club -;
invented by men, run by men, aimed at men. Extraordinary
as it may seem, it never occurred to any of us to
question that attitude. It's the way things were.
In case you're interested, I started out in the
magazine world because Conde Nast understood that women
were very good workers who would not demand very high
wages. Then I went to the Associated Press, which was at
least slightly less threatened by female reporters than
the rest of the media. I got into television in 1972
because another woman -; another blonde -; was leaving.
It was channel 2 news in New York City, and Pia
Lindstrom, then a general assignment reporter, was
quitting to have a baby. I quickly discovered that all
the people being auditioned for the job had hair just
like Pia's, and mine. So I refer to it as the blonde seat
at channel 2. If you have to be female, they were saying,
you better be blonde.
It got better, but I was constantly reminded that
working in television can be a very humbling
experience.
There was the time I was a local TV reporter in New
York, and I got a call very early one morning to cover a
story out in Brooklyn. It seems there had been some sort
of miracle microsurgery operation, and there would be a
press conference at 9 am. I jumped out of bed threw on
some clothes, met the crew and drove to the hospital. As
I was walking through the lobby -- clearly a TV reporter,
since I had a cameraman in tow -- an elederly gentleman
came right up to me, stopped, stared and said, "Say,
you're on televison, you're Lynn Sherr, right?" I smiled
proudly and said, "Right." "Well," he said, squinting up
at me, "you look better on television." Needless to say,
I sprinted for the ladies room and put on some
makeup.
When I left that job and had been off the air for a
few weeks, someone else actually stopped me on the street
and said, Didn't you used to be Lynn Sherr? How does one
respond?
And then there was that other story that I used to
cover: space. Take the idea that space and space coverage
are glamorous. You will recall that shuttle lift-offs
tend to take place at the crack of dawn -- which means
those of us anchoring the launches needed to be in place
long before the sun even thought of rising. One time my
husband came down to see the liftoff (and me) and found
himself driving me to the press site on a hot Florida
morning in the pitch black at 2 a.m. While he struggled
to find the road, I went over some last-minute notes. And
as we made our way along the highway, he turned to me
with eyes barely open and said, "Thank you for sharing
the glamorous part of your life!"
Today, I know things have changed because I get fewer
requests for interviews on the subject of "What's it like
being a woman reporter?" It's a question I could never
answer because I had no basis for comparison. Anyway now
the question they all ask is, What's it like being an
older woman on TV? I try to pretend I haven't heard the
question.
The message of course is that WE are the role models
now, which I consider fine progress. When I was growing
up all I had was a cartoon character. Brenda Starr.
Pretty good, as it goes &emdash; she was gorgeous,
adventurous, and always got her story; but not exactly
the flesh-and-blood hero you want your daughters to
have.
` Which is where the Greeks -; among others -- came
in. I was in high school, outside of Philadelphia,
feeling pretty cocky that I'd be a writer and loving all
my English courses … when suddenly, out of nowhere,
I found myself in an Ancient History class. Oh God, I
thought. All those old people And then I learned -; about
the wisdom and the legends and the heroism of the
ancients -; about great events and even greater
literature and a time full of extraordinary human
achievement. I was fascinated.
When I got to college, determined to continue with
literature, I had a change of heart about the French
courses I'd been determined to go on with. Frankly, I was
bored. So in my sophomore year, when I needed another
language, I remembered the ancient history course …
discovered Greek in the catalogue … and signed up.
With a good deal of excitement, but some trepidation.
In walked Miss McCarthy that first day, and all my
apprehension vanished. Studying classical Greek was, to
me, not only fun and fascinating and eye-opening, it was
like a puzzle -; a new secret code -; endlessly
delightful despite having to learn all those
declensions.
In my Bible History class, a quaint requirement at
Wellesley in those days, I actually took notes in Greek,
and in the little Hebrew I remembered, to the
consternation of anyone who sat next to me.
At Wellesley, we even did Greek plays -; in Greek,
with masks and costumes and flutes -; you name it. One
year I was a frog in The Frogs, performed around the
indoor swimming pool (as the River Styx). My solo
performance that semester was limited to a bravura cameo
during Sophomore Father's Week End when I came out of the
"Brekekekex Koax Koax," with a wave and a rousing,
"Pater!" I think my father understood.
The other plays were done at our outdoor amphiteater,
in use since the 1930s -; I was Heracles in the Alcestis,
in a grinning mask and fearsome lionskin; and I was
Dionysus in The Bacchae, ominously appearing as the deus
ex machina in a genuine machina (well, it was a
cherry-picker) hand-cranked above the cedar trees for my
miraculous moment. The other night I took a look at the
book that served as a play script and was amused to note
that I had written into the margins of that speech,
"mysterious voice."
That, I should point out, is about the only English
notation I can find in all of my Greek texts. I was
into it -; and made my notes in Greek. And of
course can't read one of them today.
Perhaps that's what my parents were concerned about
when I first approached them with the idea that I might
actually major in this strange subject. And at least one,
or both, of them -; and a number of my friends and dates
-- actually said the title of this speech a number of
times. How to explain the excitement of the language and
the literature? How to convey the thrill of repeating out
loud the actual words written and spoken so many
centuries before?
I should pause here to point out that majoring in -; let
alone studying -; Greek was not something I should have
taken for granted. In 1875, when Wellesley first opened
its doors, the founder pointed out in an opening sermon
that what he was doing by educating young women AND
providing them the opportunity to study the classics was
considered shocking in many circles. He cited the Boston
physician who warned (remember, this was 1875) that
"woman's brain was too delicate and fragile a thing to
attempt the mastery of Greek and Latin." And an
influential matron of the times quoted her doctor as
saying, "there will be two insane asylums and three
hospitals for every woman's college."
Nonetheless, the folks at Wellesley, and other
schools, persevered. And succeeded. A member of the Board
of Visitors reported with astonishment to the trustees in
1883 that "the attainment in Latin and Greek on the part
of the young ladies is superior to anything found in our
colleges for young men."
One of those early graduates recalled the ideal nature
of Wellesley in those days: visits by Longfellow, Oliver
Wendell Holmes, Matthew Arnold -; and someone who
attended "our classes and does not find, to his surprise,
what MRs. Browning calls woman's Greek without the
accents."
We studied it, accents and all, and we even learned
some modern Greek just for fun. I still do very well in
Greek restaurants. And let me tell you, being a blonde
former Greek major who also knew some Modern Greek and
traveling through the Aegean in the late 1960s was very
very cool.
And no, it never occurred to me that I would ever do
anything professional with my Greek. I've thought about
that and wondered if it's a waste of my teachers' time -;
sort of like someone taking up a place in medical school
and then going to write novels or something. But I'm
convinced that it's good for all of us, and that I wasn't
there under any false pretenses.
I've had this conversation with my other college Greek
professor, the wonderful and famed Mary Lefkowitz, who
remains a good friend. Mary told me she knew I wouldn't
become an academic, but that I was "so enthusiastic, who
cared?" She says she understood how much pleasure I got
from it all.
As for her own career, it turns out she took Greek
(and Latin, of course) for the same reason I did: much of
it was so much more interesting than English. But she
also ran into the "Why in heaven's name…" question.
She thought she had to major in something practical -;
that being a classicist wasn't a career, for heaven's
sake. On the other hand, chemistry put her to sleep. So
once she started, she never stopped, and says she has
never regretted it. "I realized I understood lots of
other things because of Greek," Mary told me. "I could do
anyting in literature."
Not to mention grammar. I must tell you that besides
improving my vocabulary, it's helped me understand the
structure of language. I actually like diagramming
sentences -; and they made more sense once I learned
Greek.
By the way, we're in great company. Guess who else was
a Greek major? The wonderful Ben Bradlee, former editor
of the Washington Post. Ben told me he'd started earlier
than I -; as a young student at St. Marks he studied
Greek in 10th grade with a gifted Mr. Chips
sort of teacher who said things like this of an unruly
student: "Big as Mt. Olympus and he doesn't know a
thing."
But Ben really got hooked at Harvard, where he
confesses to have been less than a diligent student,
because he met the amazing John Finley. Again, a gifted
teacher. "They made it so interesting," he recalled to me
the other day. "We translated fragments of Sappho from a
photograph of pottery shards. It was like a detective
story."
Indeed. Ben also agreed that it was about what he
calls "the glory of language." And there's this. "The net
value of studying Greek?" he said. "Crossword puzzles.
Boy am I good at them." Me too.
I did a little research on the internet and realized
that so many of us have had the exact same experience.
There's one little dialogue, on the Notre Dame website,
written by a fellow named Dave Freddoso. I don't know if
he's a student there now or not, but here's his essay.
It's a conversation between himself and another fellow, a
business major. Dave is "I"; the business major,
"bus."
I: "Ah, sir. I see by your clothes that you
must be a business major."
BUS: "What do you mean? I'm only wearing shorts and a
T-shirt."
I: "Never mind."
BUS: "No, really, how could you tell? What's your
major, anyway?"
I: "Classical Greek."
BUS: "Classical Greek?! Ha! I've never heard of that
major."
I: "(Sigh) My friend (the other Greek major) and I put
up with a lot of flack from friends about our major,
although I don't know why."
BUS: "But how on earth did you decide to major in
Greek?
I: "Several reasons, I guess. Most importantly, I like
it."
BUS: "You're studying something because you LIKE
it?"
I: "Yes. Also, I was lucky enough not to get a certain
unethical Freshman Year advisor who steers young
students away from Greek and Latin. But I don't have
any hard evidence to verify that, so I just won't
mention it at all. But mainly because I like it."
BUS: "But Classical Greek? That has no job market.
That's totally impractical!"
I: "Nonsense. Greek is much more practical than your
major."
BUS: "What?! What could you do with a degree in Greek?
Flip burgers?"
I: "First, tell me what you can do with your
major?"
BUS: "Why, all sorts of things. I can go into the
whole 'REAL WORLD' of business!"
I: "Do you think THIS world is fake or something?"
BUS: "Well, no, but ... you know what I mean."
I: "Well, as for me, with a major in Greek, I could
flip burgers, if I wanted. Or I could go to law
school, or go into journalism, or politics, or
education, or I could go to graduate school, I guess.
I'd be very qualified to do any of those interesting
things if I work hard now."
BUS: "Well, uh, but I'm the only one who can go into
business. I'll have a much better paying and more
secure job than you will. That's why I started in
business in the first place."
I: "Oh, I forgot. After I finish in Classical Greek, I
could also get an MBA, or start a small business when
I get out of school, or go into something like sales,
or management, or database work, or I could even get
hired by one of those consulting firms. As it turns
out, many of the ones who are coming to campus this
year have bought books full of senior Arts and Letters
resumes."
BUS: "What? Are you trying to say that your major is
more practical than mine just because you will be
qualified to go into all those different fields, while
I can go into just one or two of them?"
I: "Yes ..."
BUS: "And I suppose that next, you are going to tell
me that Greek is more fun than spreadsheets?"
I: "Yes ..."
BUS: "And then you will say that I should change my
major to something more interesting than business,
like Greek, or maybe philosophy or even history,
because I could get a fine job anyway with any of
those majors?"
I: "Yes ..."
BUS: "Oh, I see ..."
I: "Well?"
BUS: "Hmm ...uh ... well ... maybe ... oh, no, what am
I thinking! I can't do that! Don't you see? I need
business to fall back on! No Arts and Letters majors
ever get good jobs. They all just starve to death on
the streets after they graduate!"
I: "(Sigh.) Never mind. Nice meeting you."
Sound familiar? And there's the Classics Teachers'
Page, from somewhere in England, where a slew of success
stories answer the time honored question, What are the
advantages of a Classical Education. Sample answers:
- A contestant on Britain's "Who wants to be a
millionaire?" used his fone-a-friend opportunity to
answer the question, ""What creatures live in a
formicary?" His classically educated friend on the end
of the phone-line was immediately able to state it
held ants, and not bees, fish or worms. Unfortunately
Mr Green bottled it on question 13 (a simple question
about the wives of Henry VIII) - and ended up with a
mere quarter of a million.
- CRIME …One Classics major from Manchester
University wound up as a police sergeant; one whose
preferred reading is Thucydides and Tacitus, Homer and
Sophocles. Roberta married a convicted murderer named
Kray (prompting the Guarding to ask whether the House
of Kray wasn't rather tame compared to the House of
Atreus); and another Greek student from Italy has
risen to the top ranks of the Cosa Nostra.
- And then there was this item, scrawled on a school
blackboard after a first Latin Lesson. The subject is
Latin, but I'll take it to mean Greek as well. It
read, "Latin is the first subject we do in life
entirely for its own sake. A degree at university in
Classics leads to almost any job in the world. It
gives one a disinterestedness in the study of any
subject. Disinterestedness is NOT being uninterested.
Quite the opposite: it is a love of studying without
any practical result intended - and it gives the soul
a peace, an inner control, a quiet joy beyond
words."
Well, sure. That's what I meant to say all along.
What I want to say in conclusion is thanks -; to all of
you out there who are making it possible for people like
me to learn, to love, to understand. Don't stop. I
promise you, you are making a huge difference.
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