Sort of a Beadle

In the middle of the last century, the Reverend Mr. Jacob Abbott wrote a series of guide books for children in which a character named Rollo asked endless questions of his Uncle George. Delmar Leighton '19, Dean of Students, likes to quote from a parody of the series called Rollo Visits Cambridge in which Rollo asks Uncle George, "what is a Dean?" and his sage relation answers: "A Dean is a sedate gentleman scated at a table playing solitaire, but he is also sort of a beadle, 'an official guide to the University' allowed to receive no fees for his services." Then Dean Leighton sometimes adds, "laying aside my solitaire for the moment. . ."

While somewhat puzzled as to why he had been selected as subject of a Profile, Mr. Leighton admits to holding down one of the most important jobs in the College. Dean of Students is a recently improvized position which is both the remains of Dean Bender's job, Dean of the College, shorn of its more intimate connections with scholarships and admissions work, and the pinnacle of a new and decentralized decanal hierarchy called the Senior Tutor system.

"I don't know what my duties are, now," its occupant admits, and at present he talks about it in somewhat wary generalities. "I'm a University officer," he says, stressing the word University, "standing for keeping some unity in a College that, under the new House tutorial system, is being broken up."

Various University satrapies, once semi-autonomous, have been gathered under his wing with the adoption of the Senior Tutor plan, such as the testing department, the Placement Office and of course the Houses, and though they still operate more or less independently, Dean Leighton is responsible for their working in harmony. Moreover, the Dean must see to it that the Houses and the Departments are not forever at each others' throats over the matter of Tutorial. "Essentially, he says, "my job is seeing that the sytem works."

Coming here is 1916 from Tunkhanock, Pa., and Exeter, Delmar Leighton was forced to leave in his sophomore years for service in France. After discharge, he matriculated for six months and gained a degree in 1919. The first job he took was in a textile mill in Rhode Island, putting a gloss on cloth. Next he tried selling Addressograph machines, but soon hied back to Cambridge and the Business School.

It was from there that the University plucked him, and he began his career as a Proctor in Smith Hall, now part of Kirkland House, which was then host to the Freshman hordes. He soon moved to University Hall to become Assistant Dean in Charge of Records, a job the Registrar fulfills today. His interest in Economics led him to tutoring in that field and to presiding over Ec A sections for four years.

Although remaining a tutor, Leighton soon moved back to University Hall, this time as trouble-shooter for Freshmen who that year had moved into the Yard. "I have become more and more enmeshed in Dean's Office affairs," he wrote for his class' 25th alumni report, "and my claims as an economist are feeble." In the printing of the book, the last word was altered to read "feeble-minded", but this Dean Leighton laughs about and possibly regards as a delayed "College" prank.

He continued as Dean until "we entered this game of Musical Chairs" last year, when Admissions Director Gummere retired. Dean Beuder replaced him. Dean Leighton became Dean of Students, and Scholarships Director F. Skiddy von Stade became Freshmen Dean. At one time somewhat skeptical over the plan which clevated him, he has since become enthusiastic about it. "The two most worthwhile things done here recently," he says," are setting up group tutorial on a House basis, and bringing the facilities for commnters up to par with those of other students."

Unlike most of the University Hall hicrarchy. Dean Leighton has never been one for hopping onto the next Limited and making a whistle stop four of the nation's schools. During the middle thirties, however, he did set out on a series of trips, devoted especially to debunking the notion that boys west of the Mississippi don't do well at Harvard and after graduation are no good to the folks at home. Mr. Leighton points out, by way of example, that two members of his class have served as police chief and fire commissioner of Tulsa and Oklahoma City. But except for this, and occasional visits for speechmaking purposes, Dean Leighton remains, solitaire and all, a homebody in Cambridge.