Before the fall semester began, the president of Christiania College reminded Steve that he was entitled to take a sabbatical leave of a year and that, although this normally required a year’s previous notice, they were prepared to make an exception for him this year in view of the circumstances. But he replied that no, there was no way he felt he could profitably use such a year at this point. So the middle of September found him once again trudging up the hill each morning to spend most of the day in his turret, venturing out only to conduct his classes or to assist students in the laboratory or to attend chapel. It is quite possible that he would have spent the entire school year just going through the motions if something quite extraordinary had not occurred at the beginning of the semester.
Rolph Eriksen entered Christiania College in the fall of 1959 primarily because of Dr. Pearson. He had heard of the double personal tragedy that had struck his revered mentor, and this made him even more eager to be near him at this time. On the first day of class when he saw Dr. Pearson shuffle inertly into the room without so much as a glance at his students, he knew he was beholding a very different man. The renowned professor moved stiffly as if in pain. When he reached the lecture stand, he thumbed through the class cards without looking up. Absently he fastened the vest microphone around his neck, fiddling with it for a moment or two until it was comfortable. Then muttering between his teeth he said, “This is Physics 25, Lecture Section D. Please answer when I call your name.”
One by one he went through the alphabetically arranged stack of cards until he came to the E’s.
“James Edwards.”
“Here.”
“Harold Engquist.”
“Here.”
“Rolph Eriksen.”
“Here.”
“Donald….”
“Rolph Eriksen?” he repeated, puzzled.
Then, raising his eyes and removing his reading glasses, he said, “Rolph, would you please raise your hand?”
The lad, about halfway back on the right side, lifted his hand just high enough to attract the professor’s eye. A furtive smile played on his lips.
“Hello, Rolph,” Dr. Pearson said, warming up considerably. “I … I’m glad to see you.”
He nodded his head in the young man’s direction, replaced his glasses, and sank into the class cards once more. He had to clear his throat a few times before he could resume the roll call.
After four months of nonstop numbness, something had reawakened a bit of feeling in him. Something had found and touched a live nerve.