Medford mail tribune., February 26, 1961, Image 33

At 70,
for a
III
I Traded
a Cap and Gown
Floor Mop
By JOHN FRANKLIN SMITH
as told to John Ross
Call him
Many legends revolve about the hallowed
grounds of Otterbein College. But when the
boys and girls arrive on the Westerville, Ohio,
campus for the first time, they're almost certain
to hear the story of "Prof" Smith as a part of
their orientation.
Smith is one of the school janitors and the old
est relic on the campus. Indeed, according to some
versions of dormitory scuttlebutt, he was on hand
that day in 1847 when the doors of Otterbein were
opened. But the only reason the Smith tale is told
at all is because it has a punch line that seems to
leave the new freshmen a little stunned.
"And this janitor," the narrator will tell his
audience, "used to be a professor at Otterbein."
The story is substantially true. Janitor "Prof"
Smith once was known at Otterbein as Professor
John Franklin Smith of the speech and dramatics
department. His age, however, is grossly exagger
ated. He that is, I date back only 80 years.
I have often overheard the story told. I have
caught the curious stares of our newcomers. But
none of this embarrasses me. Indeed, I'm delighted
and, as a matter of fact, quite proud to be a
janitor at Otterbein.
The transition from college professor to college
janitor is admittedly an unusual one, but I have
never considered it undignified or degrading. In
fact, when it occurred some ten years ago, I wel
comed the opportunity to continue living as a use
ful human.
At Otterbein, the mandatory age for retirement
is 70. For some, this is a most appropriate time
to step down from a job. Others would welcome
it at 60, at 65.- Still others never are willing to be
put out to pasture. I am in the latter group.
In the summer of 1950, when I reached my 70th
year, I was not ready to retire. The word simply
was not in my vocabulary. I had been teaching
Professor," "Prof," or "Janitor" but don't call him "retired"
for almost 40 years. I was in excellent health. My
mind was clear. And while I respected the rule
that required me to bid farewell to the halls of
Otterbein, I knew that a large part of me would
die as soon as I fell into the arms of retirement
and the porch rocker.
Age is a matter of attitude. Instead of retiring
I retreaded.
The job situation was not attractive. Needless
to say, there are few opportunities for a man of
70. 1 had a chance to sell pens in a store in Colum
bus, but I didn't particularly relish the long drive
back and forth each day. There were one or two
other possibilities, but they, too, had unattractive
features. Finally, Mrs. Smith and I had virtually
decided to take charge of a camp on Lake Erie
doing conservation work when I chanced to meet
one of our Otterbein officials. We talked about
many things before the conversation centered on
his difficulty in finding a janitor.
"You wouldn't like to give us a hand in your
spare time, would you?" he said jokingly.
Hearty laughter, I suppose, would have been a
normal reaction. But there were forces working
within me now that caused me to reflect seri
ously on his words. I had deep roots at Otterbein.
I had first stepped on the campus in 1905, and I
had learned to love it almost from that very mo
ment And it was there on that same campus that
I'd met my dear wife. Our children followed in
our footsteps, too. Yes, Otterbein had been my
home our home.
Would it really matter, I wondered, if I went
to work with a mop in the gymnasium rather than
with a bit of chalk at the head of a classroom?
Not really. It was honest work. And I would still
be at Otterbein.
There were other considerations, too. For one
thing, the gymnasium was located just across
the street from my home. And the pay was to be
$100 per month not an unimportant consideration
since my only source of income was a small re
tirement check each month. I took the job.
It is not an easy job. I work about five hours a
day, six days a week, scrubbing and polishing
floors, scouring water closets and shower rooms,
and doing the other usual janitorial chores. But
I couldn't be happier. The condition of the gym
nasium is my responsibility. When I turn out of
bed each morning, I know a lot of people are de
pending on me to do this work. And I take pride in f
the glitter of the polished gym floor, almost as
much as I did in the pear-shaped tones of my stu
dents in speech. This is important to a man of 80.
There are many other compensations the com
panionship of my boys, for instance. They keep
me young. I like it when they call me "Prof." It's
not aimed at my new station in life. Rather, it's af
fectionate and warm. I am their confidant, their ad
. visor, their chaplain of sorts. Sometimes I'm Dan
Cupid, too. There is just one sad note four years
pass too quickly at college. It has always been so.
There has been an unanticipated security in the
switch from professor to janitor, too. As a pro
fessor, I did not qualify for Social Security cov
erage. However, because of my new status, Mrs.
Smith and I are now entitled to receive a total of
$103 per month which helps us a lot
When my two grandsons recently enrolled at
Otterbein I had some uneasy moments. Would
they be embarrassed by my new job at the col
lege, I wondered. Th answer came quickly. After
observing my status with the boys in the gym
nasium, both agreed:
"You know, Grandfather, you have a great job
in the college because you dignify it."
I couldn't disagree.
C Family Weekly, February 26. 1961