Earl Count

Professor of Anthropolgy, (1945-68)

Memorial minute for Professor Earl Wendell Count by James Ring, with help from Donald Potter on March 4, 1997.

Professor Earl Wendell Count died on Nov. 22, 1996 in Walnut Creek, California. He was 97 and had moved to Walnut Creek after retiring from Hamilton College in 1968. The founder of the Department of Anthropology at Hamilton in 1945, his scholarly reach, as Wolfgang Saxon in the NY Times tells us, “encompassed cultural anthropology, mythology, philosophy of science, comparative anatomy, brain physiology, animal behavior, human fossil history and zoography. In books and scores of articles, he shed new light on various aspects of ethnology an evolutionary biology.” His best known book, “4,000 years of Christmas,” published in 1948, traced the ancient festival of the winter solstice from Babylon into the Mediterranean region and on to northern Europe, finally merging with Christian celebrations to become what we now know as Christmas.

Born in Irvington, NY to British-American missionaries, he graduated from Williams College in 1922, received a divinity degree from Garrett Theological Seminary in 1926 and was ordained as an Episcopal minister. He earned his Ph.D. in anthropology at Berkely in 1935 and taught at the New York Medical College before coming to Hamilton in 1945.

I first came to know Earl Count in 1947 when, as a freshman at Hamilton, I signed up for his beginning anthropology course. At that time, Hamilton was in the midst of a transition marked by the end of WWII, a study and revision of the curriculum and a new young president, David Worcester. One of the important strands of the new plans of the faculty and President was the strengthening of the social sciences. Hence, the appointment of Earl Count to the appearance of the new Department of Anthropology.

I later came to know Earl as a faculty colleague when I returned to Hamilton to teach in the Physics Department in 1957. What follows is based on my memories of him augmented by those of Emeritus Professor of Geology, Donald Potter. We both worked in the Science Building with Earl during the later ’50’s and ’60’s.

It was said that he was the most brilliant person on the faculty. Certainly he was an intellect of many parts: he spoke several languages including Latin and Greek, was conversant with the physical and biological sciences and, quite rightfully, held himself in high esteem. Perhaps his discourses at Faculty Meetings, which tended toward length, weren’t appreciated sometimes as much as they might have deserved. But, wherever he was on campus, in the classroom, on the track, in the gym, walking the sidewalks, Earl Count was a vivid character, and he was well remembered with affection long after he left the College.

The qualities of the scholar that we came to know were those of eccentricity, but always combined with integrity. At a time when not many Hamilton professors were publishing scholarly work, Earl’s articles and books were appearing in print and his devotion to research was an example for us younger faculty to follow. It was, indeed, his commitment to “zealous research” which in large part led to the founding in 1965 of the Hamilton College Chapter of ΣΞ, the scientific honorary society.

Back in those days, “fitness” had not the popularity it has since obtained. But there was Earl, alone amongst the non-physical education faculty, on the college rack getting his daily exercise and doing it by running the wrong way, i.e. clockwise rather than counter-clockwise. A sound mind in a sound body was his motto and his practice.

One of the features of life at Hamilton in those days was the faculty skit, a performance to which the seniors were invited but in which the actors were all faculty and administrators. As you could have guessed, knowing Hamilton’s history, the roles of Native Americans frequently appeared. Earl often obliged by doing a dance. This excited some comment, not so much because of the dance, but because of the nearly nude state in which he danced. Authenticity was his criterion and social niceties went by the board.

To illustrate just how innovative Earl’s approach to teaching was, consider that in 1947 before television, before videos, before books on tape, before computers, before internet, he was employing dictaphone machines so that students could hear his lectures without his physical presence.

As is the case with many stimulating teachers, Earl Count’s courses were not noted for their difficulty, but at the close of each semester, he demanded that each student gather the course work together, organize it, and present it fully and properly in a notebook, a notebook upon whose contents each would be graded for the semester. How they loathed that exercise, yet surely many must value it now.

Another of his scholarly habits was his organization of arguments in terms of a very elaborate scheme of decimal outlining, rather like the Dewey decimal system of cataloging library books. Earl came to faculty meetings with his arguments outlined according to this system and then would deliver his speech scrupulously adhering to this outline. Once again we see the best intention, that is the desire to be perfectly clear, manifested in an idiosyncratic way.

Clearly, he was an uninhibited scholar. What do we make of an Episcopal minister who writes a book on 4000 years of Christmas? Or what about his delight in what was happening about him? One winter evening, Hamilton was visited by a noted Polar Explorer, and Maude and Early Count hosted a small group of Sigma Xi members for dinner at their house before the lecture. A severe cold front approached, complete with driving snow, high winds, and lightening. The explorer and Earl were so amazed and excited by the combination of snow and lightening that they ran into the yard shouting like children.

Perhaps, we should all agree, even in 1997, that Earl sets us an example which we would do well to follow. Conformity is not the greatest good for faculty members, but rather, according to our lights, we should call things as we see them. May it be said of us too at the end of our careers that we have made good use of our academic freedom.