This discussion of professors, adjuncts, assistants, etc., reminds me of the classic story told about George Lyman Kittredge, the great ballad scholar at Harvard who did his early studies under none other than Francis James Child. Later in his career, when his friends urged him to acquire a Ph.D in ballad studies, Kittredge was reported to have responded, "I would, but who could examine me?"

About fifty years ago, I was paid to read aloud to four blind students at the University of Washington. Four bucks an hour! But the greatest reward came from the fact that one of these students was a graduate in the History department. As his reader, I was given a stack permit and even a carrel in the stacks. For a kid who had left school just before he turned fifteenat the insistence of the administration (I was a bit of a rebel and expressed it boldly), that stack permit put me in hog heaven. My interest in folklore scholarship had just been kindled, though I knew almost nothing about the available literature on the subject, and the freedom to wander around in the stacks, investigating at random various wolumes, was extremely advantageous.

Access to a good library has remained important to me ever since. When we lived in Boulder, I was allowed the use of the University library, thanks possibly to John Greenway. In London, Caroline and I made regular use of the library at the Cesil Sharp House. When we moved to the boondocks in Vermont, we were forced to build a folklore library of our own -- which is the expensive way to do it -- and it had been put to use not only by us, but by many of our friends since we moved down here to Connecticut.

One last, self-gratifying story. Back about 1963, I was hosting a concert/lecture with Frank Proffitt and Lawrence Older at Goddard College. I spoke about their ballads and songs, their regional traditions, etc., and they presented examples of these in illustration. At one point, one of the school's professors, sitting next to Caroline in the audience, leaned toward her and whispered, "Where did he do his work?" In her sweet and gentle way, she smiled and whispered, "Route 66." Bless her heart. She gave me one of my proudest non-academic moments.

Sandy (conservative enough to think academics need to have academies to represent)