Sheila Page ’67 (Burke)
I met Miss Lang in my first days at Bryn Mawr, when she overruled the freshman Dean and allowed me to add Greek 101 to an otherwise requirement-filled and over-serious set of courses. I remember her as the first understanding member of the faculty whom I met.
Carl Wilbur
Thank you for the notice. Mabel Lang was, by far, the greatest teacher I ever had. She taught me “Baby” Greek in 1965-1966, my sophomore year at Haverford College. I was the only male in a class of more than 20 students. This was right before cooperation between Haverford and Bryn Mawr became the norm. A scheduling conflict between chemistry and Beginning Greek at Haverford was the reason I was in her class. At the end of the first class, looking straight at me, she announced that the class was somewhat too large for “baby” Greek and that she would have to try to scare some of us out. I stayed. As a freshman, I had decided to major in Classics at Haverford and Greek was a necessary part of that major. As it turned out, I took all my Greek at Bryn Mawr and had the honor of taking subsequent classes taught by Professors Lattimore and Dickerson. I then received my Master’s in Latin from Bryn Mawr in 1969 and went on to teach Latin – and one year of Greek – at Sidwell Friends School throughout the 1970s. I made sure that all of my students knew about Mabel Lang. I know that at least one of those students, Diana Reed, went from Sidwell to Bryn Mawr and took Greek from Miss Lang. During the late ‘70s I went to law school at night and had a second career as a Government lawyer from 1983-2007. Since retiring from that career, I have returned to Sidwell to teach Latin part-time. Among other things, I make certain that yet another generation of students hears of Mabel Lang! If there is an obituary in the local papers, I would appreciate receiving a copy. Thank you.
Mabel Lang saved my life.
Baby Greek with Mabel Lang was the first class I attended at Bryn Mawr. As I recall, we went through the first three lessons in the book on the first day, and then she assigned the fourth for homework. Then she announced that, since it was Thursday and we couldn’t have just one class in a week, we would be having class on Friday, and that some of us would have to come at 8:00. Those of us who volunteered for the early class formed a real bond that semester, though we were well into the semester before we all knew each others’ first names! Mabel Lang was a truly inspiring (and intimidating) professor.
I took several graduate courses from Miss Lang in the early 90’s. Classes included mature students: some had been in the army or navy; there were two lawyers and at least one doctor. We were all terrified of her. I remember her asking us once in that croaky voice of hers if we were “lazy or just stupid.” On one occasion I had to do a synopsis of an article, and discovered that she not only disagreed with the article but that she somehow held me responsible for its content. I went to visit her after class with some trepidation, but I felt I had to register my dismay. She apologized but seemed amused at my consternation. I began to realize that she loved a challenge, and liked it best when we fought back. So I began to argue with her in class or in her office – at first it was rather like putting my head in a lion’s mouth – but she obviously enjoyed these intellectual tussles. She seemed to have no ego investment in her teaching: it was never about showing off her formidable learning and intelligence (which must have been self evident to everyone including herself), but always about training us to go out on a limb, to contest established scholarship, to ask difficult questions. It was the best training an incipient scholar could hope for.
Although she could make grown women and men stammer, perspire and wish they were anywhere else, she was actually one of the most generous and kindly professors I ever encountered. I had the good fortune to visit her when she was moving out of her office in Taylor. She gave me a treasure trove of books (one inscribed by Rhys Carpenter) that turned my impoverished newly minted professor’s collection into a respectable scholarly library. I felt as if I had been granted some special instruments of office from the high priestess of wisdom herself.
Before I left Bryn Mawr she invited me to lunch. We had a delightful chat about Homer, narrative theory, and life in general. At the end of the meal there was coffee and I looked around for the cream. “You don’t dilute your coffee, do you?” she asked mischievously, but got up and found some for me nonetheless. Since that day I have always drunk my coffee black. I discovered that it tasted better that way. Mabel Lang was one of those people who made you change your way of thinking and doing things. I came to adore her because she was unequivocally the best professor I ever had.
Where to start? Mabel was above all a good listener, and a patient one. In 1962, my senior year, she sat with me every week as I read my developing honors paper to her. She never commented until I had finished reading that week’s portion. Then her comments were always direct, incisive, helpful, and generally right on.
Betchen Wayland (Barber) and I were the only Greek majors of our year, she met regularly with the two of us to cover topics for the comprehensive exams. Her coverage of Homer and Homeric scholarship was as good or better than any seminar I took in grad school, and I was able to go on to prelims without doing any additional Homer.
She was also willing to listen to…anything, and be supportive when circumstances made a student need support. She spent the summers in Pylos, and one summer she lent me her car because she knew I needed transportation. It was practically new, and definitely feeble, barely able to make it up hills, but it filled the need. Thank you, Mabel, for that and everything else! I am still teaching, and think of you as the role model I cannot touch.
I loved Mabel’s tongue in cheek humor, so will share a couple of anecdotes: She claimed Ben Merritt once asked her when unmarried women stopped expecting or hoping to marry, “Some of us never do!” she shot back.
Judith Fletcher mentions coffee. I recall having coffee with her on one of those days when students and profs are supposed to have coffee together, and the waitress poured her a cup of half-and-half: half coffee and half very strong tea. She said it was the worst thing she ever tasted and sent it back, of course, but found the incident quite amusing.
When I think of her, I see her not as the photo shows her, but smiling just a tiny bit, or trying to suppress a smile.