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IT WAS in September 1910 that I first met Charles Horton Cooley. I had come to the University of Michigan to handle sections of Economics One and upon the chance of sometime ''making a · contribution to knowledge" and picking up a doctor's degree. I was one of a changing group of instructors-graduate students, who were, with an exception or two, the property of Freddy Taylor. The conditions of our servitude, far too unremunerative to be called wage slavery, were alike exacting and agreeable. Taylor insisted upon our teaching "Freddy's economics," thinking it straight, and getting our students past his dreaded examinations. Our job was to make "marginal utility" in all its ramifications clear to the sophomores; whether or not we made it clear to ourselves was quite another matter. And, as for the rest, we might roam the intellectual universe, argue to our hearts' content, scribble as we would, and outside of the accepted system "think as we damned pleased."

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