Vladimir G. Simkhovitch

There was something about Vladimir Simkhovitch that made you stop whatever you were doing when you saw him and go and sit next to him to hear him talk. He always had something surprising to say—something new and fresh and unexpected. He might speak of Oriental art of which he was a connoisseur—having, himself, an extensive collection. Or he would tell you about his experiments in cross-breeding delphinium at his summer place in Maine or the raising of oriental pheasants there and training them to survive a tough Maine winter. Or he would talk about Russia in which he had been born and which he had left early in life. He was immensely interested in the Soviet experiment and was aware, more than most of us, of the advances the Russians were making.

He was educated in Germany, where he studied law, economics, and philosophy. He took his Ph.D. degree at Halle in 1898. Throughout his career in education he was a brilliant representative of the European scholarly tradition. This seems to have been a reason for his appeal to so many American students who had begun their education under the rigid rules and arithmetical credit system which we may hope will eventually disappear from our schools.

He came to the United States soon after completing his studies in Germany and became a professor at Columbia in 1904. As a member of the University’s first graduate faculty he belonged to a group that included John Dewey, Franz Boaz, James Harvey Robinson, Charles Beard, and Wesley Mitchell. Though his subject was economic history he would branch out in his lectures on all sorts of by-paths. He had some highly provocative theories, one of which was that the fall of Rome was due to agricultural loss. His book Hay and History in which he demonstrates this had a wide acceptance and it certainly makes fascinating reading. He often told the story that the printer did not believe the title and insisted on printing it “John Hay and History.”

To Simkhovitch, education was not a process through which teachers propelled their students. Half the job—or more—came with the student’s initiative. That was a reason that he advocated, especially for graduate students, freedom from regulations and special requirements—freedom, as an associate puts it “to pick flowers from the wayside, to explore interesting by-paths, to dig into fundamentals on their own responsibility instead of being led along well-beaten routes.”

A characteristic story is told by a Centurion who was one of Professor Simkhovitch’s students: “He was the last of the faculty members who was present when I got my Ph.D. When it came to his turn to ask questions, he delivered me a long lecture on Russia and Socialism and then said he was satisfied with my qualifications, for which, of course, I loved him.”

Simkhovitch was especially fond of the Century. He was a familiar figure both in the East Room and at the Long Table. He was a member for fifty-two years.

Roger Burlingame
1960 Century Association Yearbook