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Mr. Migel, Mr. Cromwell, Ladies and Gentlemen,

As a graduate of the Perkins Institution I am delighted to join you in an expression of affection and gratitude to Mr. Allen.

Looking back over the years, it seems as if I had always known Mr. Allen. He was head master at "Perkins" when I brought Helen Keller to Boston in 1888. Then everybody was talking about the new master. We heard that he was a brilliant scholar, that he held advanced ideas. One of them was that the student must do his own learning -- an idea we have not caught up with yet.

But there were other things about Mr. Allen more exciting and interesting than his theories of education -- at least some of us thought so. He was young, handsome, unmarried. Romantic adventure loomed in the grey old institution until the blindest of us couldn't help seeing that Edward the Scholar had eyes only for one fair-haired goddess in the boy's department. I will not say we surrendered without a struggle, but surrender we did, and when time had dulled the edge of our disappointment, we agreed that Cupid's arrow had fallen in the right place, and we rejoiced in the happiness of our two friends.

For more than forty years Mr. Allen has labored unceasingly to raise the standard of education of the blind in America, devoting all his splendid abilities to the happiness and advancement of those who must live always in the dark. Mr. Allen's fine scholarship, rare understanding of the problems of the sightless and sustained efforts have made him a leader in the struggle of the blind to live a normal life despite their handicap. Under his quiet guidance the Perkins Institution has attained an importance equal to its fame at home and abroad.

Furthermore, Mr. Allen has built two stately schools adorned with forms of beauty and bright with possibilities of joy for blind students. The Harvard class for training teachers of the blind is Mr. Allen's work, and already its beneficent effects are felt throughout the land.

Mr. Allen's work alone has gained him distinction. For he is not one to push himself noisily forward. He is blest with complete modesty as well as complete kindliness. Dignified without aloofness, he has ever been the friend and confidant of his students. We cannot thank him with words for the unswerving devotion of long years, but we can with our hearts, and we do. The loyalty he has inspired in us will ever keep his memory green and fragrant.

Anne S. Macy

New York, April 29th 1931