Perhaps here is where I can dwell for a moment on Carl’s particular brand of democracy.  I see so much of other kinds.  He was what I should call an utterly unconscious democrat.  He never framed in his own mind any theory of “the brotherhood of man”—­he just lived it, without ever thinking of it as something that needed expression in words.  I never heard him use the term.  To him the Individual was everything—­by that I mean that every relation he had was on a personal basis.  He could not go into a shop to buy a necktie hurriedly, without passing a word with the clerk; when he paid his fare on the street car, there was a moment’s conversation with the conductor; when we had ice-cream of an evening, he asked the waitress what was the best thing on in the movies.  When we left Oakland for Harvard, the partially toothless maid we had sobbed that “Mr. Parker had been more like a brother to her!”

One of the phases of his death which struck home the hardest was the concern and sorrow the small tradespeople showed—­the cobbler, the plumber, the drug-store clerk.  You hear men say:  “I often find it interesting to talk to working-people and get their view-point.”  Such an attitude was absolutely foreign to Carl.  He talked to “working-people” because he talked to everybody as he went along his joyous way.  At a track meet or football game, he was on intimate terms with every one within a conversational radius.  Our wealthy friends would tell us he ruined their chauffeurs—­they got so that they didn’t know their places.  As likely as not, he would jolt some constrained bank president by engaging him in genial conversation without an introduction; at a formal dinner he would, as a matter of course, have a word or two with the butler when he passed the cracked crab, although at times the butlers seemed somewhat pained thereby.  Some of Carl’s intimate friends were occasionally annoyed—­“He talks to everybody.”  He no more could help talking to everybody than he could help—­liking pumpkin-pie.  He was born that way.  He had one manner for every human being—­President of the University, students, janitors, society women, cooks, small boys, judges.  He never had any material thing to hand out,—­not even cigars, for he did not smoke himself,—­but, as one friend expressed it, “he radiated generosity.”

Heidelberg gives one year after passing the examination to get the doctor’s thesis in final form for publication.  The subject of Carl’s thesis was “The Labor Policy of the American Trust.”  His first summer vacation after our return to Berkeley, he went on to Wisconsin, chiefly to see Commons, and then to Chicago, to study the stockyards at first-hand, and the steel industry.  He wrote:  “Have just seen Commons, who was fine.  He said:  ’Send me as soon as possible the outline of your thesis and I will pass upon it according to my lights.’ . . .  He is very interested in one of my principal subdivisions, i.e.  ’Technique