Our newspaper reported the other day that former New York Mayor John V. Lindsay had been offered an appointment (which he declined) as Distinguished Professor at Hunter College. Now Mr. Lindsay has charm, wit, and a fine record in Congress, even if he did not turn Fun City into the earthly paradise predicted in his political campaign; but we nevertheless wonder how it would be possible for one who has never before ventured professionally into Academe to become all at once—as if Merlin had simply waved his hand over him—a distinguished professor. In the era of Longfellow, or William Graham Sumner, or the very recent times of our own Allan Nevins, it used to take years.

“Distinguished Professor,” of course, is now a regular rank at Hunter and an increasing number of other colleges and universities, one cut above “Professor,” the old top of the heap, just as “General of the Army” was invented to make a few leading generals a little more equal than others and give them an added star. The Navy, which didn’t even have an admiral in our early wars, eventually appointed so many that it elevated its top gallants to Fleet Admiral. At least these military men had the advantage of a little previous experience.

Inflation, clearly, is working as hard on the language as it is on our groceries, and not just on prices. Olives, for example, move from “giant” to “mammoth” (sold at “super” markets or, in more modest size, “superettes”), just as the Republic itself left “The New Frontier” for “The Great Society” and is now experiencing the escalated joys of whatever it was that President Nixon christened the present Utopia. Enthusiastic nomenclature comes easily in politics, of course. At the quadrennial party convention what speaker does not come from the “great"—usually rendered “gr-r-r-eat”—state of somewhere or other? There are no nongreat states, not even Delaware or Rhode Island.

As anyone knows, inflation always increases until there is a panic or crash (nowadays labelled “recession” or “readjustment”). In the last war campaign ribbons and certain other decorations were so liberally awarded to almost everyone that the average chest looked like a rainbow. The crash, so to speak, came when Americans arrived in England and other lands where honor was less easy and tunics were bare. The so-far unblooded Americans looked about them, and off came the ribbons.

Where do we go from “Distinguished Professor”? On the campus, we suppose, one could be appointed “WorldFamous Philosopher,” “Epic Poet,” or, more modestly, “Eminent Historian,” restricted perhaps to notables over thirty. Upon retirement these emeriti would be officially designated “Grand Old Distinguished Professor,” “Grand Old Epic Poet,” etc. At NASA could we not elevate two-time astronauts to “Twice-Ascended Explorer of the Heavens”? If Russia can have living “Heroes of the Soviet Union,” can we not have, as a step up from “General of the Army,” a plain, unassuming “Hero General”? And