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Truth tables? Modus tollens? If you recognize these phrases, you have most likely taken the legendary “PL151: Logic and Argumentation,” a staple at the College. But what about the man teaching the class? 

Daniel Cohen began his path to teaching on the Appalachian Trail. After graduating from Colby in January of `75, he spent the spring and summer hiking the trail, a journey serving both as a personal promise and a strategic postponement of the frightening question, “Now what?” 

This hike gave Cohen the time to decide to pursue philosophy. 

Cohen had a specific goal. “I went to graduate school with the explicit thought that my fantasy job was to teach at [a] good, small residential liberal arts college, [but] the prospects of a position at Colby weren’t good because Bob McArthur, the logic professor at the time, was newly tenured,” Cohen said. 

However, the stars lined up for him. As he was finishing his doctorate, McArthur moved into the Dean’s Office. The position opened, Cohen was hired, and he began teaching philosophy in 1983. 

Cohen describes the Department of Philosophy as “admirably collegial and functional,” a space far from the petty politics that often plague academia. He said the environment allowed him to grow as a philosopher. 

Much of this departmental culture traces back to Cohen’s own mentors, most notably the legendary Bob Reuman. “[Reuman] was a terrific philosopher and educator and an even more remarkable human being,” Cohen said. He speaks of Reuman with awe, describing him as a “moral beacon” and a dedicated pacifist who chose a year in federal prison over registering for the military draft. Reuman’s legacy set the standard for the educator Cohen aspired to become. 

While his colleagues provided the space to grow, Cohen said students are his primary source of joy. “What kind of student chooses to major in philosophy?” Cohen says, “the thoughtful, engaged, intellectually curious, and more-than-a-little-idiosyncratic kind.” 

He finds satisfaction in the “give and take” of the classroom. Cohen said he continues to learn from his students’ fresh perspectives, whether leading a seminar on Wittgenstein or a course on Puzzles and Paradoxes. 

Despite his self-described “Pollyanna” outlook, Cohen is candid about the drudgery of the job. He said long March nights spent grading midterm papers after a grueling Maine winter can inspire thoughts of retirement in anyone. Yet, for him, philosophy is a calling. And that calling is reaffirmed every time he receives an email out of the blue from former students, sometimes decades later.

“Best of all, every so often, completely out of the blue, I’ll get an email that begins like this: ‘Hi, Professor Cohen, I don’t know if you remember me, but I took one of your courses years ago, and it gave me things to think about ever since, and I just wanted to thank you,’” Cohen said. “Every time I get a letter like that, I’m re-energized and eager as ever to get back into the classroom. I’m reminded that it’s never been just a job.” 

Looking back on more than 40 years at the College, Cohen said the reality has actually exceeded his dreams. “My career has brought home to me the truth behind the old adage that if you’re doing what you love, you’ll never have to work a day in your life.”

~ Summer Woo `28

If you frequent Roberts Dining Hall, Richard Wakefield would undoubtedly be a familiar face. Having worked in Roberts for 20 years, Wakefield had long been a staple figure among students and staff at Colby College. He passed away on March 12, 2026. Today, we remember Wakefield through all he’s accomplished, and all the lives he touched during his times at Colby. 

Wakefield lived an eventful and fulfilling life. He was a veteran of the Vietnam War and served with distinction in the elite U.S. Army Special Forces. After President John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 2, 1963, Wakefield was selected to be part of a group of Special Forces soldiers who served on the Honor Guard at the Capitol Rotunda. Wakefield, who served as a military bearer during Kennedy’s funeral procession, was photographed feet away from Jackie Kennedy during the ceremony. Fellow Bobs dining hall employee Rachel remembers Wakefield, saying, “That was the most boring job he ever did, because he had to just stand there at attention.” 

“He always had to be doing something,” his other coworker, Val chimed in. 

Val and Wakefield had breakfast together every morning. “Every morning he would come up to me and give me a hug. He had to have a hug every single day,” she recalls. 

Richard’s co-workers all agreed that while Wakefield at times came across as a “grumpy old man” he was a kindhearted, warm, hardworking person at heart. 

Tammy, who often works at the entrance of Roberts Dining Hall, continued that “he was someone who you could count on to help you.” 

“He could do circles around these young kids coming in,” Tammy proudly asserted. Val notes, “He always said, ‘I’m never retiring, I’m just going to die here,’ and that’s pretty much what he did.” Wakefield came into work every day until the last day of his life. He worked diligently, selflessly, and tirelessly. 

Another defining feature about Wakefield was his love for eggs. Each of his coworkers individually mentioned his egg obsession. Val would often make egg salad for Wakefield and use it as an incentive to fix his attitude; “if he was grumpy, and started yelling, I’d say, you keep that up, and you won’t get any egg salad.” It did the trick every time. 

Wakefield worked with Candy the longest. Candy explains that he had always been the first to arrive each day. Candy, who typically parked right next to him, says, “every morning, he’s the first thought in my head.” 

She echoed her coworkers’ earlier sentiment, simply saying “he touched a lot of people, and even though he could get grumpy, he loved his eggs.”  

Rachel noted they all called him “Papi.” That was what his grandchildren called him. From the dishroom, the sound of blaring music is missed. Val and Rachel recall how loud Wakefield’s music would be, with Rachel saying, “that music would be blaring, and he couldn’t hear it but we could all hear it.” 

While they certainly miss Wakefield’s work ethic and diligence in the dishroom, it’s his character and soft-hearted acts whose absence is most felt. 

His coworkers hope to get something to commemorate all that Wakefield has given to Colby, whether it be a plaque for the table he ate at every morning, a plaque for the dish room, a shadow box with his uniform, or a scholarship in his honor. 

“He brought up everyone’s spirits,” Candy stated simply. Val recalls how when she went to visit him in the hospital in early March, “I gave him one last hug.”

In the end, Wakefield’s legacy is not simply the work he left behind, but the way you could always count on him to be there, running the dishroom, receiving hugs, and eating eggs.

~ Molly Garvey `28