Professors in Zurich are probably not quite aware of how lucky they are. A visiting professor, invited to give a lecture series at the University of Zurich, can attest to the fact that the circumstances that prevail in this city can be described as nothing less than paradisiacal.

As soon as one sets foot in the lecture hall, it seems that the golden age has dawned. Spanking-clean blackboards gleam in pleasant anticipation, the appropriate container is filled with virginal chalks, a clean sponge above the water basin (note: with cold and hot water) awaits its deployment, and a specially designed fastener holds a windshield wiper kind of contraption for drying the blackboard. Next to it a freshly washed and ironed kerchief dangles from a hook. It is to be used after the blackboard has been given the workover with sponge and windshield wiper in order to return to it the luster it deserves. Two overhead projectors stand ready with separate sets of scrupulously aligned, colored, felt-tipped pens next to them.

Surrounded by all this luxury, the lecturer cannot but recall with melancholy the conditions at his faraway home university. There one secures sundry materials before each lecture oneself and picks up some toilet paper on the way, in order to wipe the blackboard, if not clean, then at least partially clean when it gets too crowded. If a projector is required, the lecturer reports to the dean’s office. With luck, one of the monsters is available and, after having acknowledged receipt on a special form, one is permitted to lug the contraption through interminable corridors while the extension cord keeps wrapping itself around one’s legs. After the lecture, the monster, which at this point seems to have gained considerable weight, is shlepped back to the dean’s office.

In Zurich, if the professor requires a computer with

special software in order to demonstrate the workings of a simulation in real time, the class need not be rescheduled to a computer lab. Rather, a friendly “house technician,” dressed in dapper overalls, rolls a computer—with the necessary software having been installed the previous night—into the lecture hall at precisely the right moment, attaches it to the overhead projector, and hands the remote control to the lecturer. Mouse and keyboard wait for their cue.

Seemingly insurmountable obstacles are overcome with ease in Zurich. One hour before the planned projection of a video film, it turns out that the tape was recorded in the National Television Systems Committee (NTSC) system, which is not current in Europe. The desperate lecturer sprints down to the house technicians office where one of those gnomes of Zurich patiently explains that, first of all, there are two versions of the NTSC system; second, that projectors are of course available for the one as for the other; and, third, that both machines will be set up in the lecture hall, just to be on the safe side.

Before the screening of the movie, the house technician gives the lecturer a crash course in the operation of the instrument panel that is embedded in the wall next to the blackboard and which, to the uninitiated, carries an astounding similarity to the cockpit of a Boeing 747. All lights, dimmers, and switches for projectors, video machines, and computers may be controlled from this strategic command post. If, despite all precautions, something should not work to the complete satisfaction of all present, a quick call to the house technicians nerve center suffices (telephones are available on every floor, in every corridor). Within minutes a competent and friendly gentleman is on the spot to straighten everything out.

Seating arrangements in the lecture halls can be changed at request, of course. If a sociologist wants to demonstrate group dynamics, chairs and tables are moved close together. But in the break before the next lecture, a house technician swiftly aligns the furniture again, and at the sound of the bell all chairs stand at attention at their appropriate places.

It goes without saying that all students are at the ready at the start of each class. And if a blushing student, mumbling an apology, does happen to sneak in late, one is again painfully reminded of the realities at home. There the latecomers—about a third of the registered auditors in an average class (another third do not show up at all)—walk proudly into class at any time, dispense friendly greetings to the left and right before taking their seats, and do not hesitate to consult today’s newspaper for important news if the content of the lecture is, in their opinion, too boring.