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IN MEMORIAM
ARCHIBALD A. HILL
When Archibald Anderson Hill died
on March 29, 1992, in Austin, we lost one more of that dwindling
number of linguists who had been present at the creation in the
1930s of modern American linguistics. We also lost one of the
last of a generation of linguistic scholars equally at home in
a language department (in Hill's case, English) and in a linguistics
department.
Arch Hill was born July 5,
1902, in New York City. (He was "Arch," always "Arch," to just
about everybody.) He grew up in California where he attended
private schools (his mother was a teacher) and San Diego High
School from 1916 to 1918. The bicoastal origins seem odd to those
who met him in later life, when one would have taken him for
a Southerner of the old school. His speech and bearing–"courtly" is
the only word that will do–came from south of the Mason-Dixon
Line, where he spent most of his adult life.
In 1919 Hill went to Pomona
College in Claremont, graduating with the AB degree in English
in 1923 (minors in Spanish and science). He attended Stanford
for a year, studying English, and earned the AM degree in 1924.
His "field," to the extent that he had one, was literature. From
Stanford he went to Yale for doctoral work in English literature
and was awarded the PhD degree in 1927. At Yale he met his future
wife, Muriel Louise Byard of Ellsworth, Maine. They were married
August 8, 1928.
Hill's education had done almost
nothing to prepare him for his life's work in linguistics. That
was normal at the time–there were no departments of linguistics–and
for many years afterwards. Speaking of his first, more or less
accidental, encounters with what we think of today as linguistics,
he wrote a half century later:
[A]nother stage began when I
went to Stanford for graduate study. It was there for the first
time that I met Old English, and thus got some inkling of language
history. I remember trying to master umlaut, from the description
in the Sievers-Cook grammar. The statement was that umlaut
occurred when there was an i or j in the syllable
following. So I looked for the i or j in the
syllable following but there was nothing there. Eventually,
light dawned. The i or j was a prehistoric i or j.
The result was that language history seemed to be something
like archaeology, something I had always been interested in.
After that experience, I always had an open ear for language
history, which was the linguistics of that day …. Then
I went on to Yale. It should be said that my stay there was
before the days when a great scholar like Prokosch taught Gothic
and Old High German in New Haven …. If I try to summarize
the kind of education I had been given, it must be said that
linguistics was slighted. There were no departments or even
programs with that name. I had managed to sneak in as much
linguistics as I could, but I would have been deeply grateful
for a lot more. Actually, my real education in the subject
began at Michigan, after I had achieved a literary doctorate
(1980:70-2).
Hill's first academic appointment
was as instructor of English at the University of Michigan in
1926 (he became assistant professor three years later). He went
there, as he put it, as a "very junior understudy to Samuel Moore" (Hill
1980:72). Moore, the great scholar of Old and Middle English,
played a major role in Hill's development; Hill in his seventies
still referred to Moore as "my hero" (Hill 1991:50). In 1930
he moved to the University of Virginia with promotion to associate
professor, eventually becoming professor of English. During World
War II he served in the Communications and Intelligence Division
(cryptanalysis) of the U.S. Naval Reserve, rising to the rank
of commander. Following discharge from the service he returned
to Virginia, leaving in 1952 to go to Georgetown as vice-director
of the Institute of Languages and Linguistics. In 1955 he was
recruited to The University of Texas by then Chancellor Harry
Huntt Ransom. Arch Hill was the right kind of faculty member
to join Winfred P. Lehmann (who had come in 1949) in building
Texas as a center for language study and linguistics.
Apart from the usual leaves
of absence and visits abroad on various consultancies, Hill remained
in Austin the rest of his life. He retired from the faculty of
The University of Texas in 1972 at age 70 amidst honor and acclaim.
The University celebrated the event with a symposium presided
over by Chancellor Emeritus Harry H. Ransom at which Einar Haugen,
Hill's friend of long standing and former president of the LSA
(Linguistic Society of America, the major organization of linguists
in North America), gave the main testimonial address. Hill continued
doing pretty much what he had done before, writing articles and
book reviews, giving lectures, worrying about the advancement
of his former students, preaching the linguistic gospel, and
in general being the best kind of elder statesman a university
can wish to have: supportive, helpful, generous with his time
and experience, not a meddler, not a nuisance, at peace with
himself.
His major project during retirement
was the writing of his part of the proposed 50-year history of
the LSA commemorating the Golden Anniversary celebrations in
1974. The project foundered (concerning which see Hill 1991:49,
fn.), but Hill's contribution was published as "The Linguistic
Society of America and North American Linguistics" in Historiographia
linguistica some fifteen years after he had written it (Hill
1991). Declining mobility confined Hill to his home in the last
half of the 1980s, though he remained intellectually alert and
engaged throughout. He never lacked for visitors. Not a linguistics
conference was held at Texas whose participants (over the age
of 50, and some under) did not make the pilgrimage to his beautiful
home overlooking the hills of west Austin on Mt. Bonnell Road.
He was always glad to see his old friends. The companionship
meant much to him. Little things did, as well. Maggie Reynolds,
the executive director of the LSA, always made it a point to
send him the handbooks from annual meetings. They delighted him,
summoning remembrance of people and things past.
* * *
"I am continually at work
on literary analysis and relations of literature and linguistics
as well as my usual work on linguistic analysis and theory."
Hill wrote that revealing description
of himself in the annual report of his activities for the year
1959. It is not a bad summing-up of his life's activities and
interests. He published extensively on a variety of topics–some
164 publications including books, articles, essays, reports,
and monographs. He was not a theoretician and never claimed to
be. He applied the ideas of others and, always tactful, gained
for those ideas a foothold in hostile encampments. He was best
known to the wider audience of linguists and English department
language/linguistic specialists for his textbook Introduction
to Linguistic Structures: from Sound to Sentence in English (1958),
a classic neo-Bloomfieldian analysis of English when that version
of theory was the regnant orthodoxy. All of it is in there: don't
mix levels!; the Trager-Smith 3x3 vowel system plus three
offglides (though he was skeptical of postvocalic /h/, judging
it 'radical'); four degrees of stress; plus-juncture; the definition
of parts of speech in purely surface-functional terms. Hill's Introduction
to Linguistic Structures stands today as a monument at a
way station in the evolution of linguistic theory, as does Chomsky
and Halle's Sound Pattern of English. Hill never much
cared for the label "neo-Bloomfieldian," preferring simply "Bloomfieldian" (after
Leonard Bloomfield, one of the founders of modern American linguistics).
But we are known by the company we keep, and in Hill's case it
was linguists like Martin Joos, Bernard Bloch, Charles Hockett,
George Trager, Albert Marckwardt, Henry Hoenigswald, J. Milton
Cowan, and Henry Lee Smith, Jr.–all "neo-Bloomfieldians" with
whom he had the greatest affinity. However, he wasn't dogmatic
about much of anything–ever.
Hill was one of the first American
linguists (in his Introduction) to utilize the relationships
between syntactic structure and prosody in the analysis of English.
The avant garde of the time, the late 1950s and early 1960s,
attacked Hill on this, but today that same relationship is taken
as obvious.
Many historical linguists were
influenced by his "Phonetic and Phonemic Change," which had appeared
in Language in 1936 but was rescued from obscurity by
its inclusion in Martin Joos's Readings in Linguistics (Joos
1957). Joos's Readings was standard reading material for
most of those who came to linguistics in the early 1960s, as
the great Sanskrit grammarian Panini was said to have been Leonard
Bloomfield's bedtime reading. "Phonetic and Phonemic Change" was
one of the first attempts to bring what was then called the "phonemic
principle" to bear on historical sound change. Joos's comment
was:
Seldom referred to, even at
the time, and almost forgotten today, this paper was actually
of very great importance. By discussing phonetic realities
in the familiar historical field, while taking phonemics for
granted, so that the distinction between the phonetic and the
phonemic aspects was illustrated again and again, a hearing
was gained for phonemic philosophy [among readers otherwise
unimpressed] … (1957:84).
The article contains a number
of insights that modern historical linguists rediscover periodically;
it reads very well even today (cf. Rebecca Posner 1978). An interesting
sidelight on this article is that Hill himself considered it
one of his most important contributions to linguistics. On the
biographical data sheet he filled out on joining the faculty
at The University of Texas in 1955, under "Chief Articles" he
listed only two: "Phonetic and Phonemic Change" and "Juncture
and Syllable Division in Latin," which had come out in Language in
1954. He had published almost 50 articles by that time.
Linguistics was always his
first love, as field of research and as teaching profession.
He felt himself a linguist first and foremost–he liked the
phrase "scientific linguist"–but his love of literature
always ran a close second. The notion of linguistics as science
was always an important emphasis for Hill. He liked to repeat
a story about Samuel Moore, who had answered a student's criticisms
of what he was teaching by saying: "I'm not teaching literature,
I'm teaching science" (Hill 1980:72 and Hill 1991:49-50).
He never let many years go
by without writing something of a literary nature: e.g., "A Philologist
Looks at Finnegan's Wake" (1939); "The Sound Symbolism
of Poe" (1940); "An Analysis of 'The Windhover': an Experiment
in Structural Method" (1955); "Pippa's Song: Two Attempts at
Structural Criticism" (1956); and, in retirement, Constituent
and Pattern in Poetry (1976) and "Rhymes and Reasons: the
Practice of Two Poets" (1982). The ideas worked out in these
and other essays formed the basis of his course, An Introduction
to Linguistics and Literature, which was required of all graduate
students in English during the 1960s.
A typical strategy in Hill’s
essays was to take an analysis of a poem by a New Critic such
as Cleanth Brooks or John Crowe Ransom, endorse its general rightheadedness
in focusing on the details of the language of the text, and then
present a more accurate analysis of those details, sometimes
overturning, sometimes validating the interpretation of the New
Critic. (New Criticism in capital letters, with a focus on the
text rather than on the author’s biography, was "new" in
the 1940s and dominant in the 1950s.) The titles of Hill's essays
acknowledge the tentative qualities of his analyses, with words
like "experiment," "attempts," and "toward."
The two disciplines on which
Hill's method of reading literature rested were to undergo dramatic
revolutions–the development of generative grammar in linguistics
and of "post-structuralism" in literary criticism. Such events
now make Hill's linguistic approach to literary texts seem of
a certain period, especially in its assumption that the determinate
meaning of a poem can be established with the same precision
and general acceptance as the identification of phonemes like
/p/ and /f/. In his interpretations (a dozen essays on lyric
poetry in Constituent and Pattern in Poetry alone), the
symmetry of the four-part syllogism figured more prominently
than it has in the markedly asymmetrical attitudes of the years
that have followed. But what endures is Hill's commitment to
the relation of linguistics to literature, an idea that was itself
about to cause its own revolution in new linguistics-related
critical models. Moreover, his firm belief in the value of philological
and historical studies, in Old and Middle English and the history
of the English language, helped to keep these subjects an essential
part of the curriculum during a period of academic upheaval.
The idea that a knowledge of linguistics and the history and
structure of language can inform literary analysis is sustained
in the English department at UT, where each semester a fuller
selection of "lang-ling" courses is offered than in probably
any other strictly English department in the country.
Hill's use of linguistics in
literary analysis was evidence that he never forgot that the
knowledge gained in linguistic theory has useful applications
elsewhere. His work in this area is well known. Not so well known
is his work in another field of applied linguistics: foreign-language
teaching, specifically TEFL (Teaching of English as a Foreign
Language). In his early years at UT he conducted informal seminars
for instructors of foreign-language sections of required English
courses (some of whose instructors were graduate students in
what was then an interdepartmental program in linguistics). He
also conducted short seminars in TEFL for groups of foreign teachers
who came to UT on exchange programs. And in 1965 he published Oral
Approach to English in two volumes, widely used in Japan
and Taiwan. His work thus covered the two most important aspects
of foreign-language teaching: teacher training and preparation
of teaching materials.
Hill was skilled in the role
of ambassador-at-large to a world which, he felt devoutly, could
only be the better for knowing more about linguistics. This missionary
spirit was the impetus behind various of his projects, most notably
the Texas Conferences on Problems of Linguistic Analysis in English
in the late 1950s. These conferences helped to establish the
place of Texas in the universe of linguistics, of course, but
Hill conceived them mainly as a way to get the linguistic word
out to a wider audience. It was one of these conferences, in
1958, that provided Noam Chomsky with an early forum for his
then novel and offputting ideas. Chomsky's paper, "A Transformational
Approach to Syntax," appeared in print four years later (Hill
1962).
Hill, though himself very much
a Bloomfieldian, laid great value on an ecumenical stance, and
there was no linguist's work in which he couldn't find something
of value. He went to lengths, in his valedictory, to praise the
contributions to linguistics of Bloomfield, Sapir, Sturtevant,
Noam Chomsky, and Mary Haas (Hill 1991:147). Although personally
upset by the attacks of TG grammarians on his Introduction
to Linguistic Structures (which came out just as transformational-generative
theory gained momentum), his response was to learn as much as
was then available about generative syntax. Subsequently he focused
more on the literary side of linguistic studies (though without
animosity toward generative work). One might simply say that
Arch Hill had a gift for gratitude and leave it at that.
Hill was proud of his multiple
appointments at The University of Texas: he was professor of
English, linguistics, and education; and he took his responsibilities
to each of his departments seriously (though English remained
his home department). Teaching teachers always mattered to him,
as did the teaching of writing–English composition. Some
of his most influential and most often anthologized articles
appeared in College English. His teaching load down to
retirement included courses for future teachers of English. TEFL
(Teaching of English as a Foreign Language) was always one of
his professional and teaching interests. His valedictory address
to the graduating class of 1972 of the College of Humanities
at The University of Texas dealt with a "description of a Freshman
Composition course at the University of Utopia with some description
of the teaching methods and devices that could be used" (Hill
1972). The graduates sat there attentively and with respect and listened.
This was during the cultural (if not literally chronological)
epoch we call "The Sixties!" Would a graduating class anywhere
today sit still for a commencement address on freshman composition?
The thing cannot be imagined. O tempora! O mores!
One of Hill's most solid contributions
to the farflung world of linguistics lay in his former students,
on whom he made an extraordinarily enduring impression. They
loved him; on this all agree. Charles Scott, himself a former
student, is especially moving on this aspect of Hill's legacy
(Scott 1993). His ties to foreign students of linguistics, at
a time–the 1950s and 1960s–when linguistics was one
of the leading exports of the American intellectual enterprise,
secured standing, affection, and loyalty for our discipline abroad.
The simplest gauge of the esteem he was held in throughout the
world is his Festschrift (Jazayery, Polomé, and
Winter 1978), which required four volumes (encompassing
four different fields) to accommodate all the contributors, including
colleagues and former students. A permanent visual memory of
Arch Hill, even after retirement, is of students, many of them
foreign students and old friends from abroad, crowding the antechamber
to his office waiting to see him.
In the course of his long career
he had acquired an exceptionally complete collection of books
and periodicals on linguistics and cognate literary matters.
Even while he was still an active member of the faculty and was
using this material regularly, he made it available to the entire
faculty and student body of the department. In the year before
his retirement he formally donated the collection to the Department
of Linguistics. Not content with having done all that, Hill continued
to keep the collection current with a steady flow of new book
acquisitions and periodical subscriptions. The Hill Library has
become an irreplaceable scholarly resource for the Department
of Linguistics and linguistic scholars from all departments at
The University of Texas. He wrote in 1971, upon making the bequest: "The
opportunity of making this donation for student use is as pleasant
a way as I can think of of marking a stage in a relationship
which has been pleasant throughout."
And then there is the story
of Archibald A. Hill and the Linguistic Society of America. The
LSA was founded in 1924; Hill became a member in 1928. ("Sammy
[Samuel Moore] did one other important thing for me. He dragooned
me into the Linguistic Society" [Hill 1980:73].) However, he
and the Society almost got an early divorce: "In 1929, curiously
enough, I thought of dropping out. The journal [Language]
was full of things like Hittite, which seemed to me as distant
as the other side of the moon" (Hill 1980:73). But he kept paying
his dues and soon things were looking up:
For me, the first revolution
began when I attended my first meeting of the Linguistic Society ….
The meeting was in the old Jefferson Hotel in Richmond, and
a vivid memory of it was a fountain in the lobby with little
alligators in it. Among the linguists who were present at that
meeting were Gray, Kurylowicz and Sturtevant. Sturtevant was
talking about Indo-European ablaut with Gray, and I ventured
a comment on it. I said that it seemed to me that the vowel
alternations between a pair of forms like alternation and alternate was
very like Indo-European ablaut. That was a pretty silly and
certainly a very naive question, but Sturtevant took it perfectly
seriously and gave me a very good and revealing answer ….
From that time on I was hooked. There was no scholarly organization
which meant as much to me as the Linguistic Society (Hill 1980:73-74).
In 1950 Hill was asked to succeed
J. Milton Cowan as secretary-treasurer of the LSA, a position
he held until 1968. During that time, the better part of a generation
and during a time of massive expansion in higher education and
the discipline of linguistics in particular, Archibald A. Hill
was the "face," as it were, of the Society. He was active behind
the scenes of course, as the secretary-treasurer always is. But
those were the days of plenary sessions: every session at every
annual meeting, winter or summer, was a plenary session; there
were no parallel sessions or sections. It was the secretary-treasurer's
job to preside over these mammoth sessions, to admonish windy
speakers to observe their time limits, to keep the questions
within bounds, to deal with the unpredictable.
No person ever performed that
irksome task better than Arch Hill. Tall (6'4"), always formally
dressed in suit and tie (of course!), slightly stooped with an
academic's myopia (it seemed)–Hill kept things on track
with humor and dignity and patience (and polite toughness, if
that's what it took). He was especially kind to neophytes. Robert
D. King recalls:
The one time I gave a paper at
an Annual Meeting in its old format, in 1967 in Chicago, my
nerves were naturally on edge beforehand, and I tripped over
a microphone cord as I walked up to the podium. I had an awkward
time extracting myself from all the electrical impedimenta
lying about on the floor. The moment threatened to become lost
in vulgar detail. Arch (who hardly knew me at the time, I hadn't
been at Texas very long) asked to see my handout before introducing
me, he raised some point or other about the handout, and by
the time he announced my paper I had calmed down, at least
on the outside. It wasn't until later that I realized he knew
exactly what he was doing when, like a magician, he deflected
my attention away from that coiled and rattling mass of microphone
lines and extension cords that had nearly undone me; he had
doubtless performed a similar service a dozen times before
for fidgety newcomers.
It was a marriage made in heaven,
as they say, Arch Hill and the secretary-treasurership (Arch
Hill and the LSA, actually). There was no secretariat, no staff
to speak of in those days, and almost all of the paperwork created
by the Society's affairs was done out of his home and office
by Hill and his wife, Muriel (who died in June 1986). "I recall
as a graduate student in 1962 ordering Eduard Prokosch's A
Comparative Germanic Grammar from the LSA, which meant from
the 'offices' of the LSA, University Station, Austin, Texas.
It arrived with a handwritten receipt, signed Archibald A. Hill" (Robert
D. King).
Arch never spoke publicly about
his years as secretary-treasurer without expressly according
his wife Muriel her share of the accolades (see, for example,
Hill 1991:146). Her contributions ranged from envelope-stuffing
and licking stamps to higher counsel and proofreading as well
as stylistic emendations ("Muriel writes better than I do," he
liked to say: she went over everything he wrote before he mailed
it). The Hills had no children of their own, and both of them
sometimes spoke of the LSA as their child. Certainly it would
be a lucky son or daughter who received as much love and care
as the Society and all its outworks while Arch was secretary-treasurer.
He was president of the LSA in 1969, and the suite of offices
housing the secretariat of the Society is named in his honor.
Muriel Hill's death in 1986
had a devastating effect on Arch. It left a huge vacuum in his
life, though she was never out of his mind. Or out of his sight: "The
effect of Muriel's death–and life–on him cannot easily
be described. She remained with him to the end of his own life:
facing him through his favorite picture of her placed in full
view from the armchair where he sat all through his waking hours" (M.
A. Jazayery).
Then there was Muriel Wright.
Her father, Phineas Wright, had been a student of Hill's at the
University of Michigan and later a colleague at the University
of Virginia. His daughter was named after Arch's wife, Muriel.
Muriel Wright, who attended UT and later worked for the state
in Austin, was a regular visitor while the Hills were still alive.
After Mrs. Hill's death, she looked after Arch with extraordinary
devotion. She went to his house every day after work, staying
until late in the evening. She spent the weekends there, especially
in his later years when he was immobile and sometimes seriously
ill. She was accompanied by her father whenever he came to Austin
from his home in Virginia. She was nurse, secretary, assistant,
friend, and companion to Arch Hill. She did as much for him and
meant as much to him as any "biological child" could have.
In these pages we have frequently
alluded to Hill's inborn kindness. It is true; he was extraordinarily
well disposed toward all. The now antediluvian phrase "a gentleman
and a scholar" attached itself to Arch Hill like an epithet in The
Iliad. But it will not do to leave the impression that he
was a sort of never-met-a-man-he-didn't-like Will Rogers of the
Academy. Bad manners of any sort he simply could not abide. He
would tolerate not a bit more than the usual amount of arrogance
in the questions following presentation of a paper at the annual
meeting; he once ruled a discussant's remarks "off the record" when,
in Hill's opinion, they exceeded the bounds of academic decency
(see Hill 1991:122). King recalls:
The harshest remark I ever heard
him make publicly about someone (a colleague who made an avocation
of bad manners) was "I don't have much use for that man." He
was talking to Dave Decamp [formerly UT Professor of English
and Linguistics, now deceased] and me at the time, and the
effect on us, who had never heard Arch say a thing like that
in public, was not unlike the effect that Louis XIV's "Qui
est cet homme …?" must have had on those in attendance.
It is very amusing of course, that so mild a statement ("I
don't have much use for that man") could sound like a veiled
threat of death or expropriation, but that's the way it was
with Arch Hill.
No summation of Archibald Hill's
life would be complete without mention of his oddest claim to
fame: "the song." Hill ended his contribution to the Oral Archive
for the History of American Linguistics by saying:
I will close with a pair of anecdotes.
Professor [Henry] Hoenigswald earlier in this meeting, was
good enough to quote me quoting Wordsworth, to the effect that
to be young in those days of the first revolution [the Bloomfieldian "revolution"]
was "very Heaven." He said it took some courage to make that
quotation. I don't see why–the quotation is in the public
domain. Some of you will, on the other hand, understand me
when I use a quotation to wish the Linguistic archive a "happy
birthday" and say that that quotation is not, like Henry's,
in the public domain (Hill 1991:75-76).
This statement will seem cryptic
to many (and now, no doubt, most) readers. Those present understood
it immediately, for Arch Hill owned the copyright to the
song "Happy Birthday." The song was written by two maiden aunts
of his who had had the uncommon good sense to copyright it, and
Hill inherited the rights to "Happy Birthday" when they died.
Every time "Happy Birthday" was played commercially, Hill made
some more money. He used to point to this or that and say something
to the effect that "'Happy Birthday' bought that." Many have
speculated how much "Happy Birthday" subsidized the LSA between
1950 and 1968 or the Hill Library in the Department of Linguistics.
Hill was especially fond of
the translations from Old Icelandic made by his colleague in
the Department of Germanic Languages, Lee Hollander. A fitting
benediction for this occasion comes from that language, from
the Hávamál:
Cattle die. Kin die.
Thou thyself shalt die.
One thing I know that never dies:
Judgment over the dead.
Time's judgment of Arch Hill–of
the man himself, and of all his works and days–is secure
and always will be, as it was on that winter day in 1992 when
a hushed and respectful world received the news of his death.
<signed>
Larry R. Faulkner,
President
The University of Texas at Austin
<signed>
John R. Durbin, Secretary
The General Faculty
This memorial resolution was prepared
by a special committee consisting of Professors Robert D. King
(chair), Thomas M. Cable, and M. Ali Jazayery.
REFERENCES*
Davis, Boyd H., and Raymond K.
O'Cain (eds.) 1980. First Person Singular: Papers from the
Conference on an Oral Archive for the History of American Linguistics.
Amsterdam: John Benjamins. (Amsterdam Studies in the Theory
and History of Linguistic Science 21.)
Hill, Archibald A. (ed.) 1962. Third
Texas Conference on Problems of Linguistic Analysis in English
(May 9-12, 1958). Austin, Texas: The University of Texas.
----------. 1972. Fifty Years of
English: from Comma to Full Stop. An Address to the Convocation
of the College of Humanities, The University of Texas, on May
20, 1972. (Reprinted in Jazayery, Polomé, and Winter 1978:1.33-40).
----------. 1980. "How Many Revolutions
can a Linguist Live Through?" In Davis and O'Cain, 69-76.
----------. 1991. "The Linguistic
Society of America and North American Linguistics, 1950-1968." Historiographia
Linguistica 18.49-152.
Jazayery, Mohammad Ali, Edgar C.
Polomé, and Werner Winter (eds.) 1978. Linguistic and
Literary Studies in Honor of Archibald A. Hill. 4 Volumes.
Lisse: Peter de Ridder (Vol. 1); The Hague: Mouton (Vols. 2-4).
(Trends in Linguistics, Studies and Monographs 7.)
Joos, Martin (ed.) 1957. Readings
in Linguistics. Washington: American Council of Learned
Societies.
Posner, Rebecca. 1978. "Phonemic
Overlapping and Repulsion Revisited." In Jazayery, Polomé,
and Winter, 235-243.
Scott, Charles T. 1993. "Archibald
Anderson Hill (1902-1992)." Historiographia Linguistica 20.
499-508.
*For a complete listing of Professor
Hill’s publications we refer the reader to the obituary
of Hill written by his student Charles T. Scott (Scott 1993),
to Einar Haugen's "For Arch" in Jazayery, Polomé, and
Winter (1978:1.14-18), and to Edgar Polomé's "Archibald
A. Hill: a Biographical Sketch" also written for the Hill Festschrift (Jazayery,
Polomé, and Winter 1978:1.13-14).
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