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2 July 1999 Vol. III, No. 1 Feature Article Publicity Club honors whip-cracking PR Prof Powers By David J. Craig The thought of COM Professor Emeritus Gerry Powers addressing a room while holding a glass object in his hand is probably enough to send a tingle of fear -- or silent amusement -- down the spine of anyone who survived the infamously stern and always theatrical instructor's public relations writing course. But at the Boston Harbor Hotel ballroom June 9, where the Publicity Club of New England held its 50th anniversary celebration, no public relations professional in attendance had any reason to cower beneath Powers' gaze when he was presented with the club's Crystal Bell Award for lifetime achievement in public relations. Not anymore, that is. Outgoing College of Communication Professor Emeritus and Crystal Bell Award winner Gerry Powers ponders a lifetime of achievement in public relations. Photo by Albert L'Etoile "He was always known as the toughest guy you had to have," says Roger Bridgeman (CAS'77), president of Bridgeman Communications, a Boston public relations firm, who recalls that Powers once towed a bullwhip to class. "The scary stuff was pretty superficial, I think -- just him trying to demand more out of us. But it worked. I still hear Gerry's voice over my shoulder every time I write in a passive voice." In testament to Powers' years of tenacious teaching and networking as director of the COM internship program, the audience at the hotel included hordes of Powers' former students. "There was even one guy there from my first class, in 1965," says Powers, who has built a reputation at BU as an uncompromising writing teacher and is proud to have his life's work measured by the professional success of his former students. Powers has helped place hundreds of students in jobs and internships at high-powered public relations firms around the country. He is officially retiring from BU in August, but will continue to coordinate the COM internship program through next year. "I like to stand up and play God in the classroom and to scare my students," says Powers. "But I also tell them that one day they'll be able to help me. And that's what they do. When I call an old student to set up an internship for somebody, if they give me any grief I can say, 'Hey, do you remember when I got you an internship in 1972?'" Powers insists that decades of teaching college and writing workshops at companies such as Boston Edison and ALCOA has shown him that "most educated Americans just can't write." He says that the no-nonsense teaching style for which he is famous is the only way to cure his students of the "laborious, heavy, and overly verbose" writing that often plagues them. While he has a reputation for being a drill sergeant in the classroom and a sometimes cantankerous personality outside it -- "Oh, there's a file on me in the provost's office," he says, reciting a list of professional run-ins he says have ruffled the feathers of BU administrators -- he is downright sentimental when describing his relationship with former students. Invitations to weddings, anniversary parties, and baptisms abound, he brags. "One student I hadn't talked to in years actually asked me to be the best man in his wedding some time ago," says Powers, adding that at his 60th birthday party