The Quest for Accounting Philosophers
It seems desirable-prudent might be a better word-to begin by explaining my presence on this platform. I might as well begin with an explanation because I have a suspicion that there will be an insistent demand for one by the end of this talk. Some months ago Sid Davidson came into my office. After some chitchat obviously designed to put me at ease, he mentioned this conference and, with beguiling candor, confessed that he was having some difficulty in locating a dinner speaker. It was also apparent that his failure was not due to any lack of effort. Indeed, I gained the distinct impression that he had approached nearly every one of the 58,459 members of the American Institute. Then-and I thought I heard a small mournful sigh-he said: How about you? Naturally, I was flattered to be invited to address this august assembly; but I think that I was really trapped into an acceptance by the growing panic in Sid's eyes. He simply had to complete the program quickly because he was about to embark on one of those overseas missions which involve many educators that the U.S. campuses must often resemble ghost towns. Well, that is how I came to this platform. The whole episode reminded me of an observation by Don Marquis' Archy the cockroach, who said of a friend that he was so unlucky that he ran into accidents which started out to happen to somebody else. This speech also started out to happen to somebody else; but I am not certain who is the greater victim of the accident: the speaker-or the audience. At this point, I must digress for a moment to reassure the academic traditionalists among you that the preceding paragraph in the official text of this address carries a symbol directing attention to a numbered footnote citing the source of that quotation from the erudite cockroach. As a matter of fact, I can add with some pride that the first footnote is