A History of Rice University Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2010 with funding from Lyrasis IVIembers and Sloan Foundation http://www.archive.org/details/historyofriceuniOOmein A Rice University Studies Special Publication ri5 -^^, l'2i^#&i!?S5S^' A HISTORY OF Rice University The Institute Years, 1907- 1963 FREDERICKA MEINERS Published in cooperation with the Rice University Historical Commission Rice University Studies • Houston, Texas © 1982 by Rice University All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America First Edition, 1982 All photographs are from the collections of the Woodson Research Center, Fondren Library, Rice University, except the following: Fig. 1. Houston Metropolitan Research Center, Houston Public Library Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be addressed to Rice University Studies, P. O. Box 1892, Rice University, Houston, Texas 77251. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 82-82825 ISBN 0-89263-250-X 10 987654321 To the memory of William Marsh Rice, Edgar Odell Lovett, and all the men and women who have contributed to the building of Rice University CONTENTS Illustrations ix Foreword xi Preface xiii Acknowledgments xvii I. THE OPENING I 2. THE BEGINNINGS II The Board of Trustees 14 Defining the Rice Institute 15 The Search for a President 16 Edgar Odell Lovett 20 Structuring the Institute 22 The Site and the Physical Plan 25 The First Buildings 29 Construction Begins 42 3. THE FORMATIVE YEARS 44 Selecting the Faculty 44 The Classes Begin 47 The Position of Women 49 Early Campus Life 50 Further Faculty Appointments 56 Other Changes 60 Administration and Curriculum 60 The First Library 64 Public Lectures 65 Early Achievements and Problems 66 4. RICE AND THE GREAT WAR JO Military Life on Campus 71 Tape and the Student Rebellion 74 The Students' Army Training Corps 81 The Campus Returns to Normal 82 Public Reaction to Rice Professors 83 5. CONSOLIDATION: THE 1920s 88 Two Solutions to Overcrowding 88 Other Solutions 92 The Institute's Financial Condition 94 Rice Faculty in the 1920s 95 Visiting Lecturers 98 Curriculum 102 A Change in Athletics 102 Aspects of Student Life 108 Hazing and Social Clubs 113 Alumni Activities and National Associations 117 6. SURVIVAL THROUGH THE depression: the 1930s 119 A Move to Reduce Expenses 120 Additional Revenues 121 Changes in the Faculty 122 A Question of Tenure 123 Some Memorable Professors 124 More Visiting Lecturers 125 Only a Few Building Projects 125 Hazing and Other Student Activities 127 Athletics — The Golden Age 129 The Distant Thunder of World Events 132 Contents 7, A DECADE OF CHANGE! THE 1940s 134 War Affects the Campus 134 Important Changes During the War Years 135 Postwar Changes 136 The Trustees' Long-Range Plan 140 A President to Succeed Edgar O. Lovett 141 President Houston Takes Office 143 Changes in Curriculum and Admissions 147 Changes in Faculty and Physical Plant 149 Student Concerns 157 Student Activities in the 1940s 162 8. A DECADE OF GROWTH! THE 1950s 168 Reorganizing the Board 168 A New Emphasis on Fund Raising 169 Grown h in the Administration 170 New Faces on the Faculty 172 The ig^os Building Boom 173 The Residential College System 178 Academic Difficulties 188 A New Attitude Among Students 190 A Lighter View of Campus Life 193 The i9<,os in Summary 195 9. NEW PLANS TO FIT A NEW NAME 196 Changing the Institute's Name 196 A Change in Presidents 197 The Move to Charge Tuition 200 President Pitzer's Long-Range Plan 202 Further Changes in the Curriculum 205 Admissions Procedures 206 The "Rice Myth " 207 Student Activities 209 10. SEMICENTENNIAL 21 3 Notes 219 Bibliography 237 Index 241 ILLUSTRATIONS 1. Downtown Houston, 1915 I 2 2. Visitors to the opening ceremonies I 3 3. Academic procession at the opening ceremonies I 5 4. South Hall and the Commons I 6 5. Henry Van Dyke reading the inaugural poem I 7 6. Faculty Chamber, 1912 I 8 7. Approach to the Administra- tion Building I 9 8. William Marsh Rice I 12 9. The fraudulent will / 13 10. The first Board of Trustees / 14 11. Edgar Odell Lovett I 20 12. Ralph Adams Cram I 26 13. The final architectural plan / 29 14. Early construction of the Administration Building I 30 15. William Ward Watkin I 30 16. Mid-construction of the Administration Building / 30 17. The Administration Build- ing nearly completed I 30 18. The finished building / 31 19. View through the Sallyport / 32 20. The completed Faculty Chamber 733 21. President Lovett' s office / ^4. 22. Boys' study I 35 23. Third floor classroom / 36 24. Mechanical Engineering Laboratory construction I t,G 25. Completed laboratory building / 37 26. Commons dining room / 38 27. Commons kitchen 739 28. Darwin I 40 29. DeLesseps I 40 30. Thucydides I 40 31. Plaque dedicated to science 741 32. Plaque dedicated to art / 41 33. Laying the cornerstone I 42 34. The cornerstone inscription I 42 35. The first faculty I 46 36. Registration Day, 1912 I 47 37. The Owl Literary Society 751 38. The Elizabeth Baldwin Lit- erary Society 751 39. The Rice Institute Engi- neering Society 752 40. The Women's Tennis Club I 52 41. Football team, 191 2 I 54 42. Football team, 19 13 755 43. Sammy I 56 44. Baseball team, 1913 I 56 45. An early track team 756 46. Harold A. Wilson I 57 47. Percy /. Daniell 7 57 48. Julian S. Huxley / S7 49. Arthur L. Hughes / S7 50. Stockton Axson I 58 51. Albert L. Guerard I 58 52. Radoslav A. Tsanoff I 58 53. Claude Heaps 759 54. Harry B. Weiser 759 55. Samuel G. McCann 759 56. Alice Crowell Dean and Sara Stratford I 64 57. The first library I 66 58. Academic procession, first commencement I 67 59. Conferring of degrees 7 68 60. Company A, Cadet Corps / 71 61. Company B, Cadet Corps / ji 62. Infantry life, 1917 I 72 63. "B.V.D. Co." I 73 64. The women's cadet corps, 1917 I 74-75 65. Cartoon and poem of cav- alry life 7 76 66. Tape 7 78-79 67. The Students' Army Train- ing Corps 7 81 68. The case of Lyford P. Edwards 7 86 69. Aerial photograph. Admin- istration Building I 89 70. Aerial photograph, Autry House I 89 71. Aerial photograph, resi- dential halls I 90 72. Exterior of Chemistry Building / 91 73. Carving on capital. Chem- istry Building I 91 74. Industrial laboratory I 92 Illustrations 75. Individual laboiatory I 92 76. Main dispensing room 793 77. Lecture hall, Chemistry Building / 93 78. French educational mission I 97 79. "Pershing Day," 1920 I 98 80. General Pershing I 99 81. Sir Henry Jones / 100 82. Laying cornerstone for Co- hen House / loi 83. Rendering of Cohen House / loi 84. Rice vs. Arkansas, igrg I 103 85. Pep Parade / 103 86. ]ohn W Heisman / 104 87. Golf team, 1930 I 107 88. Laying cornerstone for Au- try House / 109 89. Autry House /no 90. First May Fete king and queen /in 91. First Archi-Arts Ball / 1 1 1 92. The Rice Owl, Apr. 1924 / 1 12 93. The Rice Owl, Dec. 1924 / 113 94. First Rice Engineering Show program / 114 95. First Slime Nightshirt Parade / 116 96. Installation of Phi Beta Kappa I 111 97. Sarah Lane I 122 98. Statue of William Marsh Rice / 126 99. May Fete, 1938 I 128 100. Football team, 1937-38 I 130 loi. Basketball game, 1935 I 131 102. £. Y. Steakley track star I 132 103. Tennis team, 1938 I 132 104. Golf team, 1939 I 133 105. Purchase of Rincon Oil Field / 138 106. William Vennillion Houston / 144 107. Renaming Administration Building "Lovett Hall" I 145 108. Construction of Fondren Library, June 1947 / 151 109. Construction of Fondren Library, April 1948 I 151 no. Construction of Fondren Library, July 1948 I 151 111. Circulation area / 152 112. Lecture Lounge / i^i 113. Music and Arts Lounge / 1 5 2 114. Construction of Anderson Hall, Nov. 1946 I 154 115. Construction of Anderson Hall, July 1947 / 154 116. Construction of Anderson Hall, Dec. 1947 / 154 117. Groundbreaking for Aber- crombie Lab I 155 118. Aerial view of construction / 155 1 19. The completed Abercrom- bie Lab / 155 120. "Uncle Jupe" / 156 121. Interior of Abercrombie Lab / 157 122. Construction of new Rice Stadium / 158 123. Completed stadium with Jess Neely I 158-59 124. Cheerleaders, 1946 I 162 125. Rice vs. Texas A&^M, 1946 I 165 126. Rice vs. Texas A&^M. 1948 I 165 127. Freshman track team, 1947—48 I 166 128. Carey Croneis / 172 129. Van de Graaff accelerator / 174 130. Keith-Wiess Geological Lab I 175 131. Construction of Hamman Hall / 175 132. Hamman Hall, nearly completed I 176 133. Plans for Rice Memorial Student Center I 176 134. Construction of student center / 177 135. Bookstore, student center / 177 136. Banks Street apartments I 182 137. Construction of Jones College / 183 138. Dormitory group I 184 139. Wiess College / 185 140. Rice Exposition, I9S4 I 193 141. Football team, I9S3-54 I 194 142. Football team, 1957-58 I 194 143. Basketball team. 1953-54 I 195 144. Kenneth Sanborn Pitzer / 199 145. Rayzor Hall construction I 205 146. Rondelet, 1962-63 I 209 147. Will Rice Chorus, 1962-63 I 210 148. President Eisenhower's i960 visit /ill 149. President Kennedy's 1962 visit / 212 150-155. Semicentennial and installation of Pitzer I 214-215 FOREWORD This history of Rice University during its first fifty years is largely the product of the inspira- tion and hard work of a Rice alumnus, Willoughby Williams (Rice '39). Willoughby, a long- time staunch supporter of Rice, was one of the primary forces m an earlier project that brought to publication William Marsh Rice and His Institute, a volume based on the work of historian Andrew Forest Muir and edited by Sylvia Morris. That book de- rived to a considerable extent from an existing manuscript that had been prepared by Muir before his death. Work on a history of the university loomed as a much larger project, since materials and oral histories would have to be compiled from scratch. To Wil- loughby, ably seconded by Ray Watkin Hoagland (Rice '36) and a group of other interested individ- uals, time was critical. Many of the early records of the university had already been lost beyond re- covery, and much that was avail- able only in the memories of early faculty and graduates would soon be gone. If a history of the early years of the university was to be written, it had to be done without delay. Willoughby began to organize support, and the Rice University Historical Commission was formed in 1975 with H. Malcolm Lovett (Rice '21) as chairman. I agreed to direct the project with the advice of historian and pro- vost Frank E. Vandiver and archi- vist Nancy Boothe Parker (Rice '52). Willoughby Williams, aided by Malcolm Lovett and Ray Hoagland (and later by E. [oe Shimek, Rice '29, and John B. Coffee, Rice '34), spearheaded the money-raising aspects of the work, and a three-year project was organized to survey the ex- isting records, recover what was possible of the early material, in- terview key figures, and write the history of Rice from its founding through 1962-63, the year of the semicentennial celebrating the opening of Rice in 1912. This work would not have been possi- ble without Willoughby Wil- liams, Joe Shimek, and all those individuals who contributed money and time in support of our effort. This history has been written in order to recapture as accu- rately as possible the story of the planning and dedication, as well as the working out in practice, of the ideas of a group of men de- voted to creating an educational institution worthy of the trust evinced by William Marsh Rice when in 1891 he drew up an in- denture containing the outlines for the institution he intended to endow. The goals of William Marsh Rice himself, of the mem- bers of the first Board of Trust- ees, and of Edgar Odell Lovett, the first president of the univer- sity, provided the guidelines by which the institution gradually worked out its organization and plans for the future. Although Rice University (of- ficially Rice Institute throughout most of the time covered by this history) is the central focus of this book. Rice cannot be re- garded as standing in isolation from the rest of the world of uni- versity education. If in these pages it sometimes appears that Rice faced unusual financial problems during the Great De- pression, we should remember that those problems were dif- ferent only in detail from prob- lems facing every institution of higher learning at the time; if Rice faced problems reestablish- ing its educational image follow- ing the conclusion of World War II, so also did every other univer- sity worthy of the name. The world of education is not static. William Marsh Rice himself had experienced some feeling of this in the gradual shift of his goal Foreword from endowing an orphans' tech- nical school to endowing an in- stitution of higher learning for the advancement of science, liter- ature, and art. Likewise the ideas of the members of the Board of Trustees expanded and developed through their years of grappling with the problems of freeing the endowment of entanglements, of searching for a president for the new institution, and of working with a series of notable univer- sity presidents, beginning with the first, Edgar Odell Lovett, in setting goals for the university and striving to attain those goals in practice. Our author, Fredericka Meiners (Rice '63), who holds the Ph.D. in history, is well trained for her task, and she has worked long and hard to portray this history of Rice as accurately as possible. Of course, since she is a Rice alumna, she cannot be un- biased— no alumnus is. The great majority of students who have attended Rice have loved the place — for its weaknesses as well as for its strengths. Miss Meiners is no exception. Hers is an honest representation based on a great deal of work and a careful sifting of the source material available. I hope that you like it — I too am an alum. Katherine Fischer Drew '44 PREFACE Students at Rice learn slowly about the history of the univer- sity. During freshman orientation they hear the story of the found- er's murder. They tour the cam- pus and begin to appreciate the buildings and their often whimsi- cal decorations. Tales of pro- fessors or past events are passed down through the student grape- vine, and traditions are main- tained, although even those change with time. A professor may relate a story from the "good old days" some fifteen or twenty years agO; the student newspaper, the Thresher, may reprint an item from an early edition, ex- plain the evolution of the college court system, or describe the de- velopment of the spring festival, Rondelet, and its component Beer-Bike Race. An alumnus may ask a current student how things are going and then start reminis- cing with the ominous words, "Now, when I was at Rice, it was really hard." Through these sources students gain a piece- meal knowledge of the past, lore that often has little meaning for present residents of Rice, who are naturally more interested in the university as they experience it. It is the view of Rice that one absorbs as a student that tends to stick in the mind and that often leads to the assumption that Rice is unchanging. Only by active, prolonged involvement with the university, its faculty, and its stu- dents does an alumnus really see changes taking place withm the structure. My original view of Rice was as an undergraduate coming to the campus in 1959 (when it was still the Rice Institute). After staying for an additional year be- yond my B.A. in 1963 to earn a teaching certificate, I left to teach in public school. I retained some of my ties on campus and read about events there, and when I returned to Rice in 1970 for graduate work, I did not ex- pect much difficulty in adapting myself. What I found, however, was a university much changed. It was bigger: more buildings, more stu- dents, more professors, more courses. There was an admin- istrative bureaucracy. The feeling was more impersonal; gone were the days when everyone knew al- most everyone else on campus. There was also somehow a dif- ferent atmosphere, a more re- laxed, less pressure-filled exis- tence for the undergraduates. Perhaps this was due to the changed curriculum. Every other undergraduate seemed to be a "double major," a difficult status to obtain in my previous student days because of all the specific courses required. There were also many smaller changes. No longer were women plagued with the regulation against wearing pants m the library. The Chemistry Lecture Hall was air-conditioned and sported upholstered seats. Freshmen were downright pam- pered during orientation week, and liquor could be served on campus. Even with the changes, how- ever. Rice was recognizable to a graduate of 1963. Some of the old student irreverence toward the place lingered, much softened and showing up hilariously in the performances of the MOB (Marching Owl Band). A great deal of pressure remained. Stu- dents still found it difficult to ex- plain what Rice was really like to their friends who had gone to other schools. That particular brand of self-deprecating arro- gance and snobbishness was still manifest, now in T-shirt inscrip- tions: "I go to Rice, I must be smart." The college system was stronger than ever, as were the perennial complaints about the college food service. And even without a speaker at commence- ment, Rice managed a satisfying Preface spectacle with flags flying, the traditional simple ceremony, and attention where it belonged: on the graduates. When I returned to Rice m 1976 to write its history, I knew that change and development would be one of my major themes, as it is for almost any history. At the same time I knew that there were several different perceptions of that change that I would have to explore. The Board of Governors had one perspective on the Institute, the faculty an- other, the students still another, and the outside world yet a dif- ferent one. My main areas for concern would be the board's ac- tions, usually involving finances, construction, and presidential searches; the university admin- istration's decisions and actions relating to a wide range of sub- jects; and faculty actions and changes. Curriculum develop- ments would be important be- cause they would show what kind of education Rice offered its students and hence what kind of university program its presidents and faculty envisioned. I would also want to report on student life, from student associations to hazing, from special campus events to routine occurrences, from the trials of athletic teams to student attitudes toward Rice in general. Since it is impossible to name every person of prominence on campus and to tell every story, I knew I would have to limit my coverage of this area to firsts (such as the first May Fete queen and king), to stories involving many people, and to ongoing events and traditions, hoping to evoke memories in the minds of alumni while describing student life sufficiently for nonalumni to understand. As I began to explore the sources it became clear that I could not organize the story around a series of chapters deal- ing with single topics, such as one chapter on all the board deci- sions and another on curriculum development. Each topic was tied to the others, so interlocked that telling each separately would make the story incomprehen- sible. So I have told the story chronologically. After a synopsis of the events leading to the founding of the Institute, Wil- liam Marsh Rice's murder, and actions settling the murder case and Rice's will, this history be- gins with receipt of the endow- ment by the board in 1907. It ends with the semicentennial year, 1962-63. This is a conve- nient stopping point for a variety of reasons. Up to that time, even considering the growth of the In- stitute after World War II and per- haps despite the change m stu- dent attitudes in the 19SOS, Rice history seems a coherent fabric. During the 1960s, partly through President Pitzer's expansion pro- gram, partly because of the tur- moil and changes in American society as a whole, the Rice that emerged was not the same, in real and in subtle ways. To tell the later story would greatly lengthen the time needed for research and writing and would involve events too recent for us to have developed a histor- ical perspective. Furthermore, it was a problem to decide where to stop if I continued past 1963. I did not find it sensible to end with Kenneth Pitzer's departure, or Frank E. Vandiver's acting presidency, or Norman Hacker- man's arrival; either too much was still unsettled at each of these points, or my history would seem just to meander to a close. By stopping in 1963 I could include the name change from Institute to University, introduce the new president and his plans, use the formal opening and the semicentennial as stylistic book- ends, and finish optimistically. Sources for the history up to 1963 were not as plentiful as I had hoped. The most important were the collection of Presidents' Papers, other collections such as the Watkin Papers, copies of Rice publications, and various ar- tifacts in the Woodson Research Center of Fondren Library, where the archives of the university are located. These documents did not satisfy my historian's curiosity. As a private institution in a time of little regulation by any outside entity, the Institute was not ob- liged to keep many records. The only office that could be counted on to have its records intact was that of the registrar. The Presi- dents' Papers are full of lacunae: in some instances no memoranda were kept (if they were ever writ- ten), papers were lost in floods or were simply cleaned out of the files and thrown away when the relevant matters were settled. Rice was a small communitv, and Preface much of its business was trans- acted by one person who con- sulted another, arrived at a decision, and implemented it without recording it. No Deans' Papers exist for the first fifty years, except for a few letters and some other information from Dean Cameron's tenure in the I9SOS. The minutes of the fac- ulty have been preserved and were quite valuable in tracing curriculum development. The minutes of the Board of Gover- nors are complete in the trea- surer's office, but the correspon- dence files are nearly empty for the years before 1940. Depart- mental records simply do not ex- ist before the fifties. I was surprised to find that for many matters I had more information on the early days than I did for the beginnmg of Pitzer's admin- istration. Much of the Pitzer col- lection has not yet been carefully inventoried; I expect that more detailed information from the first years of that administration will be found in it. Fortunately, there are still a number of people living who re- member the beginnings of the school. Or to put it another way, as Allie Mae Autry Kellcy did at the reunion of the fifty-year classes in 1976, "Isn't it wonder- ful that so many of us are still vertical!" I am indebted to the alumni and faculty members who were kind enough to share their memories. Interviews with them were extremely helpful, giving me information for which there was no other source. Since memories are notoriously tricky. I have tried not to use informa- tion from an interview unless I had corroborating evidence from another informant or in a writ- ten source. The tapes and tran- scripts from these interviews will be placed in the Woodson Re- search Center after the project is completed. I have enjoyed looking into the past of Rice University. There were many outstanding person- alities to consider, a few myste- ries to unravel, and a number of things to learn. Most of my pre- conceptions were confirmed, but not all. (For example, although excellence has always been its standard. Rice was never as wealthy as legend had painted it.) I have met a number of Rice graduates and found that, even though we are of different genera- tions, we speak the same lan- guage concerning the univer- sity— most of the time. Some of my opinions, formed after the change I perceive in student atti- tudes in the 1950s, are closer to those of present students than to those of students who graduated fifteen years before me. I do not envy whoever picks up the story from here and has the task of describing and explaining the 1960s, but I wish that person well. I know that he or she will enjoy, as I have, being the first on the scene to work with all the sources, trying to decide what really happened and why, while attempting to maintain a balance between a professional history and what might be called a popu- lar one. I hope that whoever car- ries on the story will be a Rice graduate. Rice is not like other universities. And all of its alumni should rejoice in that fact. Fredericka Meiners July 1982 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I have many people to thank for their help with this history. The members of the Rice Histor- ical Commission gave both fi- nancial and moral support. Their interest made it considerably easier to get the job done. Kather- ine Drew let me work with a minimum of interference and a maximum of aid. Frank Vandiver answered many questions about the past and the present, and Nancy Parker guided me through the archives in the Woodson Re- search Center. The staff of the center gave much of their time and energy to the project and put up with me and my assistants at the same time. Moira Sullivan, a graduate assistant, was indispen- sable for her interest and obser- vations and for her exhaustive inventory of the Presidents' Pa- pers. Holly Leitz had to decipher my scribblings and produce a clean typed copy of the manu- script. Elizabeth Williams, Bryan Pedeaux, and Ray Watkin Hoag- land began the interviews before I arrived; they asked all the right questions. My editors at Rice University Studies, first Kathleen Much and then Barbara Burn- ham, must be especially com- mended for their excellent and professional aid. I wish to thank especially all the alumni and friends of Rice who gave gener- ously of their time to be inter- viewed. Without them the his- tory would have been impossible. To the many readers of the man- uscript versions, especially Ray Hoagland, Eula Goss Winter- mann, and H. Malcolm Lovett, I wish also to express my apprecia- tion for their careful reading and valuable suggestions. P.M. CHAPTER 1 The Opening Emblazoned with a silver seal and blue ribbon, invitations went out in wooden cylinders to the leading universities and learned societies of the world: the presi- dent and trustees of the Rice In- stitute request a representative at the formal opening of the new university in Houston, Texas, on October lo, ii, and 12, 1912. Replies came from the University of Paris, the Royal Society of London, the American Philo- sophical Society, Harvard, Yale, and Princeton, the American So- ciety of Civil Engmeers, the Na- tional Geographic Society, the South African School of Mines and Technology, the University of the Philippines, and from scores of others. They were happy to send delegates to the ceremonies and wished the Institute well in its endeavors.' So gathered in Houston a group such as few Texans had ever seen: mathematicians, biologists, physicists, philosophers, poets, historians, engineers — illustrious scholars, preeminent representa- tives of their fields, leaders of their own institutions, all arriv- ing to celebrate the Institute's opening. Situated on a low-lying coastal plain fifty miles inland from the Gulf of Mexico, Houston was a fast-growing adolescent city of 109,000 in 1912.' Except for the port of Galveston, there were no large towns for miles around. Coming from the northeast, many of the visitors might have looked upon their trip as some- thing of an adventure: Houston was not known for its cultural at- tractions in 1912, and the very word "Texas" conjured visions of the wild western frontier. The city did offer opportunities, al- though they were more financial than aesthetic or intellectual. The old money came from south- ern staples — cotton, cattle, and lumber — but recent big oil dis- coveries in East Texas and pro- duction of sulfur in Brazoria County to the south augured well for the future. At the time of the opening. Houston was a commercial town, seemingly more interested in the advantages of dredging a ship channel to the Gulf than in the higher aspects of the mind. Of- ficial Houston was not blind, however, to the attractions that might derive from a university. One newspaper editor was so bold as to declare that the Rice Institute would be more valuable to Houston than two Panama Ca- nals and would add thousands to the city's population.' Whether Houstonians viewed the addition as offering intellectual benefits or monetary ones, they turned out to give the Institute a rousing send-off. City dignitaries at- tended all the functions, and several clubs opened their doors to guests of the Institute. The Chamber of Commerce hosted one of the breakfasts for the dele- gates. Many Houstonians saw some part of the ceremonies. There was much to see and hear. President Edgar Odell Lovett and the Board of Trustees under the chairmanship of Captain The Opening •P'^^^Sus I. Main Street, downtown Houston, igis- The Opening _» "«.' ' •"v^:.: 2. Delegates and visitors to the formal opening ceremonies of the William Marsh Rice Institute, Saturday. October 12. 1912. James A. Baker had invited and assembled an outstanding group of scholars. University of London professor Sir William Ramsay, a Nobel laureate knighted for his contributions in chemistry, came to speak on the transmutation of matter; the eminent botanist Hugo de Vries of the University of Amsterdam on the biological form of transmutation in hered- ity; and the historian Rafael Al- tamira y Crevea of the University of Oviedo, Spain, on the history of human progress. The cele- brated Emile Borel from the Uni- versity of Paris lectured on math- ematics, Sir Henry Jones from Glasgow discussed philosophy, and Vito Volterra, a senator of Italy, spoke on mathematics and the work of Henri Poincare, who had been invited to speak but died after preparing his lectures for the opening. Another group of invited lec- turers presented their work by ti- tle at the ceremonies, with the actual papers being published later. Sir John William Mackail of London discussed poetry in mod- ern life, and Frederik Carl Stor- mer from Christiania, Norway, The Opening wrote on cosmic physics and magnetic storms. From Tokyo came a paper by Privy Councilor Baron Dairoku Kikuchi on the in- troduction of western learning into Japan. The noted Italian phi- losopher and statesman Bene- detto Croce wrote on art, and Privy Councilor Wilhelm Ost- wald from Leipzig, Germany, dis- cussed the theory of education. Speakers at luncheons, dinners, and other gatherings included Dean William Francis Magie and Professor Edwin Grant Conklin of Princeton, President Harry Pratt Judson of the University of Chicago, Chancellor James Hampton Kirkland of Vanderhilt, Dean George Gary Comstock of the University of Wisconsin, and President Samuel Palmer Brooks of Baylor University. David Starr Jordan of Stanford, Ira Remsen of Johns Hopkins, Sidney Edward Mezes of the University of Texas, David Ross Boyd of the Univer- sity of New Mexico, and William Trufant Foster of Reed College were only a few of the university presidents representing their institutions. In the words of former Rice bursar John T. McCants, a "rather elaborate" schedule was arranged for the guests. His characteriza- tion was something of an under- statement. President Lovett and the board had devised a program requiring stamina but also offer- ing much entertainment. Thurs- day, October lo, and Friday the eleventh began with breakfast at the best hotel in town, the eleven-story Bender. Lectures fol- lowed at 10:30 in the Faculty Chamber of the Administration Building at the Rice Institute. On Thursday the mayor and com- missioners of Houston invited the delegates to lunch at the City Auditorium's banquet hall; after- wards all returned to the Insti- tute for more lectures and an informal garden party. Thursday evening Hugo de Vries gave a popular illustrated lecture en- titled "The Ideal of a Naturalist" at the Majestic Theater, and Cap- tain and Mrs. Baker hosted a re- ception at their home. Photographs and written ac- counts record the celebration. Those who knew many of the delegates in person or by repu- tation found it striking to see Ramsay, de Vries, Borel, and the others in the middle of a Texas prairie, or even in the banquet room of the Hotel Bender. The English biologist Julian Huxley, soon to be an instructor at the Institute, was not impressed with the speeches of some of the Texas politicians, especially that of Governor Oscar B. Colquitt, who spoke extemporaneously about the wonders of Texas. But a graceful little address by Dean Comstock of Wisconsin more than compensated for the gover- nor's boasting.^ Colquitt's lun- cheon address was one of the first in a long line of speeches and lec- tures to be heard in the next two days. After the next morning's talks, Friday afternoon was filled by a luncheon at the Thalian Club given by Mr. and Mrs. Jonas Shearn Rice at one o'clock, a con- cert by the Kneisel Quartet of New York at the Majestic at three, a garden party given by Mr. and Mrs. Edwin Brewington Par- ker at five o'clock, and another concert by the Kneisel Quartet in the Faculty Chamber at eight- thirty. Dinner in the Commons of the residential hall on campus rounded out a busy day. By Friday night's dinner, which started much later than sched- uled, some of the guests were feeling the effects of the constant activities. The first course, a grapefruit filled with a combina- tion of potent liquors,' brightened the guests' outlook and provided some amusement; but afterwards the speeches continued. This round consisted of responses by the principal speakers, toasting the new institution in the name of various disciplines such as mathematics and philosophy. After eight such addresses, cut short in some cases by the re- sponder as he remarked on the lateness of the hour, Boston ar- chitect Ralph Adams Cram was called upon to speak about art. Julian Huxley, who was sitting next to Lady Ramsay, reported that "Cram rose to his feet, pro- duced an enormous roll of type- script from his pocket and pro- ceeded to read implacably on. After twenty minutes, the lady could stand no more: 'Oh, I am so tired! . . . ' she said, and let her head fall forward on to her hands on the table."' Saturday was different; Satur- day was special. Tired or not, at 9:30 A.M. the delegates and guests assembled in academic re- galia at the residential hall and proceeded to the cloisters of the Administration Building for the formal dedication of the Insti- The Opening 3. The academic procession at the formal opening ceremonies. The grounds were still under construction, with debris scattered in the background. tute. A band led the way. Upon reaching the Academic Court, speakers and board members mounted the platform, while del- egates took their seats in the semicircle of chairs arranged in front. First came a reading from the Bible and the singing of "Veni Creator Spiritus." Then Henry Van Dyke of Princeton read the inaugural poem, "Texas, A Dem- ocratic Ode," followed by Chief Justice Thomas Jefferson Brown of the Texas Supreme Court speaking on education and the state. Thomas Frank Gailor, the Episcopal bishop of Tennessee, discoursed on education and the church. President Lovett then had his opportunity to expound on the new university's source in the legacy of William Marsh Rice; its site in the South, m Texas, and in Houston; the scope of its activity; and its spirit of in- quiry, inspiration, and progress. A glimpse of the high purpose and enthusiastic spirit of adven- ture shared by the small group of students and faculty at the inau- guration could be seen in the ad- dress. It reflected the idealistic and hopeful attitude of the early years of the Rice Institute and contained the germ of many ideas that, combined, were to make Rice unique. In the actual address and its expanded version published in Volume I, Number i of the Rice Institute Pamphlet, Lovett spoke of educating an in- tellectual elite, of community service, an honor system, a colle- giate residential system, a broad liberal education, and of recog- nizing outstanding scholarship by awards and financial assis- tance. No less important were a spirit of independent judgment and initiative xn scholarly re- The Opening 4. Delegates and guests proceeding past the new dormitory. South Hall, and the Commons, both still under construction. search. The ceremony closed with the choir singing the "One Hundredth Psalm"; the Reverend Dr. Charles Frederic Aked, pas- tor of the First Congregational Church of San Francisco, pro- nounced the benediction. After more speeches lunch was served in the Commons, and there were more congratulatory addresses. Another reception fol- lowed, this one given by Dr. and Mrs. Lovett at the young but ele- gant Houston Country Club. Then the delegates boarded a spe- cial train to Galveston for a sea- food supper and overnight ac- commodations at the Hotel Galvez, without speeches, for a change. The special train brought everyone back to Houston on Sunday for a religious service in the City Auditorium with a ser- mon by the Reverend Dr. Aked. Many Protestant churches in Houston omitted their morning services so their members could join in the dedication.^ The formal opening cere- monies caused a certain amount of disruption in class schedules, but for the most part the stu- dents were on the outskirts of the festivities. They heard some of the lectures in the Faculty Cham- ber from the small balcony above the entrance and were much im- pressed by the dignitaries there. A number of young men also found themselves invited to the dinner m the Commons when so many tired guests did not come that several tables were empty. These students devoured every- thing from the punch-filled grapefruit to dessert — quite a meal for brand-new freshmen.' Photographs of the events The Opening ^.ysuMv.- 5. Professor Henry Van Dyke of Princeton University reading tfie inaugural poem, "Texas, A Democratic Ode," which he wrote as part of the formal dedication ceremonies. October 12, 1912. show a physical plant in an im- perfect state. No building was finished. Although exteriors were presentable, interiors were an- other matter. The Faculty Cham- ber, a high-ceilinged room ap- proximately twenty-seven feet wide by eighty feet long, did have churchlike pews mstalled along each side facing the center aisle in the collegiate style; and the stage where the lecturers stood was in place. The lighting, how- ever, consisted of bare bulbs dan- gling at the end of long wires extending from holes in the ceil- ing. Neither the chamber nor the Commons was large enough for the Saturday convocation, so a platform for the speakers was erected outside, on the west side of the Administration Building. The new university's grounds look bleak in the black-and- white photographs. Construction equipment is strewn about in the background, and only the large- gravel beds for the roads had been laid, not the fine-gravel top. Al- though trees had been planted to line the roadways, one notices the street lights first because they are considerably taller than the trees. Shrubs and hedges had also been planted, but their slight size and the lack of landscaping around the Administration Build- ing seem accentuated by potted palms and other movable shrub- bery placed about the building and platform at regular intervals for the ceremonies. The view from the Administration Building was still prairie, and the distance between buildings looks greater than it actually was because of the open spaces. The Opening -^ -^ ^ inrr 6. Interior of the Faculty Chamber in the Administration Building. 1912. The Opening 7. Approach to the Admmistration Building from Main Street, showing the Mechanical Laboratory on the right and new trees and shrubbery planted along the fence. October 12. 19 12. The Opening Unfinished buildings and grounds did not deter either the speakers or the academic pro- cession. Even the weather cooper- ated to welcome the new Insti- tute with benevolence. Thursday and Friday were warm, with the temperature about ninety de- grees; but a breeze helped cool the visitors. Evening tempera- tures in the low seventies made the days bearable. Saturday morn- ing's procession also had a breeze to help it along, and in the photo- graphs some of the delegates ap- pear to be in full sail as they approach the Administration Building." On Sunday afternoon the dele- gates, guests, and other partici- pants began their trip home, leaving the institution of higher learning to the members of its faculty, who had been much in evidence at the exercises, and to its first students, who had not.'° Indeed, delegates outnumbered the stalwart little band of young men and women who came to the untried school; those guests probably thought that the adven- ture in Texas was over. But that did not matter. The president, faculty, and students would have the real adventure — beginning the William M. Rice Institute. CHAPTER 2 The Beginnings The Rice Institute had an event- ful beginning by any definition. Its story opened with Wilham Marsh Rice — Massachusetts- born merchant, cotton trader, businessman — who had made a great deal of money in Texas. Rice was interested in education (his father's interest in it may have influenced him) and in somehow returning part of his wealth to society. By 1880, at the age of sixty-three, he was consid- ering the establishment of some philanthropic enterprise to be the beneficiary of his millions. His first wife, Margaret Bremond Rice, had died in 1863, and in 1867 Rice had married a young widow, Julia Elizabeth Baldwin Brown. Both marriages were childless. Influenced by the ex- ample of Stephen Girard (who had established Girard College in Philadelphia) and Peter Cooper (of Cooper Union for the Ad- vancement of Science and Art in New York City), Rice first in- tended to build an orphans' insti- tute in Somerset County, New Jersey. In 1882 he made a will leaving the bulk of his estate to such an institution, hoping that he might help those without family or influence to secure training for a skilled job. Before the orphans' home was set up, however. Rice changed his mind. While in Houston on busi- ness in 1886 or 1887, Rice visited his old friend Cesar M. Lombardi, who was president of the Hous- ton School Board. Lombardi was looking for money with which to build a municipal high school. Since Rice had made a large part of his fortune in Houston, Lom- bardi suggested that Rice leave some of it to the city in the form of a school. Rice made no imme- diate decision, but by the spring of 1891, he had decided what he would do with his money. He in- formed Lombardi that he wanted to endow an "institution of learn- ing" similar to Cooper Union but separate from the public school system, to be called the William M. Rice Institute of Literature, Science and Art. Provisions were to be made for financing, includ- ing a $200,000 note to be held as endowment; but beyond that Rice did not want anything to be done during his lifetime toward the establishment of the Institute.' On May 13, 1891, Rice and the six trustees whom he had picked signed a deed of indenture for "a Public Library and Institute for the Advancement of Literature, Science and Art." On May 19 the charter for the William M. Rice Institute was registered in Aus- tin, and the deed of indenture was included in the charter. The six trustees were Lombardi; Emanuel Raphael, president of the Houston Electric Light and Power Company and trustee of the Houston public school sys- tem; Rice's brother Frederick, a banker and treasurer of the Hous- ton and Texas Central Railroad; James E. McAshan, a banker; Al- fred S. Richardson, a director of the Houston and Texas Central Railroad; and James A. Baker, Jr., Rice's attorney. The Beginnings 8. William Marsh Rice as an older man. This engraving was the frontispiece of B. H. Carroll's Standard History of Houston, Texas IKnoxviUe. Tenn.: H. W. Crew ei> Co.. 19 12}. In 1892 Rice drew up four deeds of gift with his second wife Ehzabeth as cosigner and gave the recently incorporated histi- tute a sizable amount of land in several parcels. The most impor- tant for the school would be al- most 50,000 acres of timberland in Beauregard Parish, Louisiana. The Institute also received nearly 10,000 acres in lones County, Texas, seven acres in Houston fronting on Louisiana Street (listed in the deed as "Site of the Institute"), and the Capitol Hotel at Main Street and Texas Avenue. After his second wife's death in 1896, Rice made a new will leav- ing the bulk of his estate to the Institute. From 1896 to 1904 the pro- posed endowment of the Institute was in jeopardy. Mrs. Rice died in Houston on luly 24, 1896, having made an extraordinary will on her deathbed without her hus- band's knowledge, disposing of one-half of all assets acquired by Mr. Rice during their marriage. This will included a repudiation of the deeds for the Institute, and it named as executor Houston at- torney Orren Holt, the husband of a woman who had attended Mrs. Rice constantly in her last illness. Mrs. Rice's will was in accordance with Texas commu- nity property laws; but since the Rices were not actually Texas residents at the time, William Marsh Rice was confident that the will was not valid. He con- tested it. The case had not yet been resolved when on Septem- ber 23, 1900, Rice himself died under mysterious circumstances in New York City. To the con- The Beginnings 13 sternation of James A. Baker, Jr., and the other Institute trustees, one Albert T. Patrick, lawyer and colleague of Orren Holt, materi- alized with a new will purporting to supersede Mr. Rice's will of 1896. Patrick also produced a general assignment under which he assumed control of all of Rice's property. Under the new documents the Institute would get nothing. Baker rushed to New York and, with Rice's New York lawyers and the cooperation of the dis- trict attorney's office, inves- tigated the sudden death and suspect legal instruments. As a result Patrick and Rice's young valet, Charles Jones, were in- dicted on October 4, 1900, for forgery of the will and other doc- uments. Soon after that the coro- ner reported that he had found a fatal quantity of bichloride of mercury in Rice's vital organs. The manservant Jones con- fessed that he and Patrick had murdered the elderly gentleman. Jones claimed that Patrick had held a towel containing chlo- roform over Rice's nose and mouth until he had ceased to breathe. In addition, he admitted that the two of them had been administering mercury pills to Rice before the successful mur- der. After this confession Jones twice tried to commit suicide in prison and was confined to Belle- vue Hospital. Patrick, who had been released on bail from the forgery charge, was arrested again in March 1901 and charged with the murder of William M. Rice. A sensational trial followed, dur- ing which Jones admitted that he t-^'.", ai'.l s .::-i i- '.'• t, 1 on -=— "-T. "'-,- "l°v«i".t:T: I gl-e, ievi'-o -jr. 1 i-^queaii n Albe-t. "". ?h- t.'i'Jr-., T'ly.".-'.-/ '.- ■'.=!-'.T-. ".T" 0' '.■<"•' YO""'., Ill •■;<= ""■'Z ar. 1 ""-:1 ■..•=■ ji" ny e^znl", ^^hI, ye"-? jnal ar.l mixed, :-.<:-•:-*.•:)- 1:1 "^3S'^I.-:.V.y vrErs;. , 1, tie -^ald Wl^llai -l. S:::e, Zo ". il^ '■\y ',9^t ■•■■11: HT.'i T»!?ta"iBnt, ha"= Buh'-rlVe ; r.y ni'ie -jnd arflxe 1 ly •j-'hI In t he p'-esenc; of .^/i<^^^.,.^.^-3 a'5 Tui^-'^'^lMn; wltn<>'?';» = , w>io 9l?7i the "3Tne a"! ^ui?'""!^;.;:;; v/ltne^ise^ at !ny "eque-;!, in ray presenile ar.rl Ir z\v- n-»-eop".-e o" eac'n ot i"- t>ils JHS day of it(--<_f-<_-— " , A. 0. nineteen hundred (19:0 ). f^ Si.^r.o-I, seale""., p'-''" --'■ i" 1 ^inl decla'^ed by tie ■''-ild V/l,.iiur.i ;.i. T;i,;e, v, 'rr~ an1 t3 be ii<; lu^it Will and Te) Harris. Wilson Betts; front row: Harry Lee Hailess. George I. Goodwin. 45. Early track team, probably 1916 or 1917. The Formative Years 57 Darnell and Julian Huxley arrived to assume their positions as as- sistant professors. Professor Wil- son had been helpmg President Lovett find good faculty members in several fields, emphasizing that "unless we get some really first rate men, the Institute will get a poor reputation which will take years to live down." He sug- gested to Lovett that advertising positions at better salaries than were paid elsewhere (or at least equivalent ones) was an efficient method of establishing the Insti- tute's reputation. Wilson also lobbied hard for a second physi- cist, and Lovett hired one that year. The new assistant profes- sor was another scholar recom- mended by J. J. Thomson: Arthur Llewelyn Hughes.'" President Lovett also added two full professors to the staff in humanities: Albert L. Guerard from Stanford to establish the French department, and Stockton Axson from Princeton to head English, which up to this time had consisted of McCants, Coach 47. Percy John Daniell. assistant professor of applied mathematics. Arbuckle for a term, and Roy P. Lingle, an instructor. Axson was Woodrow Wilson's brother-in-law and was known and loved at Princeton as an ideal profes- sor. His lectures at Rice soon be- came famous, especially those on Shakespeare with Axson reciting the various parts. Those who saw him said that he veritably be- came Falstaff. Axson had an un- usual arrangement with the Insti- tute whereby he remained m the Northeast for the first term each year but taught the second and third terms at Rice.'" The 191 3 -14 budget gave some indication of the faculty situation, and a letter from Pro- fessor Wilson to Lovett echoed the needs of the Institute. Listed in the budget in a special column marked "imperative" were the fields and ranks that had to be filled. Lovett wanted professors for chemistry and education, in- structors in physics and English, and lecturers in history and poli- tics. Engineering appears to have had special problems. Although 46. Harold Albert Wilson, professor of physics. 48. fulian Sorell Huxley, assistant professor of biology. 49. Arthur Llewelyn Hughes, assistant professor of physics. The Formative Years 50. Stockton Axson. professor of English literature. engineering was becoming rec- ognized as a valid college sub- ject, not just a vocational one, there were many academics who claimed that it was more a trade than a profession and as such should be taught on the job in- stead of in the classroom. What- ever Lovett personally may have thought about this claim, he had a firm grasp of local demands, which called for an engineering course at the Institute. He said later that because of these con- siderations, he had to introduce engineering courses somewhat earlier than he had originally planned. Since students who wanted to be engineers were ad- mitted with the first class, the In- stitute would need an engineer- ing faculty for the third year. In 191 3 Wilson indicated the need for a good engineer to take charge of outfitting the Mechanical Lab- oratory, and he forecast failure for the engineering course if an engi- neer was not hired soon.'" 51. Albert Leon Guerard. professor of French. For the third year, President Lovett was able to make some important appointments to the faculty but still did not have all the professors that he needed. Radoslav A. Tsanoff, beloved by many generations of Rice stu- dents for his idealism and intel- lect, came from Clark University to be assistant professor of phi- losophy. Claude W Heaps, a Princeton Phi Beta Kappa with a "tremenjous" (his favorite word) sense of humor,'' was added to the physics department. Clyde C. Glascock became assistant pro- fessor of modern languages, Rolf F. Weber of Berlin was appointed to instruct in German, and Wil- liam C. Graustein joined the mathematicians as an instructor. Lovett finally found a historian, Robert G. Caldwell, who held a Ph.D. from Princeton, and also hired two engineers: Herbert K. Humphrey, instructor in electri- cal engineering, and Joseph H. Pound, instructor in mechanical 52. Radoslav Andrea Tsanoff, assistant professor of philosophy. engineering. Edwin E. Reinke was to join Huxley in biology as an instructor; and Joseph Ilott Davies, a glassblower and research assistant for Huxley, was brought from England. (After 1940, Davies's theatrical Bi- ology 100 classes would be fondly remembered by many Rice graduates.) During 1915 Lovett hired a number of new faculty members, among them Hermann J. Muller, who would later win a Nobel Prize in biology (although not at Rice), and cheerful Harry B. Weiser, who would do important work in colloidal chemistry." That same year Samuel G. Mc- Cann, noted for his "pink" hair, became a fellow in history. (He would later become an instructor after he received his M.A. in 19 17 and a year later would become registrar as well.) One of Rice's most unusual fellows, William J. Sidis, also arrived in 191s- A child prodigy from Harvard, Sidis The Formative Years 59 53. Claude William Heaps, instructor in physics. had to teach students older than he was in his mathematics class, and the women teased him a great deal. He fled back to the East in 1916 and in a newspaper interview complained of his treatment at the hands of Texas girls." Lovett continued to add to the faculty until World War I dis- rupted the university and the country. Life for the new faculty mem- bers could be an adventure in its own way. Most of the men were new to Texas and found the cul- tural and climatological shocks memorable, although some were happy to be away from northern winters. The faculty socialized as well as studied. Belle Heaps re- members that she and her hus- band, Claude Heaps, exchanged dinner parties with other young faculty couples and attended a spate of elaborate teas. Mrs. Lov- ett was mindful of the advantages of good community relations and gave elegant receptions for Hous- S4. Henry Boyer Weiser. instructor m chemistry. tonians so they could meet fac- ulty families. The faculty and students got together for parties at the bay or for trips down the ship channel. Faculty bachelors did not neglect their social life, either. They dated some of the women students, and several young professors married women out of the first classes. Faculty bachelors were invited to live on campus in the tower above the Commons; Griffith Evans was the first inhabitant. He occasionally invited students to his rooms for conversation and coffee — he had the first instant coffee some had ever seen — or of- fered them his tickets to concerts and plays when he could not at- tend. Huxley, Hughes, and sev- eral graduate students, including the shy but courtly Hubert E. Bray (who would later become a math professor at Rice), soon joined Evans in the faculty tower. The British contingent often congregated behind a curtain in 55. Samuel Glenn McCarm, instructor in history. the biology laboratory for four o'clock tea, and some of their conversations could well have re- volved around the differences be- tween English and American college life. Huxley and Hughes wrote Lovett in August 19 14 to suggest some improvements in the American form. First, the food in the Commons was "very monotonous and often ill cooked." They suggested minimizing the use of canned fruits and vegeta- bles and serving better quality bread and meat. Not long after the professorial complaint, some students staged a food riot to make the point more forcefully. Huxley and Hughes's second sug- gestion concerned living accom- modations. English colleges had janitors and special arrangements for faculty meals. The two pro- fessors found much of their time being spent not on research and private work but on "petty du- ties" that they thought could be more quickly and more prop- 6o The Formative Years erly performed by an attendant. Third, they asked for a high table for the faculty in the Commons. Huxley added a fourth to these requests in November when he asked for a common room for the faculty, a place to get away from the students and relax. He under- stood America's preoccupation with democracy, but he thought that the lack of a faculty room discrimmated against the faculty. He wanted Rice to recognize what Oxford and Cambridge al- ready understood — that "faculty were adults and due some priv- ileges which students did not merit." Huxley, Hughes, and Evans soon moved off campus and built a house, nicknamed the "Bach," about three-quarters of a mile away. Evans invited another bachelor to stay, and this house- keeping arrangement seemed to meet their needs for a while." Other Changes As student enrollment increased and the faculty grew in numbers, more buildings were added to the campus. The handsome turreted Physics Building with its adjoin- ing amphitheater was completed in 1914, and two more dormitory buildings were constructed: East Hall in 1914 and West Hall in 1916. Thanks to the efforts of a man who became a Rice institution, the grounds also began to look like more than prairie. Salvatore Martino, or "Tony," as everybody called him, had been Captain Baker's gardener, and Baker "lent" him to Rice in 191 5. Tony never returned to the Baker garden. He planted trees, the quadrangle hedges, cape jasmine, crape myr- tle, and vegetables (the last for the Commons table), and guarded his flowers zealously from casual pluckers. Flattery or cajolery did aspirants for the blooms no good, and anyone whom Tony caught in the act of picking even a single blossom was ostracized. For his student and faculty favorites, however, he always produced a flower, usually from the cape jas- mine bushes. Tony became one of the biggest boosters of Rice's athletic teams and was famous for his bonfire speeches. While the content was not always expressed in standard English, the intent was clear. Tony also helped faculty members with their own gardens, and some of those new to Texas learned that the area was fine for growing "lee-voka" trees and "hoka-da- veeya" vines (live oak trees and bougainvillea vinesl." Administration and Curricukim In those days Rice had a mini- mum of what is today called ad- ministration. At the top was the board. The trustees did not inter- fere with President Lovett's run- ning of the school, but they cer- tainly knew what was going on. They had made Lovett a member of the board in 19 10 to fill the place vacated by Frederick Rice's death in 1901. Their primary job was to invest the endowment and see that the income^was^ spent wisely. For the fiscal year ending April 29, 1916, the books showed expenditures on the "educational department" of almost Si68,ooo and revenues in excess of expen- ditures of more than $281,000. The board listed more than Six. 3 million in assets, most in first mortgage notes and interest- bearing securities, bonds, and the buildings and grounds of the school.'- Out at the Institute — the "gen- eral offices and financial depart- ment" were downtown in the Scanlan Building — the admin- istration consisted of President Lovett and his secretary, John T. McCants. McCants was an unof- ficial second-in-command, much like an executive assistant, who handled requests and complaints before they got to the president. He made both friends and en- emies in the process. To many he was a likable man; to others, he was known as "Mr. McCan-not." Mrs. Stratford seems to have had no voice in policy-making, al- though she had the title "adviser to women." The only real secre- tary handling correspondence, files, and office matters was Anne Wheeler, Lovett's secretary, who came to Rice in 1919. For the departments and fac- ulty. President Lovett believed in the German type of organization, where there was one professor per department. That professor was, in effect if not in title, the chairman or head of the depart- ment. The rest consisted of as- sistant professors, instructors, and lecturers, and possibly some teaching fellows. There were no associate professors. Occasionally in a large and important depart- The Formative Years 6i ment like mathematics or phys- ics there might be two professors, but not often. As a result of this arrangement, promotions were slow in coming. In later years it was not unusual for a Rice as- sistant professor to be offered a chairmanship and a full pro- fessorship at another institution, circumventing the normal pro- gression of assistant professor- associate professor-full professor. There was no tenure policy at Rice, but this did not seem to arouse the same feeling of inse- curity that it does today. There was also no pension or retire- ment plan, and sabbaticals were rare. It is difficult to determine ex- actly when the faculty organized into a formal body. Professor Wil- son complained at least twice in March 19 13 about the lack of a definite plan for course work and for filling staff needs. Lov- ett remarked in 1950 that the first committee on curriculum and degrees was appointed in the spring of 191 3 with Wilson as chairman, but no minutes or reports of the committee re- main. The committee consisted of Wilson, Evans, Guerard, Hux- ley, and Axsou; if they did any- thing, it was only to plan for the coming year. There is no evi- dence that the faculty met in an organized manner to hear about the appointment of the committee or the committee's recommendations.'' The small size of the faculty leads one to believe that there was no formal organization until the spring of 19 14. Until then, decisions had usually been made by one man (professor or presi- dent) or one department. Since these decisions involved equip- ment or faculty, opinions and conclusions were easy to gather without a formal meeting. By March 1914, however, more for- mal planning was necessary. The sophomores would enter into upper-class specialized work in the fall, and they needed a co- herent course of study. Policy on such matters as admission, atten- dance, probation, and promotion had to be promulgated as well. The earliest minutes existing for the faculty sitting as a formal body are dated March 27, 19 14. In May 19 14 another commit- tee was appointed to draw up a tentative plan of studies for the next and succeeding years. It con- sisted of the same members as the 19 1 3 committee, and they filed their report in June. Their recommendations were the basis for programs leading to the Bach- elor of Arts degree and fifth-year engineering and architecture de- grees. They also reiterated Lov- ett's goal that the Institute be a university. Although the program was concentrated in the sciences, advanced courses would be avail- able in the "so-called humanities ... to offer both the advantages of a liberal general education and those of special and professional training." In addition to bach- elor's degrees. Rice would offer graduate degrees, although the committee had not yet spelled out the requirements for these. Furthermore, the work would be at "a high university standard." (The committee report said "moderately-high," but in the completed catalog the word "moderately" was omitted.)'" The plan divided the Bachelor of Arts curriculum into a general course and an honors course. The general course did not involve highly detailed, specialized study, as did the honors course, but ei- ther could be the path to graduate study. The first two years' work were the same for both curricula, covering five courses each year. In the freshman year each stu- dent took mathematics, English, a modern language, a science, and an elective; in the soph- omore year, mathematics or a sci- ence, English, a language, and two electives. At that point, stu- dents had to decide whether to take the general or the honors course; they also had more lati- tude in choice of subjects than in the first two years. For the gen- eral course, subjects were divided into Group A (the humanities) and Group B (the sciences, engi- neering, and mathematics). In the junior year, students took four subjects: two that had been taken in the second year, one that had been taken in both freshman and sophomore years, and an elec- tive. At least one subject had to be from Group A and one from Group B. The senior year pro- vided for four subjects: two continuing from the third year, one from either the second and third years or the first and third years, and an elective. Again, one subject from each group was necessary.'' Honors students, on the other hand, were considered to be en- tering rigorous professional train- ing; they concentrated in one 62 The Formative Years subject area with no requirement to take a course from the other group. Juniors took five subjects, seniors four (later five), all of which could be in their chosen disciplines or closely related ones. Each program was devised by the department concerned, but not all departments offered honors courses. At first these were available only in pure and applied mathematics, theoretical and experimental physics, mod- ern languages and literatures, bi- ology, and chemistry. Others were slowly added to the list over the next thirty years. The general B.A. student who performed at a very high level was honored by the designation "with distinction" at commence- ment, and the successful honors student graduated "with honors in" his or her special field. (Only with the graduating class of 1959 did the common academic dis- tinctions "cum laude," "magna cum laude," and "summa cum laude" appear on Rice sheepskins.) B.A. students in either cur- riculum were allowed a certain amount of flexibility in their courses of study. Engineering stu- dents had none at all, except sometimes to pick their foreign languages. Engineers took five subjects each year and in some cases more in their fourth and fifth years. To meet the require- ments of the engineering pro- fession and become a "well- rounded" graduate, students who could "afford the time" were en- couraged to spend three or four years on preliminary work, take the B.A. at the end of four years, and receive an engineering degree at the end of six or seven years. It appears, however, that few followed the recommendation. Most elected to stay for five years, receiving a B.S. after the fourth year and an engineering degree after the fifth. Degrees were of- fered in mechanical, civil, electri- cal, and chemical engineering. Architects were in a similar cate- gory, but they were allowed more electives. At the same time, they were obliged to study the "indis- pensable elements of a liberal ed- ucation" as well as the engineer- ing and technical subjects that were becoming mandatory for a practicing architect.'" All courses offered at Rice ran for a full year. Remedying a fail- ure in a course meant taking it over the next year. Exceptions to this rule were a few courses in engineering and philosophy of- fered as term courses and later as semester courses when the two- semester year replaced the three- term year. It appears from the faculty minutes that these curricula were adopted without much con- troversy, perhaps because the courses of study were similar to other schools'. There had been many experiments in higher edu- cation in the first decade of the century, and Rice was able to take advantage of the experience of others. The Institute was prob- ably more fortunate in its curric- ulum development than anyone realized at the time. Rice was a school without tradition and had a new faculty drawn from many places. There was no entrenched course of study with adherents unwilling to give up their "em- pires," no opposition on the basis of habit, no large constituency of alumni, no meddling trustees to satisfy. At the same time, it could tolerate both a course of study for the engineer and one for the hu- manist, and strive to maintain in- tellectual quality, discipline, and community interest in each." There were still curricular matters to be worked out and some regulations to be de- fined after the original plan was adopted. In December 19 14 the faculty regularized the grading system. Students were to be di- vided into five categories, but in- stead of As and Bs, Rice students received numerical grades: I sig- nified very high standing, II high standing. III medium standing, IV low standing, and V failure. There were no percentages at- tached formally to these num- bers, such as 85 equals a II. In May 191 5 the faculty decided on regulations for graduation, pro- motion, probation, and with- drawal. Students needed to pass at least half their course work to remain at the Institute. To gradu- ate, they needed passing grades in eighteen courses, of which eight had to be grades of III or better. In 19 17 the faculty spelled out ex- actly what kinds of courses those eighteen had to be: five freshman courses (courses listed in the loos in the catalog), five at the sophomore level (200s), four at the junior level (300s), and four senior courses (400s). (Graduate courses were numbered 500 and above.) The faculty was inter- ested in continuity of learning, and they emphasized that each year's learning was intended to The Formative Years 63 build on the previous one. In his book, Memories, Juhan Huxley recalled the difficulty of convinc- ing students that his two-year ad- vanced course was a unity. "They clung to the idea that all they had to do was to pass their exams at the end of each semester, and if I asked any questions concern- ing earlier work, would protest: 'But, Prof, we've done all that.'" He persisted and thought he had some success in establishing bi- ology as a unitary study, "not to be chopped into unrelated chunks of knowledge. "^- The first two years passed with few regulations. By 191 5, how- ever, enrollment had passed 200, and some rules became neces- sary. Up to that time there had been no penalty for absenteeism or tardiness beyond a caustic re- mark from the instructor. In Jan- uary 191 5, the faculty approved a new system of mandatory class attendance. The professors were determined that students should attend classes "with absolute reg- ularity." They also expressed their displeasure with a system that allowed a definite number of cuts, for students then always took the full number allowed. Therefore, no cuts were to be per- mitted, and any student who missed class had to bring a writ- ten excuse from parents, physi- cian, or adviser accounting for the absence — and in addition pay twenty-five cents for clerical ex- penses to process the file. At the same meeting the faculty voted to require thirteen freshmen and one sophomore to leave school because of excessive absences. With a small student body, the faculty could and did consider each student's problem individu- ally and vote a solution. At the same time, faculty members were not insensitive to the confu- sion and needs of the students. An adviser system was estab- lished in 1914 so that faculty members could assist students with personal problems and coun- sel them in choosing courses.*' Admission requirements also worried the faculty. In the spring of 19 16 they recorded several dis- cussions and reports on entrance examinations. Tests took seven or eight days to administer, and the faculty wanted to shorten the exams without lowering stan- dards. These were Rice-originated tests, not the tests of the College Entrance Examination Board. It was not until 1919 that the Insti- tute accepted CEEB scores for en- trance purposes, and even then the test was only for students who had not attended accredited high schools. In 19 17, for the first but by no means the last time, the faculty discussed the problem of enroll- ing well-prepared freshmen. They considered several alternatives: limiting the number of students, raising the number of units re- quired, prescribing certain sub- jects as prerequisites for admis- sion, and admitting from only the upper two-thirds of a high school class. One possibility that they raised was to select only appli- cants with certified high school records and to require examina- tions for all. None of these proce- dures seemed acceptable at the time, especially since some of the requirements would exclude good graduates from the state's very small schools, which did not of- fer the city schools' variety of courses.*' Except for very general state- ments permitting a master's de- gree (after one year's graduate work and a thesis in a principal subject) or a doctorate (after three years' work, a dissertation, and a public examination), the faculty did not concern itself with gradu- ate requirements until October 1916, after Walter W. Marshall had obtained the first Master of Arts degree at the Institute's first commencement the previous June. In November the master's requirements were set. The grad- uate student would have to take and pass four advanced courses with high credit, at least two of which had to be at the 400 level or above and one at the 500 level. The course work included re- search in the student's principal subject, and the student had to submit a thesis and pass a public oral examination. The Ph.D. re- quirements did not state a spe- cific number of courses but did call for a "distinctly original con- tribution to the subject" in the thesis and for its publication m an accredited journal or series. The last requirement had evi- dently been discussed since at least 1914, because in that year Professor Blayney complained about the problems faced by can- didates for literary or philosophi- cal doctorates in publishing their long theses in journals. Blayney also pointed out that if this provi- sion were adopted, the judges of the student's work would not be the specialists of the Institute 64 The Formative Years hut the journal editors, who had their own interests. He beheved that the sugestion was unsound in theory and would prove even worse in practice. Nevertheless, the requirement was adopted and contmued until 1950."' Since the Ph.D. degrees earned at Rice un- til 1955 were all in mathematics and science (with the lone excep- tion of a Ph.D. in history awarded to Albert Grant Mallison in 1933), the publication requirement does not appear to have been a hard- ship for graduate students in the early years. Although the president issued a list of dates for faculty meet- ings each year, it appears that after 19 16 the faculty met only when a problem arose or new reg- ulations or course requirements were needed. To take care of rou- tine matters, Lovett appointed a small number of committees. By 1916 the committees and their chairmen were Examinations and Standing, Caldwell; Course of Study and Schedules, Wilson; En- trance Examinations, Darnell; Li- brary, Evans; Outdoor Sports, Watkin; Non-Athletic Organiza- tions, Axson; Recommendations, Graustein; and Student Advisors, Guerard.-^ The committees brought their reports to the full faculty for dis- cussion and adoption, but not every committee recommenda- tion was accepted. For example, Wilson's 1914 committee on the curriculum had suggested that the six-day school week (there were Saturday morning classes) be divided so that classes met not every other day but on three consecutive days, each day con- sisting of four periods in the morning beginning at 8:30, with labs in the afternoon. This may have pleased the scientists, but at least one humanist objected. Ger- man professor Blayney protested against crowding work in literary subjects into three days followed by four without instruction. Such a schedule would also allow stu- dents "too much" leisure time at the beginning or end of the week, if they could arrange their sched- ules carefully. The committee's suggestion was not adopted. ^~ The First Library One of the pivotal components of any institution of higher learning is its library. No matter what their disciplines, scholars need a collection of sources and in- formation about their fields. The charter of the Rice Institute called specifically for a free pub- lic library and readmg room, but that was not easy to establish. Lovett wrote to his friend T. |. I. See, a noted astronomer at the Naval Observatory, that he was 56. Alice Crowell Dean '16. assistant libraiian. and Sara Stratford, adviser to women. The Formative Years 65 working on a plan whereby the Houston Public Library would confine itself to "things literary and popular" and leave the Insti- tute's library fund free to pur- chase scientific and technical publications/" Nothing appears to have been done to develop a library until the school had been in operation for a while. In 191 5 Lovett appointed a faculty Li- brary Committee with Griffith Evans as chairman. Evans, how- ever, did not run the library alone. Whenever the library is mentioned, the first person who comes to mind is Alice Crowell Dean. Miss Dean had been superin- tendent of high schools in Vic- toria, Texas, but she did not have a college degree; she came to Rice in 191 3 to finish her work. She graduated in 191 6 with hon- ors in mathematics and remained to work on a master's degree. She also stayed to help build the li- brary. As an undergraduate, she wanted to contribute to her sup- port by working; possibly because she was a little older than most of the undergraduate and gradu- ate students, the school hired her to manage the library under the committee's direction. She also taught a section of Math 100 for years and was listed in the bud- gets as a fellow in mathematics. One of her students was Howard Hughes, the multimillionaire en- trepreneur. When asked why she had given him a failing grade, she replied, "He flunked himself by frittering away his time." Miss Dean was not one to fritter. Named acting librarian in 19 14, Alice Dean never obtained a library degree. Her training in the field consisted of one sum- mer at Columbia University and one day at Harvard; nonetheless, she proved to be an excellent li- brarian. She and Evans used the new faculty's specialized knowl- edge to build a working library where books were bought be- cause there was a need for them, not just to add to the collection. High on the list of priorities were scientific, literary, and technical journals. The Institute purchased journals and other publications in series, including their com- plete back files, on the theory that there was no school or in- stitution in the area with a large collection of back issues of peri- odicals. Miss Dean also put the library on the Library of Congress cataloging system, an action that saved a great deal of expense later when the Dewey Decimal sys- tem lost favor.^^ The size of the library de- pended, of course, on the bud- get. In 1913-14 and 1914-15, $10,000 was allotted each year for books. By 1 9 1 5 - 1 6, Evans and Miss Dean had established a system of units to allocate the money among the various depart- ments. The science, engineering, and architecture departments got ten units each, some of the hu- manities were allotted six, and fine arts, Spanish, education, and Latin and Greek got four each, with an extra eight units left over for special purchases. Any new course received an extra credit, as did new members of the faculty. That year the amount in the bud- get was raised to $16,000 and the next to $18,000. The war years brought substantial reductions, but by 1920 the library allotment was up to $1 5,000 again. ^" The physical size of the library determined its location. In the beginning it was housed on the second floor of the Administra- tion Building, in what is today the president's office. As the col- lection grew, it spread into rooms on the first floor, then took over the basement, and finally colo- nized branches in other buildings as well. As might be expected, problems arose from using the basement of the Administration Building. During heavy rains the basement flooded so badly that the bottom shelf was unusable. Librarian Sarah Lane remembered going down one day to check on the state of the current flood only to find a large snake swimming in the waters. She left the base- ment library to the snake that day." Public Lectures In addition to class lectures, labo- ratories, research, and committee work, the faculty had another task: lecturing to the public. In an attempt to foster harmonious ties with the city, Lovett estab- lished in 191 3 what were called the University Extension Lec- tures, realizing his inaugural as- piration "to support the intellec- tual and spiritual welfare of the community."'"" They had a two- fold purpose: to expose the peo- ple of the community (especially the "several hundred college men and women") to Rice's scholars and vice versa, and to extend the 66 The Formative Years 57. The first library, in the Administrcition Building. influence of the university's aca- demic hfe beyond the Institute's walls. Given free of charge, the lectures were delivered three afternoons a week in series of thirty-six. They were drawn from all aspects of work at Rice. While they were as nontechnical and popular in treatment as their sub- jects permitted, some of the lec- ture series amounted to short university courses. Stockton Ax- son gave the first addresses and proved to be one of the most pop- ular speakers. In the first five years, he presented sixty talks, half again as many as the next most prolific speaker. Professor Guerard. ' For some of Axson's lectures, and for some of the oth- ers by faculty and guest speakers, it was necessary to move to the City Auditorium to accommo- date all who wished to attend. For the most part, however, the lectures were held in the physics amphitheater on campus.'' The extension lectures re- ceived wide publicity, many being abstracted in newspapers throughout the state. To publi- cize the extension lectures and other talks by faculty and visi- tors, Lovett established the Rice Institute Pamphlet, a quarterly serial (known as Rice University Studies since i960). The Pamph- let began in 191 5 by publishing the inaugural lectures and soon included extension lectures, commencement addresses, and scholarly papers. ~' Early Achievements and Problems Rice held its first commence- ment in lune 1916. The fes- tivities lasted several days and included dances, a play, a tennis tournament, and a garden party given by the Lovetts in honor of the graduates. The baccalaureate and commencement ceremonies were held out of doors, on the west or court side of the Admin- istration Building to take advan- tage of the morning cool and the building's shade. The Reverend Dr. Peter Gray Sears of Christ Church Cathedral, Houston, preached the baccalaureate ser- mon, and Dr. David Starr lordan, chancellor of Stanford University, addressed the commencement audience on the subject "Is War Eternal?" The proud graduates re- ceived diplomas that were unlike any others. Designed by Dr. Lov- ett and presented by him along with a firm handshake, the Rice diploma was, and is still, a large sheepskin with the seal of the school at the top and the words positioned in such a way that the margins form the outline of a Grecian urn. Of the original sev- enty-seven matriculants, twenty- seven remained to graduate in 1 9 16. The class of 191 6 num- bered thirty-five — twenty men and fifteen women, including eight students who had entered after 1912. Of the thirty-five, twenty-seven received Bachelor of Arts degrees and eight Bach- elor of Science degrees (signify- ing that they were engineers or architects. !~^ President Lovett was some- what disappointed that he had no real prizes for scholarship to give at that first commencement, but he could be proud of the Institute and Its graduates. In 1915 Rice had qualified for admission to the The Formative Years 67 58. The academic procession at the first commencement, 1916. Southern Association of Colleges and Secondary Schools and was certified as a Class A college by the Texas Department of Educa- tion. Lovett did have his critics, who complained that Rice was not democratic enough in its fac- ulty, that the "dominant part" of the faculty was made up of for- eigners, that Lovett and the trust- ees had wasted money on fancy buildings instead of purchasing good equipment, and that the president was developing in the students "a snobbish intellectual aristocracy/"' But there were also those like Albert Guerard who understood what Lovett was try- ing to make of the Rice Institute. Guerard thought that Rice had a "special mission." Texas already had a large, many-sided state uni- versity and a number of small colleges. In 1918 he wrote Lov- ett: What Rice, with its splendid plant, and its complete indepen- dence should stand for, is not numbers, nor is it purely local service. Our part should be to es- tablish a standard. Let us have few buildings, few departments, few professors, few students, but each the best that can be se- cured. It would be false democ- racy to attempt to provide an all- round course for all comers, without limitations. We cannot do that on our present endow- ment without a decided lowering of our ideals. If we were alone in the field, it would be our obvious duty to accept conditions as we find them, and work up slowly to the desired standard. But the South can afford to have one at least of its numerous institutions 68 The Formative Years 59. The conferring of degrees at the first commencement. of learning kept on the highest possible level, irrespective of numbers and cost, as an example to the rest. I would rather see 300 picked students at Rice than a thousand indifferent ones. If the Trustees should boldly an- nounce a policy of strict limita- tion of numbers, there would be an outcry, no doubt, but in a few years, the result would justify the new departure and your op- ponents themselves would be proud of what Rice had become in the life of the City and the state.'" Lovctt could hardly have said it better. Criticism or praise aside, the Institute had some problems. The faculty was understaffed, and if the student body kept growing as it had been — the number in 1 9 16 was about six hundred — the physical plant would soon be overcrowded and need enlargmg. Furthermore, the library was woefully in need of books and other resources in the humani- ties. How much money the board could mvest in these improve- ments and expansions was an un- answerable question at that time. There was also no end to little vexing problems. One of the most troublesome to President Lovett must have been convinc- ing others of his vision for the Institute: that it be a real univer- sity. A friend of Lovett 's, Hopson O. Murfee, twitted the president The Formative Years in 1909 and suggested that Lovett change the letterhead, which read "The Rice Institute," either to omit "The" or to insert "Only" after it. In 19 16, physics professor Hughes wrote Lovett that one of the new Rice graduates, Norman Hurd Ricker, was having diffi- culty being accepted by Prmce- ton's graduate school. The quar- rel was not with Ricker, an honors physics student, but with the Rice courses. Dean David Magie of Princeton had told Hughes that Princeton regarded the Insti- tute as a technical institution and not of university standing. Furthermore, he said, its courses were not sufficiently broad and liberal to serve as a foundation for graduate work there. Prince- ton dean Andrew F. West had in- formed Hughes that he thought a science student at Rice concen- trated entirely on science. In re- buttal, Hughes pointed out that a B.A. course at Rice required two years of English, two years of a modern language, and other hu- manities courses; still. West was not impressed. To him, English and modern languages (even two years of each) did not equal the cultural value of Latin (only one year of which was required at Princeton), and he was not even sure that they should be consid- ered as part of a university educa- tion. Rice could do nothing in the face of this sort of opposition but wait until Princeton, Yale, and other institutions like them should drop Latin from their graduate entrance requirements. Ricker stayed at the Institute for both his M.A. and Ph.D. degrees and went on to make a name for himself as a physicist; Prince- ton's loss was Rice's gain.'' The difficulty over what Rice actually was — institute, college, or university — lingered, however. The title pages of the Pamphlet and the catalog, as well as formal announcements of lectures and other matter sent out by the In- stitute, proclaimed it to be "The Rice Institute, A University of Liberal and Technical Learning Founded m the City of Houston Texas by William Marsh Rice and Dedicated by Him to the Ad- vancement of Letters, Science and Art." When asked in 1926 why "The Rice Institute" was not sufficient, Lovett replied that the combination was a compromise. "We might have said once for all 'Rice University'. Standing alone, 'The Rice Institute' fails, on the one hand of giving the founder explicitly and fully such recogni- tion as apparently was desired, and, on the other, to record with sufficient completeness what his trustees set out to do in their own generation." There were still connotations of an institute of technology or of an eleemosynary institution, and this particular problem would not go away until the name was changed.'" Beside the problem of the Great War in Europe, however, all smaller difficulties paled. The United States and Rice had man- aged, for the most part, to stay out of the momentous events taking place across the Atlantic; but as the nation moved closer to war, the university did also. The war would bring difficult times to the Rice Institute. CHAPTER 4 Rice and the Great War when World War I broke out in Europe in August 19 14, the Rice Institute took httle notice of it. Juhan Huxley went back to En- gland to join the army, and A. L. Hughes reported the impossi- bility of getting vacuum pumps and induction coils from Ger- many. The college rhythm, how- ever, was maintained: there were still lectures, tests, labs, sports, dances. When in 19 16 President Wilson spoke of the need for American preparedness. Rice stu- dents formed a voluntary cadet corps eighty strong, directed by Herbert N. Roe, an instructor of physical education. Two com- panies organized and began drill- ing in March. The corps, called "a battalion," continued in the fall of 19 16, and by 1917 there were one hundred men enrolled.' Declaration of war in April 1 91 7 changed the situation con- siderably; the Institute imme- diately faced decreases in student and faculty numbers as men vol- unteered for the army. For those faculty members who enlisted, the board voted to continue their full salaries until they were ac- cepted by the army, and then to make up any difference between their military pay and their Insti- tute salaries until the war ended. In addition, they would be rein- stated in their university posi- tions when they were mustered out.' Rice students were prime candidates for officers' training school, and before graduation in June 1917 thirty-five of them had been admitted to the training camp at Camp Funston, Leon Springs, north of San Antonio. The regular commencement cere- mony was held on campus, al- though it was somewhat sub- dued. For those graduating seniors who were already at Leon Springs, President Lovett went to the camp and conferred their degrees in a special ceremony held on the drill field.' Altogether, fifty-two degrees were awarded. Twenty-five members of the faculty served with the armed forces in some capacity during World War I. Lindsey Blayney professor of German, participated in campaigns in France and Mac- edonia and received several cita- tions. Mathematics professor Griffith Evans worked on high- altitude bombing in France, En- gland, and Italy. Julian Huxley served with military intelligence in the British Army and physicist Arthur Hughes with the antisub- marine division of the British Admiralty. Harold A. Wilson served on the National Research Council's committee investi- gating antisubmarine devices and worked both at the Naval Experi- mental Station in New London, Connecticut, and independently at the Rice Institute. Woodrow Wilson tapped his brother-in-law Stockton Axson to be national secretary of the American Red Cross; Axson served in the United States, France, and Italy. Of the students who served, eight died during the war: Joseph W. Ay- The Great War 71 # 4V ^ ^ ^ *^ 55.VW R-iTT-.^ ^f^ -^i^ 60-61. The cadet corps of the Rice Institute. 1916-ij. 60. Company A. 61. Company B. cock, Otta L. Cain, Thomas L. Coates, Lee Hahom, Roy E. Lil- lard, Fred P. Manaker, Charles H. Patterson, and Ira South." Military Life on Campus The students who remained at Rice found a different Institute when they returned in the fall of 1917. Pressed by both students and staff, the administration had applied for and been granted a unit of the Reserve Officers' Training Corps under terms of the National Defense Act of June 3, 19 16. The War Department as- signed Philippine-campaign vet- eran Major Joseph Frazier, United States Army, Retired, as professor of military science and tactics. He and the university administra- tion "effected a military organiza- tion of the students," as the cata- log put it. The object seems to have been to train the students as though they were at a camp such as Leon Springs, so that upon completion of the course they would be eligible to take exam- inations to become commis- sioned officers. All students. The Great War hi. Snapshots from infantry life at the Institute. igiJ- women ineluded, were required to belong to the corps. All men were required to take courses in the theory and practice of mili- tary science and tactics; women were to have modified courses including physical training, hy- giene, and first aid. All had to wear uniforms. "It thus appears," the 19 17 catalog stated, "that as far as may be consistent with the university programme of the Rice Institute, the conduct of the life of the place, including that of the campus and the residential halls, will be under military regula- tions, certainly as long as the war continues."' What this meant was almost a complete reversal of life at Rice for men in the residential halls. Gone were the "gentlemen's club" rules, the freedom to go and come at will, the option of living in a perpetually chaotic dormitory room, and the liberty of keeping whatever hours they pleased. Instead, the new regi- men began with reveille at s:45 A.M. Cadets were to dress and come to assembly. Roll was usu- ally called at assembly before each meal. At 6: is rooms were inspected, and at 6:30 breakfast was served. Drill started at 7:30 and lasted for an hour, after which classes ran from 8:30 to 12:30. Lunch came at 12:4s, and labs filled the afternoon until 4:30. On days without morning drill, there was an afternoon drill from 4:40 to s:40. After dinner at 6:00 the cadet was allowed a brief time for relaxation, but he had to be in his room twenty minutes after the meal was over. He was then required to stay in his room The Great War 73 until release from quarters at 9:30, and a guard was mounted to enforce the regulations. Any movement outside the rooms be- fore release from quarters re- quired a permit. Taps sounded at 11:00, signaling lights out. The only really free time was Satur- day night, when the cadets could go wherever they pleased; but they still had to wear uniforms and be back at the dorms for taps. Students who lived off campus had considerably more freedom, although they followed the sched- ule when they were on campus and drilled with the rest, both morning and afternoon." Four companies, one for each residential hall and one for the town students, made up the corps. The women had their own four companies. Officers from major down to sergeant were appointed, and the students went about try- ing to pass as soldiers. This was not always easy, especially at first, because some had difficulty procuring uniforms (they pur- chased their own). Soldierly life was not without humor, either. A maverick company called Company BVD or Company B;D "formed" for "drill" and even had the effrontery to perform at a football game using brooms and other assorted oddities for weap- ons. The male cadets also thought it great fun to watch the women drilling.' The women's corps was a spe- cial case. The hybrid uniform in- cluded a man's hat and an army nurse's shoes. There were some women like Sarah Lane who had to have their uniforms individu- ally tailored, because they were "HflNO SmUTF! 63. Snapshots of the BV.D. Co.." 191 74 The Great War .i »l> s%!t^B..%^ 64. The women's cadet corps. 191-'. iPanoiamic photograph by F. j. Schhieter of Houston. I too tall for the ready-made ver- sions. Women officers wore the same braid on their hats as did regular officers, causing confu- sion and consternation among the soldiers from Ellington Field and Camp Logan, who felt that they had to salute when they met the student officers on the streets in downtown Houston. Even- tually women were allowed to wear civilian clothing when not on campus for drills. Training for the women was not as rigorous as the men's: they drilled only three times a week instead of five.' At the start of the program, students were enthusiastic de- spite the disruption of their nor- mal schedules. The Thresher came out foursquare behind the military regime and spoke of "the glory to the annals of Rice tradi- tions" that would follow the war. The editors also hoped that the good features of the old Rice life would be retained. Thev wanted to see literary societies and other organizations flourish and pledged that columns of the Thresher would be open to any- one wanting to voice an opinion on any subject." Handled differently, the mili- tary system might have been a success. As it was, several cir- cumstances combined to bring the students to vigorous protest. Major Frazier was transferred al- most as soon as the new school year started, leaving behind a set of strict military regulations to be put into effect. In his place, the War Department sent Captain Taylor M. Reagan, United States Army, Retired. Reagan proved to be an unfortunate commandant. At his first drill, he marched his men through a hedge, causing some of the cadets to wonder about his capability. To help the captain administer the rules, Lovett appointed a Military Com- mittee under chairman William Caspar Graustein, assistant professor of mathematics. J. T McCants also helped enforce reg- ulations in his capacity as book- keeper and executive assistant. Tape and the Student Rebellion Dissatisfaction with the system was evident by December. Men in the dormitories did not appre- ciate having every minute of their days planned by someone else. A book of 220 regulations set forth actions for every con- tingency, and the cadets soon learned that every action had to have a corresponding permit — or so It seemed. Especially irksome was incarceration every night from around seven to half-past nine with no chance to consult with classmates about homework or leave campus without a per- mit. The poor quality of food in the mess hall added to their The Great War 75 discontent." ' (The Commons became "the mess hall" as the campus adopted military nomen- clature for the duration of the war.) More serious than those cur- tailments to freedom was the stu- dents' dissatisfaction with the ROTC program itself. Army Gen- eral Order No. 49, dated Sep- tember 20, 19 16, described the phases of the program; nowhere did it call for the radical transfor- mation of the campus that had occurred. The order specified military subjects as part of nor- mal school work and only three hours of drill a week instead of the five required by the Institute. The cadets claimed to be eager for real military training in his- tory, tactics, ordnance, signaling, entrenchments, and other sub- jects an officer needed to know; but they were not receiving it. Nor did female cadets believe that they were receiving correct training, certainly not in first aid or Red Cross work or in drill. Like the men, they chafed at the regulations and the verita- ble sea of permits required for the slightest move. Furthermore, ap- peals to the Military Committee brought no relief." In November the Thresher be- gan to print students' statements of protest. That brought the edi- tor into conflict with the au- thorities, who, the editor claimed, accused the paper of "directing these articles against the good of the Institution, of 'agging on' the dissatisfaction . . . and even of proceeding in an unpatriotic manner." According to the editor, the real dissatisfaction lay in the fact that students could not see why they should be deprived of their freedom, due them by right of American birth and by prece- dents in college life. Drill was a duty, but the other petty restric- tions were not." When the Christmas break was over, students found that some changes had been made in the system. Drill would take place only in the mornings, three days a week. The other three drill times would be given over to physical training, theory as well as practice. Little objection to this substitution surfaced, but Commandant Reagan also an- nounced that instruction in drill would have to start at the very beginning because the students had not received proper training. The students blamed Reagan's teaching. Roll would be called only at reveille, and students could miss the other two meals on campus if they wished. But taps was moved up to 10:30 and release from quarters pushed back to 10:15, leaving only fif- teen minutes free instead of the hour and a half the cadets had en- joyed before. Guard duty routine was also changed slightly. On the 76 The Great War DKDHATEl) To ■HIS IK iXoK" Ritlc a ctick-hurse to Banbury Cross To SCO Bradlt-y manage a cava!r\- horse. With K'ne on his fingers and nitrated nose. He'll 1-e a Kader wherever he goes. 65. Cartoon and poem of cavalry life. 1917. academic side, two new "war courses" were offered: "wireless telegraphy," to be taught by engi- neer Nicholas Diamant, and "gas engines" by A. H. Aagaard." Unfortunately, disgruntlement had already emerged, more than such cosmetic changes could mollify. The same day that the modifications were published in the Thresher, students found at their hall doors and at other points on campus a publication entitled Tape in large red letters. An anon- ymous author set forth in vitri- olic style the conditions as seen by students and a lampoon of the authorities in charge. The situa- tion had worsened over the holi- days, as a number of students had either flunked out or gone on probation on the basis of Christ- mas grades, and a number had left to join the army. The paper repeated all the causes of discon- tent, dwelling especially on the punishments meted out for vio- lating regulations. "Edgar Ideal," "lohnny T McCan-not," and "Zeus Graustein" came in for particular abuse. The author called on students to unite and to decline to answer any questions about the source of the paper. He also asked them to send the pa- per home to acquaint their par- ents with the situation. - The authorities reacted quickly. A letter went out from the board to parents over J. T McCants's signature, claiming that the stu- dents had made no formal com- plaint of their troubles before publishing Tape, and that the board had been called in because of the students' "rebellious atti- tude" and "their apparent deter- The Great War 77 mination to enforce their own demands without consultation with anyone and irrespective of the opinions of the facuky and trustees." It said that miUtary regulations were in the students' interest and had been adopted after careful consideration. The students' primary complaint, ac- cording to the letter, was confine- ment to rooms on weeknights. The board was not, however, going to take summary action in the face of troubles but would meet with the students and en- deavor to show them the error of their ways. Those refusing to obey the rules and regulations would be expelled. The letter said that the faculty and trustees believed that parents would en- dorse this action, and it asked parents to wire their children to urge cheerful submission and obedience to the rules." Tape came out on Saturday, January 19. McCants's letter went out a few days later. After some disturbances in the dor- mitories (mostly pranks such as turning lights off suddenly in the wings, although a few sports poked a firehose down the chim- ney and flooded Captain Reagan's quarters in South Hall), the trust- ees intervened in person. On Sat- urday, January 26, they met with cadet officers and called a student meeting for Monday, the twenty- eighth. At 10:30 in the morning of the twenty-eighth a committee from the trustees met with all the students in the physics am- phitheater. The cadets presenting grievances were Cadet Major Al- ston Duggan '18, Jay Alexander '20, James Markham '18, Pickens Coleman '18, and Emmet Niland '17. Camille Waggaman '18 and Elsbeth Rowe '18 represented the women. As the students saw the situa- tion, confinement to rooms was not their primary grievance, as McCants's letter had alleged. They believed that there had been a basic impairment of their rights that was almost impossible to correct because of the au- thorities' attitude. Application to the administration (Lovett, Mc- Cants, and the Military Commit- tee) had produced no results; the students met only delay, equiv- ocation, or outright rejection, often without explanation. Since attempts by the Thresher to voice dissatisfaction resulted in threats of censorship or suspension and formal complaints were ignored. Tape seemed to some the only way to be heard. The students felt that the charges in McCants's letter were misleading or absurd. They did not see themselves as insurrectionists but as advocates for the bettering of the Institute, and they asked the trustees for just and wise consideration of their case. After all the student speakers had expressed their opinions, Captain Baker said that the board would remedy conditions as soon as possible if they were presented with a formal petition and if the cadets would pledge to abide by the old rules until then. In re- sponse, the students adopted res- olutions agreeing to stand by the rules and disassociating them- selves from the authors of Tape (but not its charges). They also established a committee to draw up a formal petition of com- plaints for the board."" A formal petition addressed to the Military Committee was ready two days after the meeting. The male students asked for abo- lition of the requirements they disliked the most: call to quar- ters, guard duty, taps, roll call at every meal, punishment tours and confinements, and all rules and regulations that would not exist at a university maintaining only a unit of the ROTC. They also wanted the power to start a students' organization. The women requested consultation concerning their uniforms, aboli- tion of military drill (with the substitution of competent in- struction in physical training and Red Cross work), availability of tennis courts in the cooler hours of the day, and reintroduction of or support for those social activi- ties that had been "hampered or repressed.'"" On February 9 the trustees came to campus again to meet with the students. They brought with them new regulations ac- ceding to many of the students' requests. Abolished were the call to quarters, guard duty, taps, roll call at meals, and women's drill. Women would receive Red Cross training and physical instruction and would have to wear their uniforms only on the days on which physical exercises were scheduled. The trustees approved formation of a student associa- tion and announced a new set of regulations. The students did not get everything they wanted; they still had to walk tours and suffer confinement to their rooms for 78 The Great War infractions of the rej^uhitions. Baker proclaimed the changes and new regulations and then spoke to the assembled students. He agreed with them that "Rice is not a military school," and that it was hard to convert an aca- demic institution into a military academy in a few months. But, he said, "Rules not properly en- forced cause disrespect for mili- tary rule." The board would not have granted the changes if the students' requests had not been reasonable or if calm on campus had not been restored. The chair- man told the students that the new rules had to be enforced or "things will go back to the old conditions." President Lovett also responded and closed by extend- ing his hand to the students as he did at the end of each matricula- tion address, saying, "May I not ask you to take the hand I extend and ask you to help me bridge the gulf?" The students thanked the board for the changes and closed the meeting with a stand- ing ovation and the college yell, "Yea, Rice!" Then they filed out, shaking the president's hand as they went." In some ways the "rebellion" and its causes and results were peculiar. From the existing rec- ords it is impossible to discover exactly who ordered the first set of regulations to which the stu- dents objected so strongly. Why it was thought necessary to transform the Institute in such a manner is also unknown. Other schools established ROTC units without such radical changes, and General Order No. 49 did not call for them. Since the object TAPE Published in Ihr hope uf cullini; inleresleJ allenlion to evil eunjitium. exislinK at Hue. in order that U'isf lud^menl and devoted energy may be muted to bring about improvements that are promotive of the welfare of an institution that i.s eapable of noble tvork in "the advancement of Letters, Science and Art." J A N U .Ji R Y, I 9 1 S "MILITARY SYSTEM A RANK FAILURE" ( INSTITUTION UN ITKD WE .STAND! ; undoubted Injui : ':.'„,'"r,'i1 ,,l. of Kaiiiiii); a auJi.n.o w,.h .lun.or.. 7 Senior- a„,| 1 ,,.r*,„1 ,t«. rS^I /'km to'Mp ly '.p.' omplMc cxi-O n.(..l^ B -liKht- to(u1 from the nuiveraity offico don doI vbi-cK wiih llic tout from tbe oTiee ot Tcn.k'r, for th of tho C n rvjHirt bonring "Bh tJM thero BtructoF!.. after firnt InokioK north, M»l, dig^uat to u< in IftDguaco anythloc but parlinoipularv. The l'r«i.icnt uid Commudsnt bsvo now «om<> in, picnd guilty to th^ir fall- 66. Tbe first issue of Tape, in which students complained about military life on campus. The Great War 79 A TRAGICAL JOKE— DRIU FOR GIRLS :. BEOULATIOKS Whkt i: it: A ft M, th. good wife » •Wout enu«llr a good in dewgning band 19 m plBonini an intelligent mi to wear these un« ) of URipl)^ calis- '^iCw'we have i SEND THIS SHEET HOME! Voiir pareiilH hIiuiiIiI be niHil«> ucqmiiittecl with caiid[lllii|) of I'oresI Lre \ii(lrc«s. ai;ain |)ri)\eil thai \hf\ knr« llicir masliics in llic annual li>iirnainenl lii-lil at lloni^lon lliis year li\ lap Inriii!:; l»)lli (In- in(li\i(lnal anil llii' Irani rliain|(ii>nslii|(M>f the SontlmesI lonfrrrnct- ,ii>c (;rrin«.Micl. (iiic- iif llic l>f>.| r<>lli-j;ial<- f;(ilfiTs in tin- Stair, sank Icmj; |pnll^ lion all lorniTs of tlif fircrn to ro|. I lit- inili\ idiial tillr «liili- (irecnwood. Blaki-. Mliaii^li Xndrcu!. anil lllit; tcaiiicil to retain the team ehainiiionshiii tropin la^l \ear li\ poll iiifl an afrnregale seore two shots helow that of Texas I ni\ersit\ . \llhou<:li Reiihen \lliaii':li. ia|)laiii-fleit. is llie oiiK teller inaii lo relnrii to llu rani|>iis next vear iiian\ \eleraii f;olfers will he on liaiiil to take the place of lliosi lost h\ ^raihialion u hen spriii-: rolls aroiinil. % ith Mhaii^ili's hrillianl |ila\iii;; anil eoaeliin^. to he relieil on ami Cole. MeCart). Diekex. \lnller. I'lalli ami other aspir- aiils ■;ellin^' their form perfeeleil. it is not too iiiiiih lo preiliel another ehampionsliip team for next season. Ii I Ihr Tn,,,ln (iHKIXWUIlll 87. Golf team, 19^0. Clockwise: Lee Andrews, Tommy Blake, Reuben Albaugh, Carl lUig. Jr.. foe Greenwood. tern seems impossible without external competition. Intercol- legiate games have proved to be extremely expensive, and the Institute is losing $20,000 to $30,000 annually. At the same time we have been unable to hold an honorable place in the South- west Conference, and we cannot maintam the interest of our own students, much less of the com- munity or conference, unless we win more frequently. "We are not willing to go on as we have been, and we cannot abandon athlet- ics." The way out appears to be a department of physical education to attract good athletes and a course leading to a degree of Bachelor of Science in physical education. In no way would Rice's high standards be lowered; admission would be open only to students whose first interest was to go to and through college. Fur- thermore, a degree in physical ed- ucation would not affect the values or standards of Rice's other degrees in highly technical or intellectual subjects. Although by their very nature different, standards for the degree in physi- cal education could be as high as those for other degrees.'" As presented to the faculty, the plan proposed that a course in physical education be estab- lished, with certain provisions. The number of new students ad- mitted each year would be lim- ited to 40 (over the regular quota of 400). The course would be open to any student seriously contemplating coaching as a ca- reer, and additional instruction would be provided m biology, En- glish, business administration. io8 The 1920s and education so that students could obtain a teaching certifi- cate along with the degree. Per- haps most important, funds for the new department would come from outside the existing endow- ment but through the trustees to preserve the Institute's freedom of action. Rice's very limited in- come would not support the crea- tion of such a department with- out taking sorely needed funds from established departments, a move that would have alienated faculty members. The report rec- ommended, therefore, that funds be raised from among Houston businessmen. Approximately $20,000 would be needed each year for the first five years. At the end of five years, the program was to be evaluated. The faculty vote was thirty-six for, fifteen against. Caldwell, McCants, Wil- son, and Moraud were among those voting in favor, and Evans, Tsanoff, Altenburg, and Axson among those against." ' To raise money for the physical education program, the trustees first held a conference and then gave a dinner for certain Houston businessmen. Houstonians who contributed to the fund included Anderson-Clayton's chairman. Will L. Clayton; real estate and banking king lesse H. Jones; lum- ber magnates 1. W. Link and fohn H. Kirby; department store ty- coon Simon SakowitZ; and Hum- ble Oil founders Will Parish, Harry C. Wiess, and Walter W Fondren. Baker of the Rice board joined in. There were a few in- fluential men, such as Lamar Pleming, Ir., who declined to par- ticipate because they still thought that the main concern of a col- lege should be to provide a schol- arly education for "real students," not those whose chief purpose at college was athletics. How- ever, Pleming recognized that he was "utterly out of step with current ideas in intercollegiate athletics.""' To head the new department, the Institute hired Harry Alex- ander Scott, who held a doctor- ate from Columbia University. Scott's title was "professor of physical education," and he re- ceived in salary about the same as the other full professors: $6, 000 a year. His program was designed to prepare men for careers in physical education and coaching in high schools, colleges, and other organizations such as mu- nicipal recreation departments, but it did not stop there. The stu- dents also took biology, chemis- try, education, economics, and business administration courses; they graduated with a state teach- er's certificate, the competence to teach several courses in high school, and business knowledge. They would have their own 200- level English class, a chemistry course with a morning lab, and two special biology courses. Physical education students were excused from Math 100. How the program would affect Rice's ability on the football field and whether the school itself would be harmed (as William Ward Wat- kin seemed to fear) remained to be seen."' Aspects of Student Life A couple of new departments, the limitation on admissions, and curricular modifications were im- portant to the Institute, but they did little to change the major as- pects of student life in the 1920s. Nevertheless, some other changes did have an effect. Rice was still new, not even ten years old in 1920, and not many traditions had been solidified. Students were in the process of creating traditions and learning how to get along with the administration. One of the best and longest- lasting changes took place in 1 92 1, when a building that would be known as the "fireside of Rice" opened on Main Street across from the campus. It re- placed a hut built from salvaged material and was under the aus- pices of the Episcopal Diocese of Texas. The original structure had been built through the initiative of the Reverend Harris Master- son, Jr., who wanted to minister to the Rice students in all their needs. In 1921 Mrs. James Autry donated $50,000 for a cultural, re- ligious, and recreational center for the students in memory of her husband. Judge James L. Au- try. The Institute's architects. Cram and Perguson, designed the building, which was completed that fall. Autry House was open free of charge to all Institute fac- ulty and student organizations and clubs. It included a canteen and cafeteria and was welcomed by students who had brought their lunches from home or had made do with what "The Owl," a little store nearby, provided. Stu- The 1920s 109 88. The laying of the cornerstone for Autry House, June 5, 1921. Left to right: Wilham Ward Watkin. President Lovett, the Reverend Herbert L. Willett, the Reverend Harris Masterson, Dr. Peter Gray Sears. The 1920s 89. Autry House, shortly after completion. dents made heavy use of the building for plays, meetings, Sat- urday night dances, and simple gatherings, especially for bridge games between classes. During the school year 1921-22, 260 or- ganized meetings were held there and 18,000 lunches served. Many students remember with a great deal of fondness both the Rever- end Mr. Masterson and Mrs. Eu- gene C. Blake, who served as matron for the place. An advisory board consisting of Mrs. Autry, Dr. Peter Gray Sears of Christ Church Cathedral, and President Lovett made policy decisions. Al- though Autry House did not cover Its own expenses as had been planned, losses were made up through private contributions. The later construction of the ad- joining Palmer Memorial Church, a gift of Mrs. Edwin L. Neville in memory of her brother Edward A. Palmer, gave students and faculty a nearby place to worship." The early twenties saw several Rice "firsts." "Rice's Honor" made its first appearance in 1922 after the Thresher campaigned for a school song. Ben Mitchell put words to the Harvard "Marching Song" ("Our Director March" by John Philip Sousa), and at a pep rally in the mess hall, students liked that one the best of eight or so songs consid- ered. The first May Fete was held in 1 92 1, and even though the Thresher editor asked in 1922 what it was good for, the pageant became an annual event. That first year Queen Rosalie Hemp- hill and King Robert P. Williams reigned over a lavish spectacle with a court of honorees from each of the classes. After the Rice Dramatic Club was formed in the fall of 1 92 1, the architecture and painting students decided to sub- stitute another creative activity for the play they had usually pro- duced. In February 1922 the Ar- chitectural Society held a costume ball, the first Archi- Arts of a long series of student- produced theme parties with highly original costumes, design, and entertainment. On the liter- ary side. The Rice Owl, a maga- zine for serious pieces as well as perfectly awful jokes, made its first appearance in 1922. In 1926 another literary magazine, the Raven, was also published; but it lasted only until the summer of 1927. The Rice Owl continued until 1938, then changed in 1939 to become an alumni magazine as well. It was published in that form until 1946. In 1920 the Rice Engineering Society decided to repay the courtesies that companies in the area had shown the students, by inviting company representatives to come and see the work of the engineering, chemistry, and phys- ics departments. The society wanted to set up demonstrations and create a show, which they called the Rice Engineering Show. Henry A. Tillett, a senior me- chanical engineering student, asked President Lovett for per- mission to use university facili- ties and print a program for visi- tors. Lovett did not believe the show would attract much atten- tion among Houstonians. He re- fused to give the society any financial aid for a program, but he did allow use of the grounds and buildings. Perhaps because of Lovett's pessimism, the students pitched in determinedly to sell advertisements for the program, and they raised enough money to print one thousand copies. Lovett wrote to about fifty industrial firms on behalf of the students, inviting spectators to attend the show; but until the day of the ex- position, no one could predict the The 1920s 90. The first May Fete king and queen. Parks Williams and Rosalee Hemphill, with their attendants. Albert Guerard and Molly Tidden, May 10, 1921. 91. Stage sets for the first Archi-Arts Ball (Masque Espahol or Baile Espanal). February 3. 1922. turnout. Henry Tillett remem- bers looking anxiously out his dormitory window, only to find a number of school buses and cars and a Ime of visitors stretching from the Physics Building around to the Admmistration Buildmg. Eventually some 10,000 Hous- tonians saw the show that year. In the first show were only sixty-two exhibits, including a "bucking broncho," magnetic stunts, and nitroglycerin explo- sions. The Engineering Society decided in 1921 to make the show biennial, and to each suc- ceeding production they added more exhibits. In 1922, there were X-rays, liquid air, and the Rice radio station (syg), plus a coast defense searchlight from Fort Crockett in Galveston. Shows in the 1920s included "hooch tests" in the days of Prohibition, beating hearts of turtles and frogs, a radio-controlled car, a new automatic telephone switch- board on loan from Southwestern Bell (the first automatic board m Houston), the "den of the alche- mist" (with chemistry students as the magicians), economic ex- hibits, and architectural draw- ings. More and more departments participated, and by 1930 there were 319 exhibits. The 1930s saw a television receiver, psychologi- cal tests, a paper-bladed friction saw, music broadcast over a light beam, an "oomph meter" to "see what you have a date with," and Woofus, a mechanical creature described as "an inhabitant of the planet Venus and ... a gift . . . from the famous planet explorer, Buck Rogers."" The first campus traffic regula- The 1920s tions made their appearance in 192 V An average of 154 cars a day on campus made it necessary to bring some order to the roads and parking lots. Nonetheless, the usual way to get around was still by walking; President Lovett could be seen walking to campus from his home at the Plaza Ho- tel, with his bowler hat (straw boater in the summer) and book- strap. Professors Heaps, Pound, McCants, and Tsanoff bicycled.^' Even before Coach Heisman stirred up the student body to boost Rice spirit, some of the stu- dents had whipped up their own enthusiastic support for athletic teams. The Thresher complained from time to time about the lack of spirit on campus and urged all to turn out for sports events. The cheering section at football games was led by male "yell lead- ers"; one Thresher editor, while praising the women students for wanting to be part of the school, thought it sounded better if they did not join the men in the orga- nized cheers. Heisman's arrival raised school spirit considerably. In 1925 Sammy the Owl was res- urrected for Rice's game with the Aggies, and the Rally Club was formed to help usher at events on campus, cheer for the teams, and be of service wherever its mem- bers could. lack Glenn, Rice's premier cheerleader, was the first Rally Club president. No one could accuse the student body of lacking spirit after that year.- Student concerns in the 1920s ranged from food to faculty to proper senior clothing. Meals in the Commons, often still called the "mess hall" (possibly for ^^^^^^.^^^P^^^-^^^o^^- , h.i~.n|; ihitkiMlN. <^ Oih In br,l Jn.1 oily It, rue, \Ukfi polilitians /f'rall/i\ am/ w/.v I.K.kc-.l ui~.,. thi Ijiilti uir.Ur •Let your counricncc Ih: vi.ur bu.Jc." «uI ihc vote tnhulatur to his assistant. •^ What mistakts people make. Its not whose run- rung in these Spring elections, but whose running Here is chronicleii (he hest joke in this thi Spring elections. The Houston Censor Board. Ci>-eilucation is alright as long as girls allowed to attend. ■She's in ternhlc shape. • saui the con king removed. That's well put," remarked the professional : hi sank a twcntv footer. HK S (JOT THF. .^.\K ON MK,' sighed the .rrv tree as C;eoree cot loose «ith a full swing. Uhat IS the suit worth = - Kifn dollars.-- ■Alright, rii take it on account- On accountof what' ■ ■On account of mv other hcing worn out. The frequency with which Rice men are seen walking the boulevar.i after dark is mereU an indication that thes- like to exercise. The office has adopted a new slogan for this Iniversity: ■The Rice Institute founded for the idvanccment of letters, science, art and athletics." "What arc ynu "Noihing." "Why don't yo "I haven't star d..ing = u quitr ted.' ^ .: Didvouki :: Hardly, j: Sapl.Answ k me? 92-93. Two pages from The Rice Owl. 92. April 1924. 93. December 1924. The 1920s 113 ■the rk^p: owi. ^#v nil I'llll ilM)l'HK \l I ci\ I i< h lluy iittol/uT, my ilarliua. Il'lw ilM-rs lliy/iivai-lo mi:,'- h then- inmlhi-r, uiy tiiirliti^, ll'lm aiiis,:' lli.r I', iv.r.= («■ mv hvf/tirjtikcn .Is Ihiiir/farilh': •ftht Hrt ymr tips sf>ftii- truly tit s/iying Ihfy's.' Ussfi/ l>nt mi»/: lines lliy heart ieiil imllily: Or ,hes thy smile en.iiHii. /■■eliMKs 0/ srorii ami •imnsemelli, •is I press my afihiroits plea: ll'hen I'se hleiod in my seiiis is a loireiit. Thill is r/igitig mity jor thee: ff so you mtty smite ut my passion^ ilnii Kith seoru your tips may eurt. 1; sn . . I'll follow the fashion, .'fu/i get me another zirt- \l. lUOI 1: HALl.l. HAI.l ADI. Thaukisiven l.in ieamen in Ye halfe /„;, (, /.,..;, ,/■: „U.- aroNU.l, . Y-ron,,.! I'flsom ,«„',. VV rejeree .loth ealle a fo-Mt. .1 plaxer ■lr„i-;l,tt:M,- ■p-iMh. lie sm:l !■ ' J. Cam: Is l-lsl.i:. u..i:i-j t., ll.t- Ittlurc I..nli.|lt = Hert: N'.iw. Di.ln-r v,.„ .,i- Irn. .Irink .in l.ni ..llMcrilH-^ Austin is in the •^r;Uc of ItxHs, is it not: No— It's been ,n the state of coma since Nc bcr first. more than one reason), had gone from bad to worse. In 1924 the manager resigned, the kitchen was overhauled, and the food im- proved a bit. After one food not, the administration levied a fine of thirty-seven dollars on each diner, whether he had partici- pated in the fight or not. That measure effectively put an end to such events. More serious were losses from the faculty when Wilson, Guerard, Blayney, and Chandler left. The Thresher began to ask if the school was still up to standard, whether these professors could be replaced, and how the univer- sity planned to fill their shoes. The paper reported that President Lovett would say only that stu- dents should know that they were receiving better training at Rice than they could anywhere else, and that finding new faculty members took time. Lovett him- self was traveling so much, repre- senting the Institute at various academic functions, that the Thresher once reported in mock surprise that the president had actually been seen on campus. As for dress, some seniors be- gan to affect canes, wing collars, and derbies on certain days of the week.-" Hazing and Social Clubs Connected with school spirit in some minds was the practice of hazing, which had been a part of student life since the first soph- omore class met the second freshman class at the door of the Administration Building on regis- 114 The 1920s II. A Display of the Iiidiistiial Chemical Apparatus (ji> Hand. No expeiinients will he cairied (Hit with this as it is merely a display. 42. This can be shown only at ni^ht and is known a.s the Milky Way. A solution of red phosphorus in Ether is made and the walls of the lab or a dark room are sprayed with it. The clothes of the persons present may also be sprayed without any harmful effects. The phosphorus gives a "spookish" effect. 4;'>. Last, hut not least, the "("hambei- of Sighs." Xo advance information will he given out as to this exhibit. It must be seen to be appreciated. Everyone be there. It is per- fectly safe. ( O.NTIM ATION OF THE ( IVII. ENGINEERING DISPLAY. 44. Generation of Power by the Use of the Doble Water Wheel. The water wheel receives its impulse from water supplied t)y the Power House, and drives this machine so as to generate pow- 45. Measurement of Water Flow iiy I'se of Wiers. Dy varying the head of watei' on the wier, the discharge is increased or decreased. This effect is shown by the dischaige curve made for this wier. In this manner the flow ovei' dams and spillways is determined. 46. The Use of the Hydraulic Ram. The i-am receives its impulse from the velocity 1 V CO iLo iiii^Liioc iivMii Liic \d»_'».iL\ >.» 1 tlie Wtiter flowing through the U-shaped pipe, and is made to pump water against a variable head. This piece of apparatus is used where a plentiful supply and natural source of water is availal)le. 47. Pulsometer. This is a iyp^ of pump often used in construction work because it can be suspended by a lope to lower levels and controlled very easily from the surface. It will not operate against veiy higii pressures but by operating two or more in series water can be raised fi'om much lower levels. 94. Page from the first Rice Engineering Show program. 1920. tration day in 191 3. In the 1920s, freshmen had their faces painted green, had to wear special or pe- cuHar clothing, and had to obey certain rules. (No freshman was to walk on the grass, for exam- ple.) Men were forced to push mothballs across the gravel walks with their noses and were sub- jected to swats with a broom or a paddle for infractions of the regulations. Hazing progressed through "Forestry 100" — where the freshmen were left to spend the night in Hermann Park — to brooming freshmen for outland- ish reasons, to what appeared to some people to be simply gra- tuitous beatings. Before long, Rice gained a reputation for being the second worst hazing school in the state,- Texas A&JVI was the first. There were those on the fac- ulty who thought that such a barbarous practice was distinctly out of place at an institution of higher learning. In 191 9, after an episode involving five sopho- mores and the freshman class president. Dean Caldwell moved to stop hazing altogether because nothing serious had happened — yet. The classes met, supported Caldwell, and abolished hazing for the remainder of the school year 1 9 1 8 - 1 9 and for the next year as well. However, abolition proved to be difficult to enforce; hazing had resumed by 1921.-" In lanuary 1922 the Student Association passed rules to con- trol the practice. Under this set of regulations, "individual, indis- criminate, physical hazing" was not allowed, and all hazing was to be strictly between freshmen The 1920s IIS and sophomores. Freshmen still had to follow certain customs and such rules as the sophomores decided in class meetings, and jurisdiction over violators was placed with the Hall Committee and the Student Council. The Thresher defined "indiscrmiinate hazing" as hazing without a cause, or in other words, beating a freshman just because he was a freshman. The editor was some- what surprised that the Student Association had gone so far, but in March they went even further. A new hazing bill limited cor- poral punishment to the period between 6:30 in the morning and 8:00 at night and called for "discretion" in all hazing. Dis- satisfaction on the part of either freshmen or sophomores was to be brought to the Hall Commit- tee for redress.^" The new rules did not much mitigate rowdy behavior, and after a pitched battle in May be- tween sophomores and freshmen (which involved freshman foot- ball players and members of the Alpha Rho club), the dean, the faculty, and the trustees stepped in. They used the occasion to abolish two aspects of student life that had been worrying them for some time. The first was hazing; the second was a trend among student social clubs to re- semble fraternities and sororities. Lovett had opposed fraternity- like associations from the begin- ning, preferring instead that the residential halls themselves take over club functions and become similar to the English college sys- tem. The university's catalog em- phasized that the campus was a democratic one, with student or- ganizations such as the Student Association, scholarly societies, and the YMCA and YWCA open to all. The new clubs were defi- nitely not open to all, and there was a certain amount of dissatis- faction on campus with them, a discontent manifest in student elections and the operation of the Student Council. Caldwell re- ported that students and many alumni believed that the clubs interfered with the unity and de- mocracy of Rice life. He urged their abolition before they be- came strongly entrenched. The dean also recommended that the Institute rid itself of hazing. He had hoped to extinguish it by a gradual process of persuasion and education but found that the pro- cess was entirely too slow and dangerous. Accordingly, the fac- ulty met in June and passed reso- lutions against the two distaste- ful practices, and the trustees approved.'" On June 8, 1922, at a meeting with students in the physics am- phitheater, the new policies were announced: /. There shall be no social clubs, local, fraternity, or sorority. II. There shall be no hazing. Although current students would not be required to sign a pledge to honor these resolu- tions, all future matriculating students would. Stressing democ- racy and efficiency in student self-government and the charac- ter of the university, the state- ment called upon all members of Rice to observe the resolutions faithfully." There was one last night of hazing, set to end at midnight, and the sophomores made certain that the freshmen remembered the experience. Freshman room- mates Fred Stancliff and Wilson La Rue tried to barricade them- selves into 210 West Hall, but the sophomores managed to come in through the window at five min- utes to twelve. At that point, Stancliff remembers, "all hell broke loose."" When school opened the fol- lowing autumn, Caldwell clar- ified the bans. To the board and the faculty, hazing meant physi- cal punishment, not the wearing of special outfits or the other harmless customs that had be- come part of the system. Those traditions would be allowed to re- main. Clubs were another mat- ter. The literary societies, EBLS and PALS, could continue to meet. (There was already a so- cial-club feeling about the so- cieties; but presumably their "literary" purpose was still in op- eration, and they did raise money for scholarships.) The others were out; the administration wanted the Institute to be pre- eminently democratic, with un- divided interests. Caldwell said that there were only four funda- mental laws at Rice: reasonable quiet and order in the residential halls, no cheating, no hazing, and no clubs." For the most part, students ac- cepted the club ban with good grace. Since literary societies were allowed, two men's so- cieties— the Owl Debating Club and the Riceonian — were resur- rected, and a new women's club. Ii6 The 1920s the Owen Wister Literary Society (OWLS), was formed. On the question of hazing, however, stu- dent reaction was mixed. On one hand, opposition to hazing had been growing, and chiss organiza- tions had moved against the prac- tice in previous years. On the other hand, some upperclassmen worried that freshman class spirit would suffer. Others resented in- terference from the administra- tion; they thought that this was an instance in which administra- tion interests and student inter- ests differed. To foster freshman spirit, upperclassmen resolved to enforce observance of freshman "traditions," using social ostra- cism and expulsion from the Stu- dent Association as punishment for transgressions. Slimes, both men and women, were told to come in costume on certain days, and mothball races were once again held in the quadrangle. Sensing the moral backing of the administration, however, fresh- men disobeyed and disregarded the rules. To enforce the regula- tions, sophomores had only two tools: ostracism or eviction from the dormitory. Ostracism was dif- ficult to carry out, and suspen- sion from the dormitory was almost the equivalent of a mone- tary fine. Nothing was settled during the first year of the ban on physical coercion, but the dean was satisfied with the result.'^ In September 1923 "slime reg- ulations" were published again for freshmen to follow, but en- forcement remained difficult. In November the dean reported to the faculty that the hazing situa- tion was satisfactory. That situa- tion did not last long, because the following spring sophomores were once more battling fresh- men as the Slime Ball approached. They also tried to kidnap the freshman class president. It ap- pears that there was no formal action to curb the annual battles connected with the Slime Ball until Coach Heisman asked in 1926 for its cancellation because players' grades had declined dur- ing the uproar. The Student Council obliged and cancelled the freshman dance, but warfare was transferred to the Sophomore Ball when freshmen tried to kid- nap the sophomore president. In 1927 freshmen received permis- sion to reinstate their dance, on the condition that the Student Council draw up rules and police the affair; the freshman president was once again fair game for kidnappers." Once the controversy over the dances diminished, the Slime Parade came under attack. In this parade, which ended in a pep rally at the Rice Hotel, sophomores herded freshmen down Main Street with the aid of brooms, belts, and other spurs to movement. In 1927 the trustees suggested to the president and dean that something be done to correct these "objectionable pa- rades," and the following year they abolished the Slime Parade themselves. The Thresher sup- ported their action, commenting that in spite of the pledge, soph- omores still hazed freshmen in the old manner; the editor called for abolition of the "vicious forms" of hazing. During 1928 9S. The first Slime IFreshmanI Nif^htsi-int Pdrade. Fall 1921. The 1920s and 1929, several students were expelled for hazing, and Cald- well optimistically stated that there would soon be no more hazing at the Institute. But haz- ing passed with the students into the 1930s."'' Alumni Activities and National Associations By 1920 the trustees had con- ferred approximately 160 degrees on Rice students. That November at Thanksgiving homecoming ac- tivities, the former students orga- nized into the Association of Rice Alumni. Their first presi- dent was Ervin Kalb 'n. Alumni continued to meet at each home- coming, and their numbers grew as more students graduated each year. In 1929 the association began to collect funds for an alumni memorial building of of- fices and classrooms, to be dedi- cated to the memory of William Marsh Rice and to be located across the quadrangle from the Physics Building.'^ One group of alumni who wanted to join a national organi- zation found to their consterna- tion that Rice did not meet its criteria. Although the Rice Insti- tute was a provisional member of the American Association of University Women from 1922 to 1927 and Rice graduates were ac- cepted as members during that period, the association refused regular membership to Rice and would not accept Rice graduates as members after that time. The Institute could not meet mem- bership requirements for a cer- tain number of women on the faculty and Board of Trustees, for a women's dormitory, for physi- cal education for women, and for a dean of women with faculty rank.'" Although Rice could not sat- isfy AAUW requirements, it did obtain membership in two other organizations of national stature. 96. Installation ul Phi Bt'to Kuppu. Bciii Clu larch 2, 1929. ii8 The 1 920s In 1927 a chapter of Phi Lambda Upsilon, an honorary chemistry fraternity, was founded on cam- pus. More important to the presi- dent, perhaps, was affiUation with Phi Beta Kappa. Lovett be- gan apphcation for a charter for the second chapter in Texas (the University of Texas had Alpha Chapter) in 1921. At that time many of the organization's sena- tors, who voted on membership, believed that the institution was too new; more time should be given for the development of its characteristics. In 1922 Oscar M. Voorhees, secretary of Phi Beta Kappa, wrote to Lovett, There was no question in the minds of the Senate of the future of Rice Institute. There was a question as to whether with its changed ideals the present name is appropriate. Phi Beta Kappa has never entered any institution that does not bear the name of College or University. I presume this matter has had your consid- eration, and that developments in the future will follow the course that is consistent from the point of view of the Trustees and Faculty. The organization had denied a charter to the Massachusetts In- stitute of Technology partly on the same grounds a few years earlier. However, even without changing its name, the Rice Insti- tute was accepted for member- ship in 192H. Beta Chapter of Phi Beta Kappa was installed on March i, 1929. Dr. Henry Osborn Taylor, an eminent medieval his- torian, delivered the inaugural address. President Lovett left the 1920s worried about problems ranging from finances to hazing, but he could be content that a jury of Rice's scholarly peers considered the Institute good enough and broadly enough based to merit a chapter of Phi Beta Kappa. His as- pirations to university status had borne fruit.'" CHAPTER 6 Survival through the Depression: The 1930s whether Rice would attain gen- eral recognition of the university status envisaged by President Lovett or fall to the rank of a pri- marily technical institute be- came almost an irrelevant issue m the 1930s. Survival was its main concern during the Great Depression. The controllers of Rice's destiny, the Board of Trust- ees, had changed somewhat over the years. From the 1912 board there remained Captain James Baker, President Lovett, William M. Rice, Jr., and Benjamin B. Rice. To these had been added John T. Scott in 191 3 as Emanuel Raphael's successor. New in the 1920s were Edward A. Peden, chairman of Peden Iron and Steel, and cotton factor and wholesale grocer Alexander S. Cleveland, who replaced James E. McAshan and Cesar M. Lombardi in 1922. When Peden died in 1934, the board elected Humble Oil founder Robert L. Blaffer to succeed him. Under Baker's chairmanship, this board remained a conservative group of men, rightly worried about the effect of the depression on Rice's income. Until 1947 all members of the Board of Trustees were actively engaged in managing the busi- ness affairs of the Rice Institute and its endowment. The assistant secretary to the board handled in- vestments on orders from the board and accounted to the board for all income and expenditures. The board as a whole made most of the decisions, both large and small, that involved money. The president of the university, on the other hand, was in charge of edu- cational matters, which included preparation of each year's budget. The board approved that budget in detail, line by line, and no member of the university's ad- ministrative staff was authorized to approve any expenditure not specifically covered in the item- ized budget. All revisions re- quired board approval. The bursar on campus, J. T McCants, was the purchasing agent, cashier, and supervisor of expenditures, as well as overseer of the auxil- iary income-producing enter- prises, such as dormitories. As the institution had grown, sepa- rate accounts for its various ac- tivities and needs had been added haphazardly to the original ac- counting structure. The result was that one person might han- dle several unrelated functions, or a department's account might be carried on the books of an of- fice that was not the most effi- cient for supervising that particu- lar activity. Some accounts were carried on the books of the Rice Institute, while others were inde- pendent of the president or even of the assistant secretary to the board. For example, the business manager of athletics came di- rectly under the authority of the board and worked through channels that excluded the presi- dent and the assistant secretary, although the latter as comptrol- ler of the Athletic Association could review its budget. The board faced the depression with a complex financial organiza- tion that had grown ad hoc The ly^^os with the Institute rather than having heen phmned for efficient management.' A Move to Reduce Expenses By March ly^i A. B. Cohn, as- sistant secretary to the board, was predicting dire consequences if expenditures were not reduced. He estimated that there would be a reduction in gross income from the endowment from $723,000 to $681,000 and that that amount would not be sufficient to cover both depreciation and budget ex- penditures. (As with a commer- cial enterprise, the board had established a depreciation reserve account that either served as a building fund or added to the en- dowment.) Furthermore, Cohn said, the bond market, in which the Institute had invested some $4 million, was unstable. Some South American bonds had de- faulted on their interest pay- ments of $167,500, and certain other bonds were especially weak. Securities continued to depre- ciate in value, and defaults on loans secured by real estate meant loss of interest income as well as additional obligations for Rice in the form of taxes on foreclosed property. Estimated shrinkage in the market value of the bonds and notes amounted to $978,000, a staggering sum in those days. In light of this bleak information, chairman Baker wrote to Presi- dent Lovett, calling his attention to this situation and asking him to provide a statement of the economies and reductions in ex- penses that might be made with- out impairing educational effi- ciency. Baker also pointed out that some of the trustees were thinking of a "substantial reduc- tion" in the number of students admitted and of reductions both in numbers of faculty and in the salaries paid them.' When the proposed budget for 1932-33 reached the board, however, it was larger than that of the previous year, which had amounted to $592,000. The new budget called for expenditures of approximately $635,000, includ- ing construction of an addition to the Field Fiouse. Faced with ris- ing costs and declining income, the board voted unanimously in Lovett's absence at its lune 24, 1932, meeting to reduce all sal- aries by ten percent. The board's resolution pointed to the "dis- tressing economic conditions existing throughout the world" as the reason and expressed the hope that those affected would accept the reduction "in a spirit of hearty cooperation with the purpose sought to be accomplished."' Three days later the board met again, this time with Lovett pres- ent. Fie offered a suggestion from some members of the faculty that married men receiving less than $3,750 annually be exempted from the reduction. The trustees did not agree to exempt any members of the faculty com- pletely from the austerity mea- sures but did vote a reduction for these men of only five percent. Professor Wilson had suggested to President Lovett earlier that the faculty might cooperate more willingly in measures of econ- omy if they were given a clear picture of the financial situation of the Institute; possibly for that reason, Baker wrote a letter to Lovett explaining the need for the reductions. The tone of his letter indicates that it was de- signed for persons other than the president; it included a statement of revenues, expenses, and net in- come for the past ten years, even though Lovett was well aware of this information." The amended budget reduced expenditures by almost $147,000. Swept away were any appropria- tions for new construction and one-third of the amount normally allocated for new equipment and furniture. The library budget was cut by one-fourth and the Ath- letic Department by a third. Sal- aries were lowered the required percentages, and some assistant- ships and fellowships were elimi- nated entirely. The trustees ap- proved a final budget of $488,000." Because of the agreement un- der which he had returned to Rice from Scotland, Flarold A. Wilson's salary was considered separately from other faculty compensation. The Institute had guaranteed him $8,000 a year, and the trustees believed that they could not reduce that amount by unilateral action. When ap- proached to cooperate with them, Wilson was quite prepared to do so, though in a manner some- what different from what the trustees might have expected. He offered to contribute ten percent of his salary to the physics de- partment, with the understand- ing that his salary would be paid in full and that no change would The 1930s be made in his agreement with the Institute. The trustees agreed to his proposal." To reduce costs further, the trustees also moved to decrease the number of students. The In- stitute had enrolled a record number of 1,461 students for the year 1931-32, including a fresh- man class of 485. For 1932-33 the trustees declared that the total number of new students in all categories was to be held to 400 and that the number of out- of-state students newly admitted was not to exceed 25. The board considered a tuition charge for non-Texans but did not go be- yond discussion of the idea. That fall only 403 freshmen were ad- mitted; enrollment fell to 1,372 (930 men and 442 women). ^ Costs were a critical factor in other board decisions regarding students. First, the registration fee assessed of all students was raised in 1932 from ten dollars to twenty-five dollars. Then in 1933, when vacancies in the resi- dential halls rose to forty percent, Dean Caldwell and bursar John T McCants devised a remedy that the board adopted. Every male student was required to spend at least one year in residence on campus. The board felt that this arrangement would promote the students' welfare, increase a feel- ing of solidarity in college life, and fill the halls. Each lease on a room would run the full aca- demic year at a cost of ninety dollars for the year; henceforth no one would be allowed to move out at midterm. This regulation was to apply to Houstonians as well as to out-of-town students. although financial hardship would be accepted as a valid reason to postpone the period of residence. Many men had moved out of the dorms in previous years when the Hall Committee cracked down on noise, while others moved out to evade distractions from study. The new plan set up a committee, which included the dean, "for the maintenance of conditions favorable to study." To promote those conditions even more forcefully, no radios were permitted except in the seniors' dining room, fake Hess (for whom Rice's tennis stadium is named), chairman of the committee, said that the group would be very ac- tive because members would be paid for their work with free rent, and the only cost for dorm living would be board, about a dollar a day." This arrangement was an at- tractive inducement for men to join the committee in depression times. Another revenue-raising idea involved the Athletic Associa- tion, the Student Association, and a variety of events and orga- nizations lumped together as "student activities." Until 1933 the Student Association had been a voluntary organization. Stu- dents who joined paid $18 per year in support of the Student Association, the Honor Council, and the student publications; for this payment they received free admission to all Rice athletic contests in Houston, the weekly Thresher, and the Campanile. In May 1933 the student body adopted a resolution favoring compulsory membership in the Student Association and a blan- ket tax on each student. The Stu- dent Council requested that the trustees assess and levy the tax and provide for its collection. Captain Baker had already been considering such a fee as a way to increase athletic funds, so the trustees approved the tax, to be collected beginning the following fall. The blanket tax amounted to $8. 40, with the Athletic Associa- tion receiving half, the Cam- panile $2.50, and various other publications and organizations lesser amounts." Additional Revenues Rice's financial picture looked a bit brighter when Eugene L. Bender, a retired Houston busi- nessman, builder, and lumber- man, died in 1934 and left $200,000 to the Institute. This bequest came as a pleasant sur- prise to the Rice trustees, since Bender had had no official con- nection with the school in the past, although many Rice people had stayed at the Hotel Bender. The money would not be avail- able until the will had been pro- bated, and as a result the Insti- tute did not actually receive the bequest until 1938. The trustees discussed using the money for a badly needed library since the university owned more than 120,000 volumes but had no sin- gle location for them. However, the Bender bequest was not fi- nally used until 1947, when it was spent to construct the Sci- ence Reading Room (now the Reference Room) of the new Fon- dren Library." The ly^os Although income continued to fluctuate and economic condi- tions did not improve markedly, the trustees decided in 19 ■56, at the urging of President Lovett, that faculty salaries should be re- stored to their former levels. From 1933 to 1936, the budget decreased every year. In 1934 net excess revenue after depre- ciation had reached a low point of Si 6,600, but by 1936 it had climbed to over $144,000. Only a little more than $21,000 was needed to restore the predepres- sion salaries of the grateful faculty members. The new bud- get for 1936-37 amounted to $4S4,700. More good news came in De- cember 1936, when trustee Wil- liam M. Rice, jr., gave 10,000 shares of stock in the Reed Roller Bit Company to the endowment fund. The stock was estimated to have a value of $330,000 and to have an annual income of $8,000 to $12,000. This gift cheered James Baker considerably. "This will certainly make it a merry Christmas for Rice," he said in a newspaper interview. "It is pri- marily through the generosity of such men as Mr. Rice that we are able to look forward to the school's future with a great deal of pleasure and confidence."" Two years later the Rice Insti- tute received another substantial gift. This one was estimated to be $100,000 and was part of the es- tate of Arthur B. Cohn. Cohn had been secretary to the founder, William M. Rice, and then as- sistant secretary to the board and business manager for the Insti- tute from Its establishment until 1936. (In 1936 C. A. Dwyer be- came assistant secretary and business manager in Cohn's place.) Although very encourag- ing, such gifts were not enough to allow for real expansion, and in 1938 Baker again considered a tuition charge for out-of-state students. Once more, nothing came of the proposal." Changes in the Faculty As there were some changes in membership on the board during the thirties, there were also changes in the administration and faculty. Dean Robert G. Cald- well left in 1933 to become am- bassador to Portugal under Presi- dent Franklin D. Roosevelt. At first Lee M. Sharrar, who had been instructor of economics and Caldwell's right-hand man, was made acting dean; but before classes started that fall President Lovett appointed Harry B. Weiser to be dean of the Institute. Weiser, a professor of chemistry, had been on the faculty since 191 5 and was known for his work with colloids. Believing that "young- sters are inherently reasonable," Weiser anticipated few problems that could not be resolved through a better understanding of the stu- dents and their difficulties. In 1 9 3 1 Sara Stratford, adviser to women from i9i4to 1931, died; her daughter, Mary Jane Torrens, class of 191 8, took her place but stayed only through the spring and summer. In October 193 1 Sarah Lane '19, assistant li- brarian, was named to the post, somewhat to her surprise. The 97. Sarah Lane '19 was assistant librarian of the Institute and became the second adviser to women in '9}i- administration operated as it al- ways had, however; the new members made no significant changes." In fact, from the faculty point of view the Institute must have been rather quiet during the 1930s. Promotions were almost nonexistent, since there was lit- tle or no money for salary raises; some men remained assistant professors for years. For several faculty members, "the spirit of the whole institution was one of The 1930s 123 hand, Harold Wilson complained to Lovett about the infrequency of faculty meetings, which were being held only once a year to vote on candidates for graduation. He thought it might be desirable to hold four or five meetings a year and for Lovett to make some statement at the meetings about policy, future prospects, and the Institute's finances. "This is done in other universities," he wrote, "and I believe it is valuable be- cause it promotes the idea among members of the faculty that they are a permanent part of the in- stitution and that their coopera- tion in all matters pertaining to its welfare is regarded as of value. In many universities new schemes of organization, teach- ing, and athletics are being tried out and such matters might well be considered here. It seems de- sirable to do something to wake the place up a bit." His sugges- tions, however, do not seem to have been adopted.'^ When salary cuts were an- nounced in 1932, the news awak- ened the faculty, but not quite as Wilson had envisioned. It seems that no one except the depart- ment heads had known what any other faculty member made; when somehow the facts leaked out, some professors were upset at the inequities in compensa- tion. It was rumored that the sal- ary cut had convinced Griffith C. Evans, head of the mathematics department, to resign, because he thought the reduction showed that the board was not interested in building a university. In 1933 Evans accepted an offer from the University of California, Berke- ley. Berkeley had been wooing Evans for years, as had Harvard and a number of other notable in- stitutions, but he had remained at Rice. Whatever the real reason for Evans's departure in 1933, his leaving was a blow to the depart- ment. It was not until 1938 that Hubert Bray was promoted to professor and formally named chairman of the department, al- though he was in charge de facto from the time Evans left." Although some of the trustees wanted to reduce the number of faculty members as well as their salaries. President Lovett tried to keep as many people as he could. In 1934, however, he had to in- form four instructors that their appointments would not be re- newed because of the financial situation. Frederic W. Browne and Charles L. Browne, eight- and fourteen-year veteran teachers of architecture, along with Charles H. Dix, a five-year member of the mathematics faculty, and Joseph R. Shannon, a recent temporary appointment in economics, left the Institute that summer. For various reasons — other offers, the need for more money — some oth- ers left as well, so that the num- ber of faculty members dropped from seventy-three in 1930 to sixty-five in 1934 to fifty-eight in 1938. After that the number climbed to sixty-four in 1940. In 1935 Rice lost another revered member of its faculty, but not for financial reasons. Much-loved English professor Stockton Axson died at the age of sixty-eight after a long illness.'^ In spite of the depression, there were some additions to the fac- ulty during the 1930s. Some of the new men had been hired be- fore the salary cut, some replaced those who left, and a few came late in the decade specifically in response to the increased num- bers of students who enrolled in engineering and because of in- creased accrediting requirements in that field. Among those who made their first appearance on the Institute faculty during the 1930s were Tom Bonner (for whom Bonner Nuclear Lab is named) in physics, Floyd E. Ul- rich in math, George Holmes Richter in chemistry, Carl R. Wischmeyer in electrical engi- neering, Stayton Nunn in archi- tecture, J. D. Thomas and Carroll Camden in English, Lynn M. Case and David M. Potter in his- tory and Joseph L. Battista m Spanish. Joseph I. Davies, who had been in the biology labora- tory at Rice almost since the opening, received his Ph.D. m 1937 and in 1940 became an in- structor in biology, beginning a legendary twenty-five-year career as one of the Institute's most flamboyant lecturers and inspir- ing teachers. The Question of Tenure Nonrenewal of appointments inevitably introduced the ques- tion of academic tenure. Since the founding of the university, no faculty member had been employed for any definite time longer than a year, except head football coaches like John W. Heisman, who had a five-year contract, and the two English- 124 The ly^os men Daniell and Huxley, who had been given three-year con- tracts early in the history of the Institute. In the absence of a for- mal system, faculty members seem to have assumed that as long as they did their jobs, their appointments would be con- tinued. The custom followed at most institutions of higher learn- ing was that the appointment of a full professor contuiued for life if the length of employment was not specifically stated, or for as long as the professor wished to remain at the institution and was competent to discharge his pro- fessional duties. This practice did not apply to assistant professors or instructors. A tacit assump- tion of tenure for full professors did not, however, appeal to the trustees, since it limited their freedom of action in reducing the number of faculty members, es- pecially at the upper levels. Aware of a difference of opin- ion regarding tenure. President Lovett wrote to several colleges and universities around the coun- try in 1935 asking about their policies on the issue. Whatever their responses may have been, the trustees did not immediately state a formal position, probably because financial pressure had eased and they were able to re- store salaries and allay anxieties concerning reductions in teach- ing staff. It was 1942 before the bylaws of the Institute's board were amended to state that all of- ficers, faculty members, and em- ployees were to be regarded as receiving annual appointments; no one was to be employed for a period longer than twelve months without express authority from the board. It appears that no for- mal review procedure was estab- lished and that reappointment was usually automatic; none- theless, the board had the ex- press power to remove even full professors." Because members of the fac- ulty met as a group so seldom and were not encouraged to dis- cuss the university's situation when they did meet, curricular changes were few in the 1930s. The Department of Physical Edu- cation survived its five-year trial period and was continued; sev- enteen Bachelor of Science de- grees in physical education were awarded at the 1933 commence- ment. In 1934 Dean Weiser raised the possibility of requiring a nineteen- or twenty-course sched- ule for the B.A. general curricu- lum instead of the eighteen- course schedule then required. Most 300- and 400-level courses seemed to require no more work than the average 100- and 200- level courses; and since there was a shortage of genuine "advanced" courses, Weiser thought it advis- able to require another course from juniors and possibly from seniors. The policy was not changed, however, and it appears that the faculty never formally considered it. An innovation was added to the English require- ments in 1937: a spelling test, which students had to pass in or- der to graduate.'" Some Memorable Professors All was not gloom on campus in the 1930s, of course. Professors continued to have their idio- syncrasies. Edgar H. Altenburg liked to be greeted with applause when he appeared in "Bugs 100"; but during a snowfall in 1932, it was snowballs, not applause, that opened — and quickly closed — the class. During that same snow- fall, John Slaughter postponed a scheduled sociology examination. He declared that he would not be coerced but that a student com- mittee's kind request for can- cellation, combined with the coldness of the amphitheater (doubtless because of snow left from the earlier bombardment in biology class), had convinced him to reschedule the exam for the following Monday. Teachers continued to take roll before each class, although few resorted to opera glasses to read the numbers on the seats at the back of the physics amphitheater, as Claude Heaps did. L. V. Uhrig, civil engineering instructor, developed his own teaching de- vice. In September he would give classes that had returned in a continuing subject the same ex- amination that they had taken the previous June; some grades were rather embarrassing. Frank Pattie employed a teach- ing practice that discomfited many students. His psychology class never knew when to expect true-false examinations. Seem- ingly designed to weed out those who thought that his class would be a snap, the questions were The 1930s hypothetical, convoluted, and "strange." According to one vic- tim, coins could be heard drop- ping throughout the amphi- theater as students employed a time-honored method for deci- sion in the face of ignorance. Pat- tie's demonstrations of the uses and art of hypnotism, however, made putting up with the exams worthwhile. The professor's ad- monitions of the dangers inher- ent in amateur experimentation seem to have been heeded; in one graphic exhibition of hypnotic suggestion for violence, the hyp- notized person actually hit some- one. In spite of the demonstra- tions, there were those who scoffed at hypnotism and spoke of the dubious value of this "so- called science." '° In 1934 a prominent Galves- tonian complained to the island's League of Women Voters that their scheduled speaker. Rice's Radoslav Tsanoff, would be speaking "just plain commu- nism, pure and simple." The phi- losophy professor laughed and declined to make a statement, saying only, "If anybody pre- sumes to know the contents of an address not delivered, he is en- titled to his opinion." The times had changed since Lyford Ed- wards had given his lecture m 191 8, but the potential for an- other such affair arose when Heinrich Meyer of the German department wrote a letter to the Houston Press in 1938 defending recent German actions on the Continent. One reader objected privately to the board and the president, but no public issue was made of the matter or of Meyer's views. That would come later.'" More Visiting Lecturers As in earlier years, the Institute continued to bring prominent scholars to campus to speak. The 1930s saw such well-known fig- ures as the mathematician and physicist T. Levi-Civita from the University of Rome, Samuel Eliot Morison, the prominent historian from Harvard, biologist Julian Huxley (then at the Royal Insti- tute in London), and Carlos Del- gado de Carvalho, a professor of sociology at the Colegio Pedro II in Rio de Janeiro and visiting Carnegie Professor at the Insti- tute under the auspices of the Carnegie Endowment for Interna- tional Peace. George Lyman Kit- tredge, internationally known as a leading authority on Chaucer, the English ballads, and Shake- speare, came after his retirement from Harvard to lecture and to visit his former student. Rice En- glish professor Alan McKillop. McKillop told his students that Kittredge did not have a Ph.D. de- gree. After all, who was qualified to examine him- The French Mission Nationale Franqaise Cavalier de la Salle came to Houston in 1937 for the 250th anniversary of explorer La Salle's death in Texas. The mem- bers of the mission were Rene Maurier, Mme St. Rene Tail- landier. Prince Achille Murat, Marcelle Tinagre, and Fortunat Strowski. In 1938 James W. Rockwell founded the Rockwell lectureship in memory of his father, James M. Rockwell, a Houston lumber- man. These lectures on religious subjects were inaugurated by Sir Robert Falconer, the former presi- dent of the University of To- ronto.'' They continue today. Only a Few Building Projects Straitened economic circum- stances in the thirties meant that there was little construction on campus during that decade. There were additions to the Field House and new football stands at the stadium, but the only other large construction project was for scientific research. In 1937 Rice physicists began building a 2.5- million-volt atom bombardment machine to study the nucleus of the atom. The frame building constructed to house it had a heavy concrete floor and a con- crete wall twelve inches thick to separate operators from the machine.'"' One other construction project was completed during the dec- ade. When William M. Rice, the founder, died, his remains had been cremated and the ashes kept in the trustees' vault. In 1922 a committee consisting of Presi- dent Lovett, William M. Rice, Jr., and Benjamin B. Rice began to formulate plans for disposition of the ashes. This group of men de- cided on a monument to be situ- ated in the middle of the aca- demic quadrangle. The ashes would be placed in the monu- 126 The u;^os 1 98. Unveiling of the statue of the founder, William Marsh Rice, June 8, 1930. Ralph Adams Cram, the commencement speaker that year, attended the unveiling (right, with his hands in front of him). ment, and above it would be a statue of the founder. To sculpt the likeness of William Marsh Rice, the board chose John Angel, a well-known artist. On May 22, 1930, in a fitting ceremony, the ashes, a certified copy of the certificate of cremation, and a statement that Rice was born in Massachusetts and had died at the age of eighty-four years, six months, and nine days were interred in the pedestal of the monument." Seldom is a statue installed on a college campus for long before it receives some indignity, and the founder's statue was no ex- ception. Hazing had returned to the Rice campus by 1932 — if in- deed it had ever been missing — and the sophomores sent some freshmen out to "clean and shave" the statue. The Houston news- papers reported the story of the prank, whereupon a member of the Rice family took offense at what he called the disrespect shown the "tomb." The soph- omores, the Thresher, and others The 1930s denied knowing that the monu- ment contained the founder's ashes, because there had been no pubUcity of the fact; in the furor that followed, sophomore presi- dent James H. Scott resigned his office. (Roberta Woods, vice- president of the class, assumed the office when Scott vacated it and became the first female class president in Institute history.) Being known as a tomb or not, the statue has not escaped the at- tention of other pranksters. Over the years, it has been subjected to innumerable paintings (by Aggies and others) and has sported Hal- loween pumpkins on its head and itinerant neckties around its neck.'' Hazing and Other Student Activities Nor did hazing come to a halt because of this incident. Dean Weiser was inclined to permit the milder forms of hazing, which consisted of the traditional moth- ball race, painted freshmen, and slime-drawn water-cart rides. Slimes and "slimesses" had to wear certain costumes, including a beanie for everyone, a green tie and red suspenders for the men, and a pinafore for the women; and all freshmen had to follow certain rules about walking on the grass and showing proper re- spect for upperclassmen. The Slime Parade culminated down- town in the usual pep rally at the intersection of Main Street and Texas Avenue. Despite the no- hazing pledge and warnings by the dean, however, certain out- lawed forms of the practice also continued. Broomings, Bayou 100 (tossing freshmen into the "Blue Danube"), Forestry 100, and the like went on as before, although with a little more circumspec- tion. A freshman's broken ankle in 1939 caused the dean to recon- sider the situation, and in 1940 Weiser banned hazing again. The Slime Parade was allowed to con- tinue but without paint or pa- jamas, signs or costumes. The ban remained in effect through 1 94 1; when World War II be- gan almost all the men on cam- pus either had been drafted or had joined the Naval ROTC, and hazing came to a halt for the duration." Hazing was not all that kept students busy in the 1930s; in fact, it was only a small part of life on campus. On the academic side, two national honor societies joined the already established chapters of Phi Beta Kappa and Phi Lambda Upsilon. In 1930 Pi Delta Phi, the honorary society for students of French, approved a chapter for Rice, and in 1938 a chapter of Tau Beta Pi was estab- lished for engineers. The engi- neers had had to operate their own organization (the Rice En- gineophyte Society) for two years before the national Tau Beta Pi association granted them a charter.'' Extracurricular activities were numerous. The May Fete was still a popular spring occasion, but it erupted into controversy in 1933. Up to that time, only women had voted in the elec- tions for queen and members of the court, and the literary so- cieties had virtually controlled the outcome by bloc voting. A number of independents — women without literary affiliations — challenged the societies in the election of 1933 and elected about half the court. In the heat of the campaign, there was much rhetoric about the evil of exclu- sive clubs and the need for de- mocracy. The Houston Chronicle even entered the fray with an edi- torial deploring the factionalism on campus. The result seems to have been that men were also al- lowed to vote for the May Fete court; after another challenge by independents in the class elections that year, the campus calmed down for a while. In 1936 the May Fete again be- came the object of controversy when the queen elected was Bowe Davis Hewitt, a married woman who refused to resign her position on the grounds that the eligibility rules did not preclude married women. The Women's Council, in charge of the event, changed the rules for the next year. In 1940 a male student, f. P. Miller, ran for May Fete queen, stating that he was in the race because he was tired of having women invade all branches of business and competing with men. This time the rule that the queen must be a senior woman was in effect, and the Women's Council could reject Miller's nomination automatically. Con- tests between literary societies and independents continued at the polls, however, into the 1940s.''' Nineteen thirty-three must have been a vintage year for up- 128 The 1 9^ OS 99. King Jim Nance crowning Mildred O'Riordan queen of the :9?S May Fete before an assembled court of class attendants. roars, for that fall the Dramatic Club precipitated another one. It chose the melodrama Uncle Tom's Cabin as its autumn pro- duction. In indignation, the local chapter of the United Daughters of the Confederacy protested vig- orously against the production of a play that they labeled as "unfair to the South." The United Con- federate Veterans joined in the protest, and after considerable publicity, the Dramatic Club de- cided to change its presentation to Rose of the Southland, or. the Spirit of Robert E. Lee.'" Aside from financial mat- ters, the Institute seems to have changed little for students of the i9^os as compared to those of the 1920s. To be sure, there were a few differences. In 1937 Jean Miriam Slater '38 became the first woman to hold the chair of the Honor Council. In 1938 a larger cooperative store for books and supplies opened on the site of the old one, the third floor of the Administration Building. In 1937, after fourteen years of ser- vice, Lee Chatham resigned as di- rector of the Institute band to devote more time to his business The 1930s 12,9 enterprises. Kit Reid '37, well known for his trumpet playing, took over Chatham's duties. Lee's Owls, the usual band for Saturday night dances, had relin- quished their place to Pat Quinn's Rice Owls Orchestra in 1932. Jimmie Scott took over from Quinn, and Reid's Night (some- times spelled Knight) Owls fol- lowed Scott. In 1939, after more than seventeen years of publica- tion. The Rice Owl, campus hu- mor magazine, merged with the Rice Alumni News. The new magazine was to include factual articles and alumni news as well as humorous pieces; the old Owl had come under attack several times for its "low literary stan- dards." When the editor of the Thresher complained about the lack of school spirit in 1938, a student answered that under- graduates had become more se- rious than they were in the late 1920s. There were still the liter- ary society functions, Saturday night dances, engineering labs, interminable bridge and poker games, student elections, cloister courses, and the inveterate Rice booster, gardener Tony Martino.' Sometimes it appeared that the school administration worked hard to keep Rice from changing. From the opening in 1912, Rice students had always "dressed" to come to school, partly because people dressed more formally in general and partly because stu- dents had traditionally accepted the aura of gentility that was en- couraged by President Lovett and many senior faculty members. In April 1936 sophomore William losiah Goode showed up on cam- pus in Bermuda shorts after the dean had already frowned on such apparel; a committee com- posed of Dean Weiser, bursar Mc- Cants, and registrar McCann told him that he would be allowed to finish the term but would not be readmitted in the fall. Accord- ing to historian Andrew Forest Muir's account, the technical charge was insubordination; but Goode claimed that he had mis- understood the first warning. Weiser objected to the shorts, Goode said, because Rice wanted no new fads on campus. Neither, it seemed, did it want a female cheerleader. When 1,000 of the 1,300 students signed a pe- tition for one in 1939, the dean said that the odds were a thou- sand to one against the presi- dent's granting the request. Rice would not in fact have a woman as cheerleader until 1946." Athletics — The Golden Age But even without a female yell leader and after a slow start. Rice athletic teams did well in the 1930s. lack Meagher's football team had improved m 1932 so much that the conference cham- pionship was not out of reach for the next season. During February examinations in 1933, however, eight members of the varsity were suspended for violations of the Fionor Code and thus were ineligible for the 1933 season. That fall the Owls won three games, lost eight, and placed last in the conference. In December the board and the Committee on Outdoor Sports reorganized the Athletic Department and re- leased Meagher. In his place as both football and basketball head coach, they named limmy Kitts, who had been Rice's basketball coach for a year. Dr. H. O. Nich- olas, who had been an instructor in chemistry, was made director of athletics, and Dr. Gaylord Johnson continued as business manager. It appears that Nicholas had very little to do with running the department and that Johnson continued to handle athletic mat- ters just as he had since Heis- man's tenure as coach. At the same time, Ernie Fljertberg, the coach for track, resigned, charg- ing that the Committee on Out- door Sports did not support his athletes the way it did the foot- ball and basketball teams." Hiring Kitts had been John- son's idea. Johnson was responsi- ble for arranging support, public- ity, and direction for much of the Rice athletic program; in fact, without him the Institute's inter- collegiate athletic efforts in the thirties would probably have been few and half-hearted. Presi- dent Lovett wanted the students to have some athletic activities. However, he was not accustomed to the fact that collegiate athlet- ics had become a business and did not see the links that could be forged between campus and town supporters. Accordingly, he was content to let the Commit- tee on Outdoor Sports and the athletics business manager run the program. McCants had re- placed Watkin as chairman of the committee, and to be sure, the bursar knew what was going on. For day-to-day matters as well as I30 The 1 9 ■50s 100. Rice's 1937-38 Southwest Conference champion football team. larger concerns, though, Johnson was in charge. Johnson wanted to hire a high school coach with a good reputation. He reasoned that every high school coach be- lieved he could coach success- fully in college, if he were only given the opportunity. Johnson also thought that every other high school coach would send his best boys to that coach just to prove the first premise. So Rice hired Kitts from the Athens, Texas, high school as basketball coach in 1933, then made him football coach as well in 1934." With the suspended players back in action, Kitts's first season was a triumph. Rice boasted four All-Conference players that year: Leche Sylvester, Ralph Miller, and Ail-Americans Bill Wallace and John McCauley At the Bay- lor game, which clinched the conference championship, Presi- dent Lovett came to the locker room before the game to exhort the team to victory. John Mc- Cauley had left one of his shoes behind, and Lovett used the op- portunity to tell the story of Jason from Greek mythology, who was aJso missing a shoe at the beginning of his adventure. It is said that in the middle of the president's talk, one of the ends, Frank Steen, turned to captain Percy Arthur and asked, "Cap- tain, who in the hell did Jason play for;"" Rice won the Southwest Con- ference championship under Kitts in 1934 and again in 1937. In 1938 the Owls played their first Cotton Bowl game, beating Colorado 28-14. This game was the second played under the des- ignation "the Cotton Bowl," which was at that time a private enterprise run by Dallas busi- nessman J. Curtis Sanford. In that same year the conference contracted to play in the bowl game for three years. A group known as the Custodian Com- mittee of the Cotton Bowl Game took it over in 1940, and that fall the conference faculty represen- tatives approved the creation of the Cotton Bowl Athletic Associ- ation as an agency of the con- ference. Some have suggested that there was some opposition in conference schools to such an endeavor, but that through the combined efforts of Rice's Gay- lord Johnson, James Stewart (director of the State Fair), and Dan Rogers of Texas Christian University, the opposition was overcome.'' With the addition of Eddie Dyer and Emmett Brunson [for- mer Rice stars) to the coaching staff, and with the support of booster clubs made up of all sorts of Houstonians, the Rice athletic program took off. Johnson, Nich- olas, the Committee on Outdoor Sports, and the coaches all worked for a balanced program, and the Institute reaped the rewards. Even with mediocre football teams, Rice beat Texas from 1934 to 1938. Kitts's 1935 basketball team tied for first place in the conference with Arkansas and The 1930s 131 loi. A moment from a basketball game in 1935, the yeai when the Owls tied with two other universities for the conference championship. 102. £. Y. Steakley, a star from the 193S track team, nosing out a victory. Southern Methodist. Buster Bran- non, who was hired in 1939, coached the 1940 team to an- other championship with stars Frank Carswell and Bob Kinney. In track Brunson coached Fred Wolcott, the first man to hold world records for both high and low 220-yard hurdles. But that was not all. Brunson also coached Calvin Bell, Paul Sanders, Robert Fowler, and Joe Blagg to help wm the conference in 1938 and 1939. After Jake and Wilbur Hess won tennis honors in the early thir- ties, Frank Guernsey and Dick Morris starred in 1938 and 1939. Golf was not left out, as the 1939 team of Ed Letscher, Harry Chris- mann, Joe Finger, and Ed Seaman also won the conference cham- pionship. Veteran sportswriter Clark Nealon rightly calls the 1930s Rice's "golden era of athletics."'" It was clear by 1937 that, with strong community support for Rice teams, especially in football, the Rice Institute badly needed a new athletic stadium. The old bleachers held nine or ten thou- sand spectators, but thousands more wanted to come to the games. Because of the grim fi- nancial conditions, the trustees could not justify any construc- tion out of Institute funds. When the alumni association, the R Association (made up of Rice let- termen), Gaylord Johnson, and J. T McCants proposed that the old stadium be renovated, the trustees were perfectly willing to give the group a chance to raise money outside the campus, with the provision, of course, that the improved stadium remain the 132 The 1930s 103. The 1938 tennis team. Left to right: Frank Guernsey, Joe Lucia. Ebbie Holden. Max Campbell. Guernsey was the outstanding player in the Southwest Conference. property of the Institute and un- der the direct control of the trust- ees. The money was raised, in- cluding Si 5,000 that the board donated from proceeds of the 1938 Cotton Bowl game; William Ward Watkin drew up plans, and the rehabilitated stadium soon held 30,000 screaming football fans.'' After a disappointing season in 1938 and a disastrous one in 1939, Jimmy Kitts was dismissed by the Committee on Outdoor Sports. In his place the board hired Jess Claiborne Neely, who had been coaching at Clemson Agricultural College. In Neely's first season, the Owls tied for third in the conference with the University of Texas (defeating Texas 13-0), and in 1941 they fell to fourth. Neely barely had time to build a team before World War II disrupted everyone's plans.'' The Distant Thunder of World Events Rice was still its own little island during the 1930s. Only occasion- ally did the outside world seem to make any impression on the campus beyond student discus- sions in the dormitories or Autry House. Students writing in the Thresher made few comments about the depression or politics until the middle thirties, and then only in response to specific events. In 1935 a poll taken by the Literary Digest and the As- sociation of College Editors re- vealed that Rice students op- posed the League of Nations and wanted to stay out of war if one came, but that they favored uni- versal conscription in time of war, along with government con- trol of munitions and fighting if the United States were invaded. In spring 1936 a satirical move- ment begun at Princeton and calling Itself the "Veterans of Fu- ture Wars" came to campus. Rice students who proclaimed them- selves members of the organi- zation called for their "1965 bo- nuses" to be paid immediately. At a rowdy meeting they elected officers, including lobbyists to represent the Rice chapter in Washington. Antagonistic stu- dents pelted the "future vets" with mud balls and interrupted them with catcalls. Although some genuine veterans' groups protested the existence of such an organization. Dean Weiser said he thought the protest move- ment was a farce; he took no ac- tion against the satirical group. After the rally, it appears that the students simply went back to their books or card games.'" When events brought Europe to the brink of war in 1939, the Thresher began to publish more The 1930s 133 104. The 1939 golf team. Ed Letscber and Joe Finger llettermen) were co-captains. articles about the world outside the hedges. The actual declara- tion of war by Great Britain against Germany in September moved President Lovett in his matriculation address to call for strict observance of neutrality by the students; he urged them to "resolve to go forward with the business that brings you here as though there were no war, and thereby become better equipped to serve the country with all your might in peace and, if you must, in war." Rice had its first casu- alty that September. Kurt von lohnson had been a student from 1929 until 1 93 1, when his family moved back to their German homeland. Von Johnson became a lieutenant in the German army and died in the invasion of Poland. In October 1939 the dean moved to abolish a new organiza- tion on campus, the Rice Progres- sive Party. The purpose of the party was to increase political in- terest on campus, although the dean did not object to that. His reservations concerned other par- ties that might be organized in opposition and whether the party would remain true to its original purpose. Weiser thought that the best interests of the Institute would not be served through such organizations.*"' By the end of the decade, the distant thunder of world events was moving ever closer to Amer- ica and to the Rice Institute. CHAPTER 7 A Decade of Change: The 1940s The declaration of war against Japan and Germany by the United States had httle immediate effect on the Rice campus. Seniors did not enhst m large numbers in [December 1941, unlike their counterparts in April 19 17; in fact, the Thresher advised stu- dents to stay in school and finish the year. Neither did the univer- sity administration try to make any schedule changes for the spring of 1942. In May 1941 the Navy had established an ROTC unit at Rice, and in September 107 freshmen and sophomores had been accepted into the volun- tary program." As a result, there was no need to impose a military structure on the entire campus, as the administration had done in 1917. War Affects the Campus In February 1942 the faculty pro- posed and the board accepted a plan to help seniors graduate be- fore entering the service. The ac- ademic year for engineers and architects would conclude early, and the date for commencement exercises was moved forward. For the school year 1942-43, senior classes in engineering and archi- tecture were accelerated to finish by April 3, 1943. In addition, all students who held senior stand- ing by the end of the spring term in 1942 were allowed to take two courses at approved summer schools, add one extra course to the regular senior schedule in the fall at Rice, and complete their graduation requirements in Feb- ruary 1943. Predental, prelaw, and premedical students who left to pursue professional degrees after their third year received bachelor's degrees from Rice after their professional graduation. Schedules for all other students remained the same as in previous years.' To keep open the colleges and universities of the United States that would supply the military with officers and trained special- ists, the Army and Navy spec- ified that some colleges have training programs that would be separate from their ROTC units. Some schools, like Rice, taught naval engineers; others, such as Texas A&M and Texas Tech- nological College, taught army engineers and aviation cadets. Under these programs, men were picked by a branch of service and assigned to a campus for training. While in training, they were on active duty: they received pay, re- mained in uniform, and were governed by general military dis- cipline. President Lovett was notified in March 1943 that Rice had been selected for the pro- gram; he was instructed to pre- pare for S30 trainees (342 engi- neering students designated "V-12" and 188 ROTC students).' Although the Navy did not take over the school — the total student body remained about half civilian — at times it looked as if the sailors had. Navy men out- numbered civilian men by about two to one, and no civilian men The 1940s 135 were housed on campus. The res- idential halls were renovated and repaired, and two new class- rooms for the Navy were con- structed over the machine shop. Rice also went on the Navy's schedule, continuing classes year-round. The Navy prescribed the curriculum and general course outlines for its officer training and engineering courses and also set the calendar to consist of three sixteen-week terms begni- ning in July, November, and March. Under this accelerated schedule, commencement exer- cises were held at the end of each two-term segment bcgmnmg in February 1944 and lastmg until March 1946. The thirty-third commencement in fune 1946 put the Institute back on its normal prewar academic calendar.' Navy men had to follow a mili- tary routine that included re- veille at 6:00 A.M., drill, specified study time from 7:30 to io;oo P.M., and taps at 10:30. However, they could also participate m any extracurricular activities that did not interfere with their courses or duties. They joined clubs, went to parties, played on both intramural and varsity teams, took part in the air-raid and blackout drills, and behaved pretty much as other Rice stu- dents did. Some of the V-12 men, however, were unprepared for college work, and their grades suffered. Six weeks after the start of the program, Wednesday night liberty was canceled, and the Sec- ond Battalion was ordered to re- main on campus to work on their studies. The V-12 students were also handicapped in their gradua- tion credits. The Navy sent them to Rice for six to eight terms, after which they went to Reserve Midshipmen's School or to an- other assignment, but without the full number of credits needed to meet Rice's graduation re- quirements. Dean G. H. Richter remembers that some of these men disliked the Institute while they were there and swore they would never come back; yet many did return after the war to earn their degrees.' Although the campus was rela- tively quiet during the war, an off-campus incident resulted in the termination of an instructor's appointment. Heinnch K. E. M. Meyer, an instructor in German who had verbally defended his native Germany five years before, was found guilty in federal court of securing his United States citi- zenship by fraud. The court can- celed his naturalization certifi- cate in February 1943, and that same month the trustees released him from the faculty. Although the Fifth Circuit Court of Ap- peals reinstated Meyer's citi- zenship, he did not return to the Institute." With the cessation of hostil- ities, the Navy program in schools with only V-12 units came to a halt in November 1945. In those schools that had both V-12 and Naval ROTC units, as Rice did, the program continued until luly 1946. At Rice twenty-one seniors who were still in the program received Bachelor of Science degrees in naval science in the June gradua- tion ceremonies. The Naval ROTC program continued on a peacetime basis thereafter at the Institute and was joined by a unit of the Army ROTC in the fall of 195 1.' Important Changes During the War Years World War II was not the only momentous event that affected the Institute in the early 1940s. In April 1941 Captain James Baker asked two of his firm's lawyers to determine what legal proceedings would be necessary to permit the charging of tuition. Baker continued to be troubled by the school's financial situa- tion, and when the alumni fund drive and appeals to Houstonians for support brought in only a small amount, the board chair- man saw little chance of increas- ing income enough to cover ever- rising expenses without the relief that tuition might provide. His lawyers thought the court would permit tuition charges once the Institute had clearly demon- strated that the general object of the trust would be greatly ham- pered and in part defeated unless the change was made. Baker pre- sented his firm's opinion to the board, recommending that the trustees test the question of tui- tion in court. The board in turn authorized him to proceed with the matter and notify them in ad- vance of the filing of the suit. However, the suit was not filed because of subsequent events." May 1 941 marked the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the corporation, the William M. Rice Institute for the Advance- 136 The 1940s mcnt of Literature, Science and Art. The hoard held a special meeting on April 23 to vote to seek renewal of the charter, as was necessary under Texas law. The resolution to extend the charter for another fifty years was unanimously adopted and filed with the Secretary of State. On May 14, 1941, Edgar Odell Lovett resigned the presidency of the Rice Institute. Citing his age (seventy) as his reason, he asked to be relieved of the duties of the office that he had held since 1907, but he also offered to carry on until a successor could be found. He wished to retain his membership on the board. The trustees reluctantly accepted Lovett 's resignation but were happy that he would stay until his successor assumed office. When the new president took over, Lovett would become presi- dent emeritus; of course he would continue as a trustee. Dr. Lovett and the board probably thought it would take a year or two to find a new president. Instead, it was to take five.' On August I, 1 94 1, the man whom William Marsh Rice had designated chairman of the Board of Trustees, the only chairman the Institute had had. Captain lames A. Baker, died at the age of eighty-five. He left his home, "The Oaks," to Rice for the trust- ees to use as they saw fit. If it was sold, the proceeds from the sale were to constitute a gift known as the "lames A. Baker and Alice Graham Baker Be- quest," to be used for scholar- ships and fellowships, prizes, or supplements to professors' sal- aries. In 1 942 the trustees chose to sell the home to the M. D. An- derson Foundation for $62,000 and establish four scholarships for undergraduates. One event, at least, amelio- rated the financial situation. That fall, oil was discovered on the Rice lands in Louisiana that were part of the original endowment.' Postwar Changes In September 1946 the Rice Insti- tute opened its doors on a purely civilian basis again, but it was not the old Institute of prewar days. Some extremely important changes had occurred at the high- est levels, and more were to take place on the student level. Changes began with the Board of Trustees. When Captain Baker died in 1941, William M. Rice, Ir., was elected chairman of the board. However, the trustees did not immediately name a suc- cessor to Baker's place. When they did not, the alumni asso- ciation seized the opportunity to lobby for a Rice alumnus as trustee, an idea popular among the alumni since at least 1938. In that year the association presi- dent, I. M. Wilford, had sent the trustees an association resolution calling for alumni representation on the board. Baker, who con- fused the Association of Rice Alumni with the R Association in his letter, replied that the number of trustees was fixed, and since there no vacancies, the board was deferring further con- sideration on the request. He added, however, that the trust- ees would be happy to confer with any committee that the alumni might form to discuss matters pertaining to "Public Re- lations, Athletics, or some kind- red subject." " In 1940 the Public Relations Committee of the alumni associ- ation met with the board. Con- sisting of the new association president Harvin C. Moore along with members ]. Newton Ray- zor, F. Fisher Reynolds, Carl M. Knapp, John Schuhmacher, and Henry Oliver, the committee re- quested again that the board se- riously consider selecting an alumnus for the next vacant posi- tion. According to the board min- utes, Baker stated "that it was his opinion, that should a vacancy occur on the Board, that the Trustees would be pleased to dis- cuss with the Committee the se- lection of a new member of the Board, . . . that the Trustees and the Committee were working wholeheartedly in the interest of the Institute, and the Trustees will always be happy at all times to confer with the Committee in respect to all matters affecting the Institute." The minutes for the meeting ended with a state- ment of harmony and satisfac- tion in every particular, but appearances were deceiving. Trustee A. S. Cleveland later told his son-in-law, William A. Kirk- land, that Baker was angry about such alumni "interference" in board affairs.' By 1942, with the vacant board position still unfilled, the alumni association did not wait to be asked for advice. Its Executive Board, still under Moore's presi- The 1940s 137 dency, sent the trustees another resolution urging that an alum- nus be selected for the position. They accompanied the resolution with a list of six candidates. Whether or not the trustees con- sidered the alumni candidates is unknown, but in May they elected oilman Harry Clay Hans- zen, who had attended the Uni- versity of Chicago for two years." That year the board made its first venture into the oil business outside of the inherited Rice land in Louisiana. County ludge Roy Hofheinz, a Rice alumnus, had in his court the disposition of the estate of the late W. R. Davis. Davis's estate included half of the working interest in oil prop- erties and other leases in the Rin- con field in Starr County Texas. Because of indebtedness amount- ing to approximately $5 million and the fifty percent tax on cor- porate profits, no corporation, including the Continental Oil Company (which owned the other half interest and operated the field), could afford to pur- chase the estate. The other lease properties comprised the Val- ley Pipe Line Company (which owned half of the pipeline), the Rincon Pipe Line Company, and half of the Brownsville Terminal. Endeavoring to settle the es- tate, the judge sought a purchaser who would be exempt from the corporate tax. He decided that the Rice Institute would benefit best from ownership of the oil properties. He then approached George R. Brown of Brown & Root, who was a Rice alumnus, and Harry C. Wiess, one of the organizers of the Humble Oil Company, to go before the Rice board with him and propose that the Institute purchase the prop- erties. The first scheme of pur- chase called for a cash outlay of $547,000 by friends of Rice who would then give the properties, subject to the remaining indebt- edness, to the Institute. The trustees, on advice of counsel, de- cided that such a plan would be acceptable under the charter, but the banks to whom the debts were owed insisted on a mini- mum of $1 million in cash be- fore they would agree to such a purchase. Everyone connected with the deal was confident of raising the first half million; they had planned to do that anyway. The other half million, however, would be more difficult. It would have to come from the Institute itself, even though its charter stated that the trustees were "ex- pressly forbidden ever to permit any lien, encumbrance, debt or mortgage to be placed upon any of the property, or funds, belong- ing now, or that may hereafter belong to the said Institute; . . . that the entire property of the In- stitute shall always be kept free from debt.'"" The trustees never- theless voted to make the invest- ment in the oil field and supply the half million needed. So that no question could be raised about the propriety of their action, a suit was brought in district court against the attorney general for authorization of the investment. The court empowered the trust- ees to make the purchase with donated money and the Insti- tute's funds and further autho- rized them to make investments of a like kind and character m the future. The trustees could thereby diversify the Institute's investments, no longer limited to those types of first mortgage loans and bonds that had charac- terized the cautious investments of the Baker board. In addition, the court allowed the trustees to add to the endowment or treat as income the net proceeds from the Rincon investment. Rice ultimately purchased 29/64 of the Davis interest in the Rincon field. Of the donations from friends of Rice, $200,000 was donated by Mr. and Mrs. George R. Brown, Mr. and Mrs. Herman Brown, Mr. and Mrs. W. S. Parish, Mr. and Mrs. S. P. Parish, Mr. and Mrs. Hugh R. Cullen, Mr. and Mrs. H. C. Wiess, and Mr. Harry C. Hans- zen. The remaining $300,000 came from the M. D. Anderson Poundation with the understand- ing that the Institute would, with the profits from the investment, construct a library or other build- ing in memory of Mr. Anderson (one of the four original partners in Anderson, Clayton), as soon as sufficient net oil revenues had been collected. The Rincon in- vestment turned out to be ex- tremely profitable. Debts owed to the banks were paid from profits by 1946, and by 1978 the Insti- tute was some $35 million richer.'" In October 1942, while the board was still working on the Rincon purchase, trustee Robert Lee Blaffer died. To take his place, the board elected George R. Brown in January 1943. Brown 138 The 1940s ' ^y^r^../, v/. . / ■ rtr.. SOL'HT ■'^ K'^'i^l Co 105. The signing ceremony marking Rice's purchase of interest in the Rmcon Oil Field. December iS. 1942. Standing, left to right: A. S. Cleveland, Tom Davis, C, A, Dwyer, Palmer Hutcheson, John Freeman, fames E. Elkins. County Judge Roy Hofheinz, A. H. Fulhright, [ohn Q. Weatherly Harrv Hanszcn. Seated: lames L. Shepherd, fr., Beniamin Botts Rice, folm T. Scott. was the first alumnus on the board, although he had not gradu- ated from the Institute, having left to join the Marines in World War I and afterward having com- pleted his college education at the Colorado School of Mmes. In July 1944 chairman William M. Rice, Jr., died after forty-five years on the board. Philanthropy must have run in the Rice family, for this William Marsh Rice also left the bulk of his estate, approx- imately $2 million, to the Insti- tute. His successor as trustee was Harry C. Wiess, like Blaffer a Humble oilman, and like Brown one of the "friends of Rice" who had helped with the Rineon purchase. lohn T. Scott became chairman. " By 194 s the board was ready to consider plans for the future of the Institute. The Rice alumni association's Executive Board, headed by Carl M. Knapp, had written the previous year to urge The 1940s 139 that the facuhy, curriculum, and physical plant be improved; that the Board of Trustees determine what legal steps would be neces- sary in order to charge tuition; and that the board employ an per- son whose sole duty would be to raise money for the Institute. Also in that year Brown and Hanszen requested and received from President Lovett a three- page memorandum concerning the development of the Institute and early decisions regardmg its educational program. Except for the information provided by Lov- ett, the board had only a vague picture of such matters as enroll- ment in the various disciplines, past university costs, and future needs.'" The Humble Oil and Refining Company, of which Wiess was president, had just completed a survey of its own history; and when Wiess became a trustee, he suggested that Rice do the same. With the W. M. Rice gift, the oil income from the Louisiana lands, and the future income from Rin- con all to be invested, the board needed some idea of where the money was going and the di- rection in which the Institute should go. In February 1945 the trustees established three com- mittees to work out a program. Wiess, B. B. Rice, Brown, and Lovett formed the Survey Com- mittee, which was charged with an analysis of past developments, present status, and future out- look for the Institute along with its financial and educational af- fairs. On the Finance Committee for the purchase of securities were Brown, Hanszen, and Cleve- land. The Loan Committee, which handled real estate loans, consisted of Scott, Rice, Cleve- land, and Lovett. '- Under Wiess's direction, the survey covered a number of aspects of the university's experi- ence from 1929 to 1943: enroll- ment by classes, gender, and division; degrees awarded; fac- ulty and faculty compensation; educational expense per year and per student; income and expendi- tures; and financial resources. Some interesting information came to light in this survey. Rice was not simply the engineering school that many thought it was. Throughout the entire period, 49 percent of the students had been registered in the liberal arts school (which included the pure sciences and mathematics) and 33.7 percent in engineering and architecture. The remaining 17 percent were enrolled in physical education, premedical, and gradu- ate programs. Engineering, how- ever, was growing rapidly even before the advent of the Navy curriculum, with the proportion of men enrolled, increasing from 36 percent in 1929 to 50 percent in 1 941. Mechanical and chemi- cal engineering accounted for the increase; civil and electrical engi- neering were in decline. Of the 3,421 degrees awarded from 1930 to 1943, 2,246 were Bachelor of Arts degrees, 959 Bachelor of Sci- ence, and 216 advanced degrees. While total enrollment had been kept at around 1,400 per year, the number of women had been de- creasing, especially in the pre- vious six years. During this time the number of faculty members had declined from 73 to s S, al- though before the war started, there had been 64 faculty mem- bers. The decline in staff was mostly in mathematics, lan- guages, and history, while the en- gineering faculty had increased in size. Faculty compensation had remained relatively constant through the fourteen years, at an average of $3,300 to $3,700 per year. The base rate of pay was $2,000 to $3,000 for instructors, $3,000 to $3,750 for assistant professors, and $3,500 to $8,000 for professors. In their prelimi- nary survey report the committee remarked, "It is probable that the uniformity in salary rate and lack of advancement over a period of years had exerted an adverse in- fluence on the faculty." Cost per student had decreased from $399 to 1929 to $332 in 1942 as the total annual operating expenses of the Institute had decreased in that period from $499,000 to $384,000. Income from invest- ments had likewise decreased from $734,000 to $650,000." "It is the recommendation of this committee," the final report stated, "that Rice Institute con- tinue the basic program that it has developed since 1912." The committee called for a well- rounded and balanced program in all fields, for expansion of the faculty, and for efforts to secure more financial support. Espe- cially critical would be the selec- tion of the next president of the Institute, who would have to ad- minister the expanded activities and attract people of ability to the faculty. The financial outlook was optimistic. When the debt 140 The 19405 against Rincon was paid, Rice in- terest in the field was estimated to be worth at least S8 million on the basis of 3.5 percent interest. At that rate of return, the income available after providing for maintenance of capital would be about $280,000 a year, which was equal to more than 40 percent of the average annual income from all Institute investments from 1937 to 1943. The Rincon in- come, plus that from the W. M. Rice gift and from the Louisiana oil lands, would enable the In- stitute to increase its expendi- tures for educational purposes by more than 50 percent compared with the budget immediately before the war. For example, the committee estimated that $625,000 would be available for the school after 1947, compared with average yearly expenditures of $390,000 for the period 1938 to 1943. "This will make possible carrying out a number of im- provements that will strengthen the Institute," the committee concluded." The Trustees' Long-Range Plan One of the most momentous developments in the history of the Institute was the long-range plan that the Board of Trustees adopted in 194s- This ambitious program, perhaps more than any other, laid the groundwork for the Institute's metamorphosis from a school of mainly regional reputation to a university with national standing. The long- range plan would encompass aca- demic objectives, an extensive building program, and expansion of the faculty and facilities, as well as a program of outreach into the community. The foremost objective of the plan was academic devek)pment: the Institute would continue to provide especially good training for a limited number of students through a broad and sound basic program, to set a high standard of scholarship, and to provide lead- ership in higher education. The curriculum would also be well developed, with expansion in arts and letters, although the empha- sis would remain on science and research. To help achieve these objectives, the trustees would look for aid from well-qualified individuals not directly con- nected with the board and would create committees for the various phases of the Institute's affairs staffed partly with these "out- siders." No longer would the board consist primarily of older men; provision would be made for the position of trustee emer- itus after trustees had reached a certain age. The educational ad- ministrative hierarchy of presi- dent, deans, and other officers was to maintain a close relation- ship with faculty and students; written into the plan was the stipulation that administrative officers teach some classes. The substantial building pro- gram included plans for a library, classrooms, laboratories, dor- mitories, and a house for the president. Concerning the fac- ulty, the trustees wanted people of the highest ability and a lower ratio of students to faculty (ten to one instead of the existing fif- teen or twenty to one). To attract and maintain an illustrious fac- ulty, the university would estab- lish a salary scale competitive with other leading educational institutions. As the faculty expanded, so would the curriculum, including diversified graduate and research work. For the latter, graduate fel- lowships and scholarships would be created. The program did not call for an enlarged student body, just a return to the prewar enroll- ment of about 1,400. It also did not specify how many graduate students there should be; from 1929 to 1943, the average number was 58. Careful selection would remain the rule for admission, in order to maintain high educa- tional standards. Finally, while the trustees rec- ognized that current assets and income might be inadequate for full attainment of their goals, they were undertaking the pro- gram in the belief that the public would recognize the value of these objectives to the commu- nity, state, and nation and would help the Institute to complete its plans." Once the development plan had been formulated, and in some cases even before a particu- lar segment had crystallized, the board started working toward its goals. By November Wiess could tell the Association of Rice Alumni that members of the fac- ulty had been promoted and that salary adjustments had been made. Without waiting to con- clude plans for financing, the trustees commissioned the local The 1940s 141 firm of Staub and Rather as archi- tects for a library building, with William Ward Watkin as consul- tant. Preliminary estimates indi- cated that the cost of the building as envisioned would be over $1 million, and Wiess mentioned to alumni that the trustees would welcome and appreciate their support. Indeed, Wiess empha- sized the need for their help for the realization of all the Insti- tute's newly articulated goals. '^ A President to Succeed Edgar O. Lovett Selecting a new president took more time than choosing a li- brary architect. Between 1941 and 1945, the board had consid- ered at least twenty possible candidates, including Lee A. Du- Bridge, a physicist who took the presidency at the California Insti- tute of Technology, William C. Devane, a dean at Yale Univer- sity, and John C. Slater, a physics professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Of those mentioned. President Lovett was most interested in the two physi- cists and preferred getting "a young scholar on the way to a sound reputation." For various reasons, the wartime search had been unsuccessful. Many of the leading scientists had been en- gaged in war work, and none of the others had proved suitable. '~ As the war wound down, and even before the preliminary sur- vey was completed, the trustees discussed their search with the faculty. If alumni could help with financial matters, faculty could help with the selection of their next president. On April 10, 194s, the trustees gave a dinner for the faculty at Cohen House, at which John Scott addressed the question after explaining the fi- nancial prospects of the univer- sity and some improvements being contemplated. The trustees knew what they wanted in a president, "(i) He must be a man of excellent character, with an established reputation. (2) He should have had experience m teaching, the ability to lead and inspire confidence, and the per- sonality to deal with people. (3) He should have a scientific train- ing, but with a sufficiently broad background and attitude to give appreciation to all the needs of a well-balanced educational program.'"" The trustees wanted the fac- ulty to select a temporary com- mittee of three members to be available to consult with them, to analyze the qualifications of the candidates, and to furnish in- formation about them. So that there would be no misunder- standing, Scott also stated that the final choice was the responsi- bility of the board. "This is not the type of matter that can be handled by a majority vote, but it is one in which the best advice and counsel of all parties con- cerned needs to be taken into ac- count," he said."' Four days later the faculty met and elected three members for the committee. Alan McKillop would represent the humanities, George H. Richter the pure sci- ences, and Lewis B. Ryon the applied sciences. They agreed completely with the board's requirements for a president, adding their thoughts that the In- stitute would be best served also by a man "who has had a sub- stantial part of his training and experience in a university having a comparable well-rounded pro- gram . . . , rather than by a man from an institution centered en- tirely about pure and applied science." They also wanted a president with "an interest in the practical problems of educational administration" and with demon- strated ability in handling the sit- uations that arose in the daily life of a university."" Harry Wiess, George Brown, and B. B. Rice made up the board committee that did the actual work of searching, but it was Wiess who traveled, interviewed, and gathered information on pos- sible candidates. The trustees used every avenue they could to find their man. Old friends and new acquaintances suggested names, evaluated personalities, and offered advice. A query to the Navy produced an outstanding recommendation for one candi- date, along with the admonition that, if Rice wanted him, he would be available only after V-J Day. The trustees had some ex- cellent possibilities to consider, but it must have been frustrating to have men like Philip M. Morse of MIT and James Fisk of the Bell Laboratories take themselves out of the running. Whenever a candidate said no, Wiess had a friend or acquaint- ance of the candidate sound him out a day or two later to be sure that his mind was really made 142 The 1940s up. One man to whom the trust- ees returned after he stated that he did not want to undertake an exclusively administrative job was William V. Houston (pro- nounced "how-ston") of the Cal- ifornia Institute of Technology. A physicist, Dr. Houston had re- ceived unqualified recommenda- tions but had been somewhat overshadowed, at least in Wiess's notes of his recruiting activities, by a couple of other candidates. By November 1945, however, when the trustees still had not found a president (and possibly because the faculty liked Hous- ton), Wiess again approached the Californian, this time with an in- vitation to come to the campus. Regardless of whether it led to se- rious negotiations, Wiess told Houston, the visit would give the trustees a chance to consult with him about the presidential search. Houston seemed inter- ested, but was still reluctant to leave research and teaching and become solely an administrator. Wiess thought that arrangements could be made for the president to have some time free from ad- ministrative duties. Dr. and Mrs. Houston visited the campus in December, and the trustees were so impressed that they offered the physicist the position on December 8. Hous- ton took two weeks to consider the offer and replied by phone that he was favorably inclined. Before making a final decision, however, he wanted to set forth his views on various matters so that he and the trustees would be sure they understood each other. They had mentioned moving the business office of the histitute from the downtown office to the campus; Houston thought that highly desirable, since it was the president's duty in most institu- tions to prepare and present the budget to the trustees and then to exercise close scrutiny of the disbursal of funds. "Educational policy, as well as thrift, must de- termine the way in which the available income is used, for the way in which it is used deter- mines the extent to which the in- stitution is deserving of local and national support," he told the board. Houston questioned the appropriateness of a prominent football team in a university that wished to be known as an out- standing intellectual center. He thought he would be able to "get along with it," however, if the athletic program's enrollment were held to the existing size of about one hundred. Those topics out of the way, Houston then concentrated on academic concerns. First, he in- tended to carry on research and teaching and wanted to be ap- pointed professor of physics as well as president. Second, he wanted to continue developing the science and engineering pro- grams, particularly physics, chemistry, and the engineering based on them, "somewhat to the exclusion of other fields." Princi- pal expansion in graduate in- struction and research should be in these areas, while other fields would concentrate on the under- graduate division. He expected to make additions to the faculty, not only with young teachers of ini- tially low rank but also with two or three men of distinction. Lead- ers in their fields would attract young instructors of the highest quality and make the Institute's objectives clear, but they would also be expensive, he warned. For the older faculty, Houston wanted to initiate a retirement plan providing for compulsory re- tirement at a definite age. Finally, to deal with the isolation of Rice from other intellectual centers, Houston proposed encouraging the faculty with some financial assistance to travel to scholarly meetings and to study elsewhere, and bringing in distinguished lecturers for periods of several weeks. On December ^i, 194s, the board expressed its accord with each of Dr. Houston's points. H. C. Wiess called Houston to tell him so, and Houston ac- cepted the offer to become the second president of the Rice In- stitute. He planned to assume his duties on March i, 1946, and seemed willing to accept Wiess's word "that while the situation re- garding the athletic program at the Institute may not be ideal. . . It is basically sound and in excel- lent hands under less Neely." The terms of employment included a salary of $20,000 a year and a house still to be built.'" On lanuary 4, 1946, the day after they announced the selec- tion of a new president, the trust- ees met to make significant changes in their own organiza- tion. It was clear at the time of the announcement of the long- range program in luly 194 s that all board members would have to devote long hours overseeing its The 1940s 143 completion and that it would be advantageous to the Institute if younger men replaced some of the older members. Not all of the older members wanted to give up their positions, but they capitu- lated to the majority opinion. Since the board did not want to cut itself off from its past experi- ence, the reorganization included the creation of an emeritus posi- tion for trustees. Some members (Rice, Lovett, Scott, and Cleve- land) could have retired at that time, but the other trustees asked that they stay on until a new president was selected. The beginning of the new year and Dr. Houston's acceptance of the presidency provided an appropri- ate opportunity for change. First the bylaws of the Insti- tute were amended to permit any trustee over the age of seventy to resign and be elected trustee emeritus. Trustees emeriti could attend all meetings, advise, and express their views, but they would have no vote. B. B. Rice, A. S. Cleveland, E. O. Lovett, and [. T Scott then tendered their res- ignations, and in their places were elected Gus S. Wortham, William A. Kirkland, Frederick R. Lummis, M.D., and Lamar Flem- ing, Jr. Harry Hanszen was elected chairman. The new board then adopted a resolution of ap- preciation for the contributions of the retiring members. Rice had been on the board since 1901, Lovett since 1910, Scott since 191 3, and Cleveland since 1922. Of the new members, Wortham was president of the American General Insurance Company and had connections with other busi- nesses as well; Kirkland, A. S. Cleveland's son-in-law, was a banker with the First National Bank of Houston,- Lummis was physician-in-chief at Hermann Hospital and professor of clinical medicine at Baylor College of Medicine (the first academic be- sides Lovett to serve on the board); and Fleming was presi- dent of Anderson, Clayton & Co., whose founders had been gener- ous supporters of the university in its early years.'" This new board was busy from the first, revamping investments for a higher yield, reorganizing accounting procedures to follow current methods for colleges, and helping the new president where it could. When debts on the Rin- con property were paid off in 1947, total net assets of the Insti- tute were more than $29 million. The trustees had received more good financial news before the 1947 accounting, however. In June 1946 Ella F. Fondren, widow of Humble oilman W W Fon- dren, contributed $1 million to the Institute for the construction of a library building. In October of that year, Harry Wiess gave Rice the income from 30,000 shares of Humble Oil stock for seventeen and one-half years, to be used for current operating ex- penses. Afterward, the stock was to go to his children. At the time of the donation. Rice hoped to re- ceive about $1 million from Wiess's gift; the eventual sum was more than $4 million. The following March, James S. Aber- crombie (an oilman and a founder of Cameron Iron Works), his wife Lillie, and their daughter Jose- phine (Rice '46) gave $500,000 for an engineering laboratory build- ing. The economic picture was bright indeed." President Houston Takes Office Rice's new president arrived on campus in March 1946. William Vermillion Houston was born in Mt. Gilead, Ohio, on January 19, 1900. He attended Ohio State University for Bachelor of Arts and Bachelor of Science degrees in education and graduated in 1920 with membership in Phi Beta Kappa and Sigma Xi. He re- ceived a Master of Science degree from the University of Chicago in 1922 and returned to Ohio State for his doctorate, which he received in 1925. He had been a National Research Council fel- low at the California Institute of Technology, a Guggenheim fel- low, and a member of the faculty at Cal Tech since 1927, having been made full professor in 1931. He was the author of Principles of Mathematical Physics and many scientific articles, and dur- ing the war he had conducted re- search for the Office of Scientific Research, concentrating espe- cially on antisubmarine devices and torpedo designs." Official inauguration cere- monies for Houston were held on April ID, 1947. This was the first presidential inauguration at Rice. Edgar Odell Lovett had never been formally inaugurated; the 1912 ceremonies that opened the school were formal ceremonies of dedication. Like those first cere- 144 The 19408 106, William Vermillion Houstun, the secunJ president of the Rice Institute. monies, the 1947 inaugural fes- tivities were held outdoors, but this time in front of the Chemis- try Building at eleven o'clock in the mornmg. They were kept simple and dignified. Agam came the procession of delegates, in- cludmg twenty-seven college presidents and various dignitaries from foreign institutions. Again the singing of "Veni Creator Spir- itus" opened the solemnities, al- though "America" closed the program in place of the "One Hundredth Psalm." Karl T Comp- ton, president of the Massachu- setts Institute of Technology, delivered an address entitled "Dynamic Education," and Harry C. Wiess as vice-chairman of the trustees inducted Houston into the office of president. After the inauguration ceremony came lunch in the Commons in honor of the delegates, where Lee A. DuBridge, president of the Cal- ifornia Institute of Technology, spoke. Following an afternoon recep- tion for the delegates at Cohen House, there was a dinner in honor of the new president and his wife. Addressing the group on behalf of the alumni was Carl M. Knapp, president of the Associa- tion of Rice Alumni, and on behalf of the people of Texas, Houston power broker Jesse H. (ones. Dr. Dixon Wecter, chair- man of the Research Group at the Huntington Library, then pre- sented a paper entitled "The Lone Star and the Constellation." While not the marathon of the opening, it was a full day." Edgar Odell Lovett became president emeritus upon Hous- ton's accession to the presi- dency, and in December 1947 the Administration Building was re- named "Lovett Hall" with the in- scription, "He has reared a monu- ment more lasting than brass." Lovett continued to occupy an of- fice in the building, although he moved down from the top floor to a somewhat more accessible location on the third floor.'' Many people have said that William Vermillion Houston was the perfect man to follow Edgar Odell Lovett as president of the Rice Institute. Interested in the same scholastic qualities, Hous- ton emphasized high standards, sound scholarship, and good teaching. "We aim to be a small university, small in total number of people and small in that we confine our efforts to restricted fields largely of the traditional university variety," he said. "We are firmly dedicated to the propo- sition that size and excellence are not synonymous. In fact, we be- lieve that we pursue excellence better in a small institution than some can in institutions much larger. Private institutions can help to lead the way in the qual- ity of education. This, I hope, the Rice Institute can do." While his own interest lay principally in science and its application to en- gineering, he also knew the value of humanistic studies. He wanted a balanced education for Rice The 1940s 145 107. Dedication ceremonies renaming the Administration Building "Lovett Hall," December 4, i947- Left to right: Harry C. Wiess, Lamar Fleming. Jr., Harry Hanszen. President Emeritus Lovett, William A. Kirkland, George R. Brown. President Houston. Gus Wortham. Or Frederick Rice Lummis. students, both in introspective thought and the world of words and in material phenomena." President Houston must have been a pleasant surprise to the faculty when he took office. For years the Institute had run on the same track with few changes in procedure or personnel, espe- cially in administration. To get things done on campus, one saw bursar McCants, registrar Mc- Cann, Dean Weiser, or architect Watkin. Seldom did a professor bother the president with day-to- day details or even have any con- tact with him, although the courtly Lovett enjoyed talking with faculty members on those occasions when they did come to see him. Faculty meetings were few and far between, and no one seemed eager to bring up matters at them. The department heads ran their departments, the bursar, registrar, dean, architect, and president ran the Institute in a 146 The 1940s gentlemanly, low-key fashion, and that was that. Dr. Houston wanted a higher profile. During his first two weeks on campus, he visited as many faculty mem- bers in their offices as he could, seeking information and asking about problems. He wanted to know his faculty personally. He wanted them to take a more ac- tive role on campus. At his first faculty meeting on March 16, Houston sketched his plans for the postwar Institute. He spoke of the need for students to have a balanced education, with the provision of a common core of basic training upon which to build specialties. The building program was under way, so relief was in sight for the overcrowded classrooms and offices. The size of the student body was to be held at 1,500 until the faculty was much larger than the exist- ing number (about 60). Houston was particularly interested in graduate study and research; to increase graduate enrollment as quickly as possible, he had per- sonally undertaken preparation and distribution of a graduate bulletin and poster indicating the availability of graduate fellow- ships. Since it took money to at- tract students of high quality and to compete with other graduate schools, Houston announced sti- pends available of up to $1,000, with remission of all fees. Whatever the quality of stu- dents, or the number of build- ings, or the victories of the foot- ball team, the academic standing and reputation of a university de- pended on its faculty. To meet the long-range program's goals. the number of professors had to be increased. Houston asked the faculty for their assistance in nominating possible candidates and investigating suitable people. He did not expect this to be a quick or easy task, because cer- tain special qualities were re- quired. A faculty member had to be an outstanding scholar: a pub- lishing scholar if in the human- ities, involved in research if in science, recognized by others if in the engineering profession. He had to be an inspiring teacher and recognize that teaching was an important part of the profes- sion. A faculty member had to be "cooperative and helpful" in the administration of the Institute. That meant serving on commit- tees, since the new president wanted the faculty to take over certain quasi-administrative functions. Finally, a faculty mem- ber had to be a respected citizen of the community.'" To advise on appointments to the faculty committees, the fac- ulty again elected Professors McKillop, Richter, and Ryon. These men formed the first Exec- utive Committee along with the president and the dean. The pur- pose of the various committees was to deal with all matters per- taining to educational policy, ad- ministration, and student life. The president appointed the com- mittees and delegated authority to them. Committees considered matters brought to them by fac- ulty or students and applied rules and settled cases without refer- ring details to the whole faculty for approval. New rules, policies, and precedents, however, did re- quire such approval at regular faculty meetings, which were to be held twice a semester. Also, individual faculty members were specifically given the power to in- troduce new business outside the committee structure and to ap- peal committee decisions at fac- ulty meetings. A number of committees were appointed, most of them reorgan- izations of old committees. A few, however, were new: the Committee on Graduate Instruc- tion with Dr. Houston as chair- man until a dean of graduate studies was named; the Commit- tee on the Library; and the Com- mittee on Student Activities, which would be chaired by a new assistant dean for student activi- ties, Hugh Scott Cameron, and which would include student members. The Navy Committee continued to operate as before, as did the Committee on Outdoor Sports, which was established in the Board of Trustees' bylaws.'" As had been obvious in nego- tiations for the presidency and in the establishment of committee policy, William V. Houston did not particularly care to run the school by himself. It has been said of him that he was never truly happy unless he was work- ing in his laboratory, which he had installed next to his office on the second floor of Lovett Hall, close to the Physics Building. 'Thysics," he said, "is a hobby I've fortunately been able to pur- sue at full time all my life." By 1949 Houston had devel- oped his own inimitable style. Into one of the top drawers went almost everything that came The 1940s 147 across his desk. There it fer- mented for a week or two, some- times longer. After a while, he would call in his assistant — a ju- nior faculty member who helped with the busy work of the admm- istration — and clean out his drawer. He told one of the as- sistants that he called the drawer "administration," and if he left things in there long enough, most of them settled themselves. What was left he divided between himself and the assistant. He used the same technique on the many questionnaires sent by various government agencies, professional organizations, and others. Houston detested ques- tionnaires. He answered only the imperative ones, had the as- sistant handle some others, and left the rest to sit, maintaining that if one waited long enough, the inquirers would no longer need the information, anyway. Houston was never guilty of the vice of administering too much.'" Changes in the Curriculum and Admissions The first task of the newly ap- pointed Executive Committee was to consider the desirability of revising the undergraduate cur- riculum. Virtually untouched since its original formulation, the curriculum still did not provide for the modern concept of the "major" and required only four courses in each of the junior and senior years for the B.A. degree. To keep in step with develop- ments at other major univer- sities, to broaden the curriculum. to give the students more experi- ences that would prepare them for the outside world and gradu- ate schools, and possibly to ex- tract more productive effort from the students, the Executive Com- mittee decided to revise the cur- riculum. They presented a new plan to the faculty in July 1946. The new was quite a departure from the old, especially for the first two years of study, because the faculty wanted to emphasize basic subjects such as English, mathematics, history, and sci- ence, while at the same time deemphasizing early specializa- tion. With this in mind, two main courses of study were cre- ated, academic and science- engineering, each having its own core of required subjects. When students were admitted, they usually leaned toward a tentative major, and that determined their division and their schedule for the first two years. The year-long courses were divided into three groups: Group A was languages and literature; B was history, so- cial studies, philosophy, and edu- cation; C was mathematics and science. Under the old curricu- lum. Groups A and B had been combined. First-year academic students were required to take Math 100, English 100, French or German, American or European history, and a choice of Physics 100, Chemistry 100, or Biology 100. Men were required to take physi- cal training for one year; when the gymnasium was completed in 1951, the women also had compulsory physical training classes. Second-year students took either Math 200 or 210 or a science; English or a general liter- ature elective; a second year of the language they had begun in the first year; a Group B elective; and a free elective. The science-engineering curric- ulum did not contain as many choices, and it added a sixth course to each year. The first- year student took Math 100, Physics 100, Chemistry 100, En- glish 100, American or European history, and engineering drawing. The second-year student took 20o-level courses in mathemat- ics, chemistry, and physics, along with German 100, an English elective, and mechanical draw- ing. Premedical students and those intending to major in biol- ogy took Biology 100 instead of Physics 100. Although science- engineering students took Math 100 for three two-hour periods and academic students for three one-hour periods a week, the basic course was the same: trig- onometry, analytic geometry, and elementary calculus. And it was still required for graduation. For the third and fourth years of the academic program, a total of ten courses were required, at least one in each group in each year. This was later modified to two in each of Groups A and B and one in Group C, taken in any order. At least seven of the ten courses had to be advanced (num- bered 300 or higher), and not fewer than three nor more than five could fall in the major field. In 1947 academic majors were of- fered in business administration and economics, English, history, modern languages, philosophy. 148 The 1940s and prelcgal studies. In 1949 pre- mcdical studies could be taken as a major in either the academic or science-engineering program, and mathematics was hsted in both courses of study in 19 so. For pure science and mathe- matics majors, the phin was not as flexible, but it did include a humanities elective each year. Otherwise the student took three courses in science (one outside the major field) in the third year, and two in the major during the fourth year. Another year of a for- eign language, biology, and a free elective completed the ten re- quired courses. Honors programs were available for both arts and science students, and each department offering them had its own formula for required courses. Overall, the engineering curric- ulum was the most changed. Un- der the old curriculum engineers had taken mostly engineering courses, with only two human- ities courses and some business administration and economics to leaven the mass of math, science, and engineering subjects. To broaden the curriculum with re- quirements in the humanities and to deepen work in the funda- mental sciences, engineers now followed the scientific course of study for the first two years, then moved into the strictly engineer- ing courses. One aspect of the en- gineering curriculum, however, did not change. Engineering ma- jors had no choice of courses, ex- cept a humanities elective taken in the third or fourth year, de- pending on the branch of engi- neering in which the student was enrolled. The degree that engineering students received also changed. Up to that time, the Rice Insti- tute had awarded a B.S. at the end of four years, and the degree of chemical, civil, electrical, or me- chanical engineer at the end of five. The new curriculum called for a B.A. degree at the end of four years and a B.S. in a specific kind of engineering at the end of five. Architects followed the aca- demic first-year schedule with the addition of an architecture course. The remainder of their curriculum was virtually un- changed, as was the curriculum for physical education majors. Almost all of the old courses at Rice were year-long and counted as one unit each, as they had from the beginning of the Insti- tute. The new ones continued to be year-long, but under the new curriculum semester courses were to be counted instead of whole units. As before, students registered in the fall for the en- tire year. The faculty committee also called for daily attendance records for all freshman and sophomore classes on the prem- ise that those classes were not "ready for freedom" in the matter of attendance. The spelling test required for graduation in 19^7 was now a requirement for pro- motion and enrollment in courses in the junior year. Although the new curriculum was introduced in luly 1946 with the goal of instituting it the fol- lowing September, the faculty did not adopt it until April 1947. It was several years before stu- dents felt the effects of this curriculum." Another change took place for students in the fall of 1947: ad- mission procedures were made more explicit and organized into a schedule. Four hundred was still the maximum number of en- tering freshmen, and fifteen the required number of high school credits, but the credits had been rearranged somewhat. The old system required three in English, two in algebra, one in plane ge- ometry, two in history, and three in one foreign language or two in two foreign languages. One to three credits in science were rec- ommended. Reflecting the times, as well as changes in high school curricula and the needs of the students, the new requirements called for four credits in English, two in algebra, one in plane ge- ometry, one-half in trigonometry, at least two in social studies, two in a foreign language (preferably Latin), two in science (biology chemistry, or physics), and one and one-half electives selected from a list of serious subjects ranging from botany to zoology. Seven of the sixteen subject cate- gories of the electives were in science. Personal and mental qualifica- tions were the new requirements for admission. To prove himself or herself personally qualified, an applicant had to provide a health certificate from the family physi- cian and letters of recommenda- tion from teachers, and also to have a personal interview with a The 1940s 149 member of the Admissions Com- mittee or the committee's repre- semative. Mental quahfications were determined by grades in high school subjects, rank in the graduating class, and, if neces- sary, examinations given by the Institute. The majority of stu- dents were still admitted without entrance examinations on the basis of an outstanding high school record and satisfactory personal qualifications. Whereas previously students in the upper half of their high school classes were given preference, under the new system only those in the up- per twenty-five percent were en- couraged to apply and they were not guaranteed admission with- out examination. Applicants who did not have outstanding records but who were approved by the committee were given the chance to prove the adequacy of their preparation by taking entrance examinations m English and mathematics. The departments of English and mathematics wrote these tests, graded them, and ranked the grades to determine relative standings among the applicants. These results were confidential to the Admissions Committee; no applicant knew what his or her grade or rank was. The committee established schedules for interviews and ex- aminations in Houston and other Texas cities and set a deadline of March i for filling applications. Up to this time, the Institute had had no idea how many students would actually register in Sep- tember, and the new plan sought to correct this logistical defect. A student had two weeks after the date on the notice of acceptance to signify in writing his or her in- tention of accepting admission and to send in a twenty-five- dollar registration fee. If the stu- dent did not appear to register in September and had not so noti- fied the school before August i, the payment was forfeited.^" There were also changes for graduate students, through the Committee on Graduate Instruc- tion. No longer were a good un- dergraduate record and letters of recommendation sufficient for admission. Starting in 1947, the graduate studies committee "ad- vised," although It did not abso- lutely require, candidates to take the Graduate Record Examina- tion. The catalog stated that pref- erence would be given to appli- cants with high scores on these tests. As for graduate degrees, a number of departments offered Master of Arts and Master of Sci- ence degrees, but the Ph.D. was available m 1947 only in biology, chemistry, mathematics, and physics. This limitation was soon changed as more teachers were hired. ^' Changes in Faculty and Physical Plant The hiring of new faculty mem- bers began just after Houston took office, and teachers return- ing from war duty further in- creased the numbers. Many came in with, or were elevated to, a rank new to Rice: associate pro- fessor. In 1946, 16 new faculty members and 4 veterans arrived; 21 more were added in 1947, and another 16 in 1948. In total num- ber the faculty reached 100 in 1950. By that year the human- ities, architecture, and science faculties had doubled from 194 s figures, and engineers had in- creased by more than one-third. Architecture hired James K. Dun- away and A. A. Leifeste, Jr., and welcomed James Morehead, Jr., home from the war. Biology saw the arrival of Roy V. Talmage and parasitologist Clark R Read. John Kilpatrick and Edward S. Lewis joined the chemistry department, and chemical engineering added William W. Akers and Guy T. McBride. Other engineers in- cluded Paul E. Pfeiffer m electri- cal engineering and Hugh Scott Cameron and Alan J. Chapman in mechanical engineering. James R. Sims returned to civil engi- neering from the war. Physics added Gerald C. Phillips, J. R. Risser, and Charles F. Squire; phi- losophy acquired James Street Fulton. Hardin Craig, Jr., and Rice alumni Katherine Fischer Drew and William H. Masterson began teaching history. Mathe- matics welcomed Gerald R. Mac- Lane and Szolem Mandelbrojt, while economics added James B. Giles and John E. Hodges. And there were others.^' As there were arrivals, there were also departures. Rice inau- gurated a retirement plan in 1946 that provided an option for retire- ment at age sixty and compul- sory retirement at seventy. A pension plan was also established ISO The iy40s tor those faculty members who had accumulated years of service before 1946. At the end of the school year in May 1947, two m- dividuals who were campus fix- tures retired — Harold A. Wilson with thirty-five years of service, and Alice Dean with thirty-three. Miss Dean went out in style,- the board had finally given her the ti- tle "librarian" (not just "acting li- brarian") in 1946." Along with added faculty, more buildings were needed for offices, classrooms, labs, dormitories, and a library. The last was proba- bly the most important, since Miss Dean had done an excellent job of collecting. By 1947 Rice's 150,000 library books could be found in nine library locations. The main library was on the sec- ond floor of Lovett Hall, with the history collection housed on the first floor and bound periodicals shelved in the basement. There were two libraries for chemistry in the Chemistry Building, and an architectural library as well; the physics library was in the Physics Building. To plan for a new library, a Co- operative Committee on Library Buildings was formed in 1945 with representatives from many different university libraries,- in addition. Rice sought special aid from John E. Burchard, director of libraries at MIT in 1946. Claude Heaps, professor of physics, was the first director of the library; he and his faculty committee knew fairly precisely what they wanted. The argument and sentiments were overwhelming for consol- idating the scattered collections into one central library. The com- mittee wanted open stacks, but they also anticipated the neces- sity for reverting to a "semi- closed" stack system in the event that the non-Rice public abused their open-stack privileges. (Un- der the terms of the Institute charter, the library was to be open to the public.) The faculty also wanted reading areas of ade- quate size with tables and chairs, small faculty studies (but no fac- ulty offices) and student carrels within the stack area, and small rooms for seminars but not ordi- nary classrooms. To Burchard's suggestion that an outside spe- cialist inventory the Rice hold- ings with an eye to pointing out gaps, the committee replied that the faculty was satisfied with the old system. They perceived that there were very few gaps in the holdings in use. The old acquisi- tions policy considered use as the ultimate criterion for book ac- quisition, and as a result Rice owned few rare books and in certain fields had only limited holdings. When the need arose, however, the board authorized special appropriations to meet the demands of the new curriculum. One of the most controversial questions was the location of the library building. It was generally agreed that the building would be situated on the long central axis that passed through the Sallyport of Lovett Hall and the founder's statue, but how far beyond the statue? The architects wanted it on the site laid out in the original Cram and Ferguson plan, which would have put it where the soc- cer and band practice field is to- day, west of the present student center. Locating it there assumed that the school would grow tre- mendously and that future new buildings would be placed even farther from the main entrance. Proponents of this location spoke of the "enormous and significant vista." Most pragmatic faculty members, however, were more interested in how long it would take to walk from their offices to the library than in the view. Heaps's committee recommended the present location. They be- lieved that that site would be central to the Institute for some time to come, possibly perma- nently. They thought that expan- sion to the west would probably be for men's housing, athletic buildings, or other auxiliary func- tions that would not place their main reliance on the library. The site would still provide a grand, more than adequate view."" Even the generous million- dollar gift from Mrs. Fondren was not enough to cover the entire cost of the building as finally planned, so the trustees looked to other friends of the university for much of the remaining $785,000 needed. Part of the fund drive focused on alumni. Since 1928 the alumni association had been collecting money for a memorial building of offices and classrooms to be constructed across the quadrangle from the Physics Building. Because of the depres- sion and the small number of Rice alumni, they had not col- lected enough for such a build- ing; but in 1947 the association voted to earmark the accumu- lated funds (some S8o,ooo) for construction of the library. The The 1940s 151 pj^^ 108- 1 10. The construction of Fondren Library. 108. June 2, 1947. 109. April i. 1948. no. luly 1. 15 The 1940s 1 1 1 - 1 IV The interior of the new Fondren Library. 1 1 1. Circuhition area. May 24. 1949. 112. Lecture Lounge. March 10. 19^0. 11^. Music and Arts Lounge. March 10. 2950. The 1940s 153 Bender bequest was also added to the hbrary fund/' In December 1947 the cor- nerstone for Fondren Library was laid with the same silver trowel that the trustees had used to lay the cornerstone for the Admin- istration Building in i9ri. The trowel was then presented to Mrs. Fondren. The official open- ing came two years later during homecoming.^" Anderson Hall, a classroom and office building adjacent to the library on the Physics Build- ing (north) side of the quadrangle, was the first structure completed in the postwar building program. Opening in 1947, the building was named in honor of M. D. An- derson, whose foundation had given $300,000 toward the pur- chase of the Rincon oil field with the proviso already noted that when debts were cleared from that transaction, the money be used for some such purpose.'' The Abercrombie Engineering Laboratory opened in November 1948. Located adjoining the Me- chanical Laboratory Building, it was designed by the firm of Staub and Rather, architects for the library and Anderson Hall. William M. McVey, Rice '27, sculpted a mural for the entrance. A highly stylized figure (which McVey called "Uncle Jupe") represented "man's — the engi- neer's— transmission and storage of natural energy, symbolized by the sun, into power for a mechan- ical and industrial civilization." McVey used dynamos, power lines, oil tanks, and a refinery to designate the branches of engi- neering. The Houston chapter of the Architectural Institute of America selected the laboratory as the best nonresidential build- ing erected and occupied in Houston during 1948.'" Expansion did not stop with these three structures. In 1949 a house for the president was fi- nally constructed on campus, a house that had been discussed since at least 1912. The Hous- tons had a home. A new dormi- tory, badly needed to alleviate overcrowding, also went up in 1949 and was dedicated in 19 so as Wiess Hall in memory of trustee Harry C. Wiess, who had died in 1948.-"' Plans for a new football sta- dium began as early as 1947, but it was several years before firm decisions were made. During that time, all sorts of proposals came up for consideration, involving people not only at the Institute, but also at the University of Houston and in city government, and private citizens as well. In 1948 there was much local en- thusiasm for a ioo,ooo-seat mu- nicipal stadium, in which both Rice and the University of Hous- ton would have an interest. This idea was abandoned for a variety of reasons, including reluctance at both schools and lack of fund- ing. Historically the Rice board had been averse to involving In- stitute money in projects that the Institute did not control. In No- vember 1949 the trustees an- nounced that Rice would build its own stadium.'"' At first the trustees had toyed with the idea of remodeling the old stadium, but they decided after much discussion to build a new one. Seating capacity for the new stadium was first proposed to be 40,000, grew to 54,000, and was finally settled at 70,000. To raise as much of the cost (esti- mated at more than $2 million) as possible from sources outside the university, the trustees sold options on seats — $200 for each box seat and $100 for each grand- stand seat, with previous season ticket holders and alumni having first choice. Trustee George Brown's Brown & Root Construc- tion Company agreed to build the stadium at cost to save the time needed to advertise for bids; work began promptly in February for a target opening date of September 30, 1950. The final cost was $3,295,000. Construction on the stadium went on literally night and day, and the president began to receive letters from residents along Rice and University Bou- levards complaining about the constant noise and confusion. American Federation of Labor pickets marched in front of the stadium to protest Brown (S< Root's open shop policy and the company's refusal to recognize the unions. At one point. Rice students who wanted the sta- dium picketed the pickets. As if that disruption were not enough, construction workers came upon an underground stream with a fairly rapid flow of water. It had to be diverted and routed through conduits, as did the old "Blue Danube," or Harris Gully, which meandered across what was to be the parking lot. Somehow in spite of the crises the stadium opened on time. It was designed purely for football with no cinder I.S4 The 1940s 114-116. Construction of AndcT\(m Hall. 114. November 6, 1946. 115. July i, 1947. 116. December 8, 1947. The 1940s 155 ■J-J^. ^^^^■■:^^-'' .-^^^Z''" •^■'^ 0 117-119. Construction of Aberc Klin hic Idhtudtory 117. GrounJhrciikur.: /:/> ' • ', 1 i^. Aerial view of construction, December 2. 1947 (also shows Fondren Library construction and completed Anderson Hall). 119. luly 156 The 1940s 120. "Uncle Jupe." a sculpture by William M. McVey on the facade of Abercrombie Laboratorv. track separating the field from the stands, and it had what Jess Neely called "just perfect turf." After the opening, the task of as- signing seats to season ticket holders became problematic when some were not satisfied with their allotted locations. Nammg the stadium stirred up more controversy. The trustees had intended originally to call it Houston Stadium for the city, but that sounded like a municipally- owned stadium and seemed con- fusing. Neither were Rice stu- dents and alumni particularly happy to saddle their stadium with that name. The final deci- sion to call it simply Rice Sta- dium met with almost universal agreement.' As much as Rice needed new classrooms, offices, dormitories, and a library, it needed a new Field House. The old one was falling down; conditions had reached the point where a tele- phone pole propped up a wall that was separating from the building. Coach Neely did not have to go outside to see if any- one was practicing on the field — he could just look through the crack in the wall. When prospec- tive high school athletes came to visit, the last place they were shown was the Field House. In 1949, about the time the decision was made to build the new sta- dium, work was begun on a new gymnasium. The building in- cluded a basketball arena (the first one on the Rice campus), a swimming pool, squash and handball courts, offices for the Athletic Association and the physical education department, and facilities for women. Rice women could finally take physi- cal training courses, and fresh- man women now had compul- sory "RT," as did the men. The basketball court was named Au- try Court in honor of Mrs. James L. Autry (donor of Autry House), whose daughter, Allie Autry Kel- ley. Rice '2s, donated $250,000 toward the building. (In the 1920s, Mrs. Autry, a staunch sup- porter of Rice athletics, used to turn her house into a dispensary for bruised Owl players, and she traveled to Austin and College Station to cheer the teams.) The new Field House opened in 19s I.'' The 1940s 157 121. Interior view. Abercrombie Laboratory. September 1949- Student Concerns lust as the campus changed phys- ically in appearance, it was al- tered in many other ways for students during the 1940s. The war, of course, radically trans- formed the university. Student traditions of many years went by the wayside in the process. The May Fete was canceled; the Thresher was cut in size and gained its first full-time female editor when Marion Hargrove took over for her husband Jim; no speaker addressed commence- ment in 1942; and in a scrap drive Woofus, the mechanical monster from the Engmeering Show, was zealously added to the pile of metal. The band dissolved for a while when Kit Reid went to war, but student volunteers started it again and carried on through the war. Senior rings were available in 1943, but the underside of the crest had to be hollow instead of solid, to con- serve metal for the war effort. The Engineering Society, known for shaved eyebrows, strange coiffures, and dead fish at initia- tion time, was disbanded after 158 The 1940s some "unfortunate incidents" at one of their welcoming cere- monies. No bonfires encouraged football players before the Aggie games, although the war did not stop the farmers from stealing Sammy in 1943. Corsages were banned for spring dances in 194s, because the Navy men said they had no money to buy flowers." These stringencies did not mean, however, that life at the histitute was dead. There was still plenty to do, including dances, athletic activities, club meetings, and cloister courses. As for schoolwork, the Thresher editor complained in 194s about low grades and the decline of the old Rice standards. Grades were sg "M n as IITIIIIIBIIBliliiiirHi^S 122. Construction of the new Rice Stadnim. May 23, 1950. 123. The completed stadium, with athletic director Jess Neely in the foreground. The 1940s 159 falling, she noted, but "it is gen- erally accepted that Rice is an easier school than it was before the war." The war usually got the blame, but the editor thought that poor grades were due to the students' habitual evasion of responsibility/^ When the war ended and Presi- dent Lovett announced in the spring of 1946 that the university would return to the old schedule in September, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. By that time fac- ulty and students alike needed a vacation from year-round classes. It did not take long for the Insti- tute to return to normal the fol- lowing fall. Students returning from the war picked up their studies where they had left off, in many cases under the same pro- fessor. In September 194 s the old practice of hazing had revived to include special slime clothing, the Slime Parade, and certain rules of slime conduct; persecu- tion was to be verbal, not physi- cal.'' Tony Martino continued to entertain students at the bonfires with his tenuous grasp of the En- glish language while he exhorted the team to victory. Literary so- ciety activities and social life re- sumed their hectic pace, while some students faced the old prob- lem of how to fit all their extra- curricular doings into a day and still find some time for study. The Rice that emerged from the war, however, was not the same as the Rice of old. A larger number of graduate students in- creased the total enrollment and altered the prewar ratio of gradu- ates to undergraduates; by 1950 there were 150 graduate students. The new curriculum that was adopted in 1947 brought about change slowly and subtly, as those on the old curriculum grad- uated and each successive class came in under the new system. Another change was in the rules concerning scholastic proba- tion— rules that were a source of increased pressure for the stu- dents. Under the new system, students who were failing in their first freshman semester were placed on probation instead of being dropped from school, and all students were henceforth allowed only two probations (a probation lasted one semester) during their academic careers, in- stead of the previous unlimited i6o The 1940s number. A third probation meant automatic expulsion. A "special probation" at the discretion of the Committee on Examina- tions and Standing might also be granted. This probation, however, was extremely stringent, requir- ing no grade of less than III dur- ing the period of special proba- tion and absolutely no academic difficulty thereafter. " By 1949 approximately thirteen percent of all freshmen were fail- ing in their first semester, and the faculty was concerned. Be- ginning in 1948, a committee known variously as the Commit- tee on the Freshman Course and the Committee on Coordination of Freshmen, chaired first by Pro- fessor Heaps, began to investigate the problems that freshmen faced in adapting to Rice. Committee members interviewed all fresh- man students who had failed two or more subjects, and they found many causes for poor work, rang- ing from inadequate high school preparation to homesickness. An- other step they took was to meet with the teaching assistants for courses that had many sections, in order to discuss their teaching methods. The graduate students suggested that one of the prob- lems lay in the emphasis placed on research in their own studies. There was not much incentive for good teaching, they said, and they did not have adequate time to prepare for the classes they were teaching. The assistants also said that they wanted to meet with department heads and the faculty in charge of freshman sections to learn more about de- partment policies, standards, methods, and requirements. As a final measure in its investigation, the committee sent a question- naire to members of the fresh- man class to determine whether certain courses were demanding more than their proper share of time. Analysis indicated that the average science-engineering freshman spent fifty-five hours a week in study, classes, and labo- ratory, while the representative academic student spent forty-four hours. The committee members thought that that was about the right amount of time, although perhaps the science-engineers were putting in a bit more than was desirable. In its report, the committee speculated on the reasons why so many students were on proba- tion. They listed the following possibilities: an inadequate selec- tion process for admissions; poor teaching; a belief on the part of the faculty that awarding low grades indicated high standards; an actual raising of standards by the faculty, so that even able students could not make good grades. Even after they had stud- ied admission procedures, how- ever, the committee could not reach a judgment about the qual- ity of freshmen, nor could they identify which of the possible causes accounted for the high failure rate. They considered ad- ministering aptitude tests to freshmen and issuing brief sug- gestions about how to study; they also discussed the question of more faculty-freshman com- munication and guidance, cau- tioned against a rigid curve grad- ing system in any class, and asked the faculty for further sug- gestions. Concerning a request that academic students have spe- cial sections of Math 100 and Physics 100 (the two courses that failed more freshmen than any others), Hubert Bray of mathe- matics and Claude Heaps of physics "maintained a somewhat intransigent attitude toward these proposals."' The following year, the same committee sent out another questionnaire, this time survey- ing those on probation. When few replied, the committee again interviewed the students. Those who had replied to the question- naire were more inclined to blame their failure on poor high school training than on any other cause. Of those whom the com- mittee questioned personally, however, most appeared unable to do creditable work in a college such as Rice, "no matter how much help and advice is given them." As in the previous year, the committee concentrated on the admissions process and on the quality of freshman students as the causes of so many freshman difficulties. The remedy for Rice's freshman "unsuccess" lay in obtaining a "higher type" of freshman to begin with, the com- mittee concluded. That, however, depended on having a very large number of applicants from which to choose, and the number was declining in 1950. The Institute had competition from free state institutions, which gave well- recognized degrees without the amount of work that Rice re- quired, and Rice had made no The 1940s 161 particular effort to publicize what it had to offer. Also, there were not many Rice alumni teaching in the public schools who might be able to mfluence better stu- dents to apply to the Institute. In addition, the postwar era was a prosperous one, when the ab- sence of tuition was not as great an advantage as it once had been. The committee was in a quan- dary. Administering tests such as those of the College Entrance Ex- amination Board might aid m picking the best of the appli- cants. On the other hand, if Rice were compelled to accept almost any high school graduate who ap- plied simply to keep the enroll- ment figures up, the tests would be moot. If the faculty abandoned a selective admissions process and high standards for freshmen, then Rice's traditional high stan- dards for all students would fall, as well. "The time has come," the committee concluded, "when we must face the fact that efforts will have to be made to attract students to Rice." "Under these circumstances," the committee wrote to the Committee on Examinations and Standing, "our Committee feels that the Institute can continue to maintain its high standards only if Its attitude toward its freshmen is one of well-considered rather than of mechanistic legality. The student must be made to feel that he is getting more help, wiser in- struction, more personal consid- eration, more exact understanding of his problems at Rice than he could get at any of those other universities that offer easier courses and more automatic degrees than Rice offers." The committee then requested that the rules of special probation not be applied to freshmen who were readmitted after failing their first year. Examinations and Standing denied the request, maintaining that freshmen had a full year to make the adjustment to college and that readmission on special probation helped foster a favor- able mental attitude in the student. Past experience showed that such readmitted students improved markedly. In response to a report by the Committee on the Freshman Course, the faculty offered com- ments of their own. Hardin Craig drew attention to the "bedevil- ment of freshmen" and the bad effects to be expected from fre- quent extracurricular activities of doubtful value. When committee member Trenton Wann indicated that students were in favor of faculty guidance but wanted more extensive participation by the faculty. President Houston pointed out that such faculty in- volvement was an integral part of teaching. Admissions director McCann cautioned against rigid rules for uniformity in grading, but Edwin Wyatt was in favor of the curve. George Williams, an- other member of the committee, mentioned the difficulty of deter- mining precise number grades m humanities courses and ventured the opinion that the large num- bers of low grades might be in- dicative of poor teaching. The faculty minutes do not record any answer to his observation. The committee made some efforts to help both students and faculty. They sent the freshmen suggestions on how to study and solicited suggestions for teaching from both faculty and teaching assistants in the various depart- ments. How the "unfit" got into Rice still needed an answer, but in the meantime the committee called for an active counseling program for freshmen and a re- written section on probation in the General Announcements. Ac- cording to some students, the section was so confusing that they had no idea that they were on probation until someone told them. The problems of high failure rates and large percentages of stu- dents on probation did not go away, however, even when the number of applicants increased. It remained to be seen what effect these conditions, the new curriculum, and the admissions policy would have on students. The forlorn little figure studying for finals with a candle burning on his head made his first ap- pearance in the Threshei in May 1949.'" More than thirty years later, he is still resurrected at the end of every term. Problems concerning the honor system resulted in a new consti- tution in 1948 and elicited much discussion. Faculty and students generally agreed that the system had been weakened during the war. According to a Thresher re- porter, the honor system had worked well for thirty years until the advent of the Navy program on campus. The Navy's "out- spoken refusal to believe m or promote an honor system" caused problems, he said. What- l62 The 1940s ever the reason, it was clear that students needed more expHcit rules and procedures. The new constitution prohibited deliberate proctormg by the instructor; it allowed the student to leave the room during examinations solely for personal reasons, and ar- ranged students in alternate rows and alternate seats for exams if possible. The pledge and signa- ture were required on all exam- inations and whatever other work the instructor desired, as they had been from the beginning of the Institute. The constitution established a trial procedure and specified a minimum penalty of suspension for a semester plus the uncompleted portion of the semester in which the conviction was made.'" Student Activities in the 1940s Not all the changes that took place were so serious or far- reaching. The first female cheer- leader, Betty lean "Foxie" Fox, was elected in 1946, thereby destroying a twenty-five-year-old tradition that yell leaders had to be male. Drum majorettes also joined the band in half-time shows. To replace the not-much- lamented Owl, a magazine called RI was published under the spon- sorship of the English depart- ment and sought articles that would appeal to alumni, faculty, and the general public as well as to students. The first Rondelct replaced the May Fete and showed off a king and queen at the ball in 1947. The Senior Fol- 124. The 1946 cheerleaders, mcludin;^ Betty lean "Foxie" Fox. the first female veil leader at Rice. lies, a student-written play sati- rizing life at Rice and outside the campus, saw the light of day in 1949. In 1948 the alumni associa- tion opened a placement service for job-hunting students and graduates, thereby eliminating the need for professors to write more than one letter of recom- mendation per student.' Campus clubs found that their activities came under the juris- diction of the new assistant dean for student activities, Hugh S. Cameron, and his Committee on Student Activities. Cameron met with the clubs' officers to reiter- ate old policies and make some new ones. All clubs' books would be audited and their publications The 1940s 163 supervised; clubs had to bring their constitutions up to date, submit them to the dean, and for- mulate a calendar of club events. "The policy of the Dean of Stu- dent Activities," said Cameron, "is to have faith in the students, but once the students break that faith, they will never be given an- other chance. "'^' One set of organizations — the literary societies — survived the war in full strength. They were still the closest thing to soror- ities that were allowed on cam- pus and had, if anything, become even more sorority-like and ex- clusive over the years. After much discussion of pseudo- aristocracy and democracy, a new society — the Sarah Lane Literary Society — was formed in 1947, named after the adviser to women. Expanding the number of women involved in the organizations ap- peared to put more flexibililty into the system. Opening it up even more was the dean's proviso that in the future any ten women who wished to form a literary so- ciety be allowed to do so. After the Sarah Lane Literary Society was established, about half the women enrolled at Rice were members of a "lit." In 1950 when Betty Rose Dow- den (wife of English professor Wilfred Dowden) became adviser to women, she decided to combat the discrimination still being shown by the societies and en- listed Dr. and Mrs. Houston on her side. Although some mem- bers protested, four new liter- ary societies were created: the Chaille Rice Literary Society, the Olga Keith Literary Society, the Mary Ellen Lovett Literary So- ciety, and the Virginia Cleveland Literary Society. Any woman with satisfactory academic stand- ing was eligible and was in fact guaranteed membership in a so- ciety, although it might not be the one she most wanted. Strict rules were drawn up for rush, and a complicated procedure was de- vised for final placement into the clubs. The two committees that had handled women students' is- sues and activities, the Literary Council and the Women's Coun- cil, were merged, with provision for one member to represent those women not affiliated with any literary society. Except for that one representative, indepen- dents continued to have no orga- nized voice in women's activities on campus." The Thresher editor in 1950 did not care much for either the new system or the old one, say- ing that the literary societies had long been dedicated to the princi- ple that It was a good thing to belong to a group that not every- one could belong to. Some of the students countered that they hoped for better representation, communication, and in general a stronger position for women on campus. Although the organizations were criticized for their insen- sitivity in rushing, the resultant hurt feelings, and for the non- democratic environment they fostered, they served at least one important purpose. They brought together a scattered group of women, for whom very few facil- ities, and in some cases little en- couragement, existed on campus. Town students, both male and fe- male, missed a great deal of col- lege life and the education that accompanied it. The men had been somewhat better off in this respect after they had been re- quired to spend at least one year in the dormitory, but that rule had not been repromulgated after World War II. For some town students, college was not very different from high school, ex- cept for the level of instruction. Through the 1940s, Rice was still primarily a man's school, with women enrolled. Although sev- eral women were listed as fellows and assistants in the instruc- tional staff and students regarded them as faculty members, no woman became an assistant pro- fessor until the 19SOS. Even Miss Dean, who taught Math 100 for years, was titled only a "fellow in mathematics," in addition to being acting librarian before 1946. The only woman to whom the female students could turn was the adviser to women, who was not a faculty member nor considered important enough to be listed as a member of the ad- ministration in the front of the catalog unil 1952. The literary so- cieties helped fill some of the gaps.^- If the "lits" were not very liter- ary neither was the Rally Club much of a "service organization" by the postwar period. The club was as close to a fraternity as could be tolerated at Rice, with membership by invitation. It did perform whatever services the dean might require, such as parking cars at various campus functions, but the members 1 64 The 1940s do not seem strenuously to have searched out ways to help others. They were well known for their parties and for their initiation practices, reminiscent of the rites of the defunct Engineering Society. Hazing, although stopped com- pletely by the Navy takeover, was resurrected after the war. Like most other activities, it also changed, picked up a new name, and showed up in a different guise. Most of the old rules were revived in 1946, but the freshmen did not seem much interested in being hazed. The Thresher com- plained that there were few par- ticipants for the freshman shoe scramble during half time of the football game and claimed that the freshmen showed gross lack of sportsmanship. "Another such exhibition by the Freshmen or a continuation of the present atti- tude of them would make certain the present doubt as to their hav- ing qualities desired of students of Rice Institute," the editor stated."" To remedy this appalling situa- tion, a new program was insti- tuted the next year under the name "guidance." Its purpose was to instill better school spirit and to assure freshmen of the oppor- tunity to participate in all school activities. Traditional rules were in effect, ranging from wearing beanies and red suspenders, to at- tending pep rallies and games without dates, to not having hair- cuts until after Thanksgiving. Dorm slimes had special duties, involving cleaning the rooms of upperclassmen and running er- rands for them. Punishment for infractions of the rules could in- clude standing at rigid attention, buttoning up shirts all the way to the neck, and wearing suspenders and ties every day. In charge of this program was a Guidance Committee of sophomores." This guidance program lasted about a year, until the Thresher and others began to complain and to ask questions. The editor thought that the announced pro- gram for 1948 was more fitting for fraternities, and he did not like forcing freshmen to parrot school history and other informa- tion as the Aggies did. Spirit should not be formalized, he said. "Rice student spirit, at its best," the editor maintained, "means an appreciation of individuality, the depreciation of 'masses.'" There was also the question of the Guidance Committee's authority and its source. The dean of stu- dent activities gave students the impression that he did not want to hear about any hazing; while he said that the Guidance Com- mittee was responsible to him, he did not establish the commit- tee or know of its legal right to exist. The Student Council dis- claimed any knowledge of its es- tablishment under the Student Association and set up another committee to investigate the pro- gram. However, their investiga- tion found no serious objections to the guidance activities. In May 1949, after much dis- cussion on campus in Student Council meetings and in the Thresher, the Student Council of- fered the students a referendum on a bylaw that would establish a Guidance Committee and pro- gram. Both sides had a chance to put forth their views. On the one hand were those who approved hazing, including the physical type such as broomings. Those students claimed that it was the driving force in the guidance pro- gram, that it unified the class, brought the freshmen down off their high-school pedestals, was good practice for the "licks" a person had to take in life, that it was good to suffer once in a while, and that no permanent damage was done. On the other hand were those opposed not only to physical hazing but to any kind of extreme personal hu- miliation that might be involved in it. This side eschewed forced conformity and the psychological as well as physical effects of haz- ing. The Student Council passed a resolution condemning physi- cal hazing and personal humilia- tion, although there was enough student sentiment to pass a by- law establishing the Guidance Committee by a large majority. After more complaints about hazing the next fall, crude explo- sive devices were detonated in front of the house of two of the complainers, Raymond Lankford and Farrell Fulton. Finally, in the aftermath of this excess, the campus returned to normal. A certain amount of hazing went on as before, there was talk of the "voluntary" nature of guidance, and the Slime Parade and rules continued. Revived in 1948 or 1949 was the practice of kidnap- ping the sophomore class presi- dent before the sophomore dance, and the week before the party be- came known as Hell Week. Hell The 1940s i6s Week soon had its own rules and regulations, but it would be a short-lived and tragic tradition."" Hazing or no hazing, one of the rites of passage for freshmen was attendance at football games to yell for the team. Rice fans had much to cheer about in the 1940s. Coach Neely had barely had a chance to get settled into his position as head coach and athletic director before the war started and took most of his play- ers into the armed forces. Prac- tically the only player left from the 1 94 1 team was Charles Malmberg, who, although 4-F because of his eyes, was still strong enough to become an All- Conference team choice m 1942. When the Navy took over the campus, however, they let their V-12 and ROTC students partici- pate in the sports programs of the school, and Neely made up his teams with them. He remembers the next few years as some of the most interesting he ever knew. Those who showed up to play lacked outstanding ability, but they had interest, determination, and a lot of heart, and "they worked like Trojans," Neely said. The Southwest Conference played a full schedule, and with every school making up their teams with whomever happened to be there, the unexpected could happen and often did. In 1942 Texas beat Rice 58-0, and sports- writer Morris Frank asked as- sistant coach loe Davis if he thought Neely would mind if Frank offered a comment that Rice would probably not enter- tain a bowl bid that year. Neely replied that he did not think 125. Rice defeated Texas /le'M m this 1946 football game, 27-10. zim^t^^ 126. Another victoiy over A&^M. 28-6 (1948). 1 66 The 1940s 127. Freshman track team, 1C/47-4S. The 1940s 167 much of Frank's humor. The next year, however, with the same team against some of the same Texas players, the score was 7—0 with Rice on top. In 1944 in Aus- tin the Owls won again, 7-6. Neely says that he probably got more satisfaction out of those two games than almost any others. With players such as Weldon Humble, Carl Russ, 1. W. Magee, loe Watson, James "Froggy" Wil- liams, Ralph Murphy, and Paul Giroski, Rice was a team to con- tend with in the postwar forties. In 1946, with many of the prewar players back on the field, Rice tied for first place in the con- ference with Arkansas and went on to the Orange Bowl. On New Year's Day 1947 the Owls de- feated the Tennessee Vols 8-0. Once Rice was leading, Neely played very conservative football that day, and when some criti- cized the lack of excitement in the game, it is rumored that the Rice coach said that if they wanted to see a circus, they should have gone to Sarasota (where Ringling Brothers had their winter quarters). In 1949 Rice was ranked fifth in the na- tion, won the conference outright with a record of nine wins and one loss, and defeated North Car- olina in the Cotton Bowl."^ In those years, tickets for Rice games in the old 38,000-seat sta- dium were at a premium, and scalpers were asking and getting as much as twenty dollars per ticket in 1948 for sellout games such as those against Texas and SMU. A drive against ticket scal- pers that year netted arrests of a San Antonio doctor, an Austin insurance man, an Austin golf pro, and three University of Texas students. The new stadium relieved the pressure. A Neely edict solved another very differ- ent problem. To protect the play- ing field from unnecessary wear, no hooved animals would be al- lowed on the Bermuda grass turf. That included Bevo, the Univer- sity of Texas's steer mascot. Flowever, neither the coach nor the university could solve the problem of fans who came over from Louisiana to see the Rice- LSU game. On their way home, many were stopped for speeding by officers of the Texas Depart- ment of Public Safety. They would often write Coach Neely to complain of this treatment and ask why Neely and Rice did not "educate" these patrolmen on be- half of the Louisiana boosters. Neely usually replied that he was sorry, but he had no jurisdiction over the police.'" Basketball teams also fared well through the 1940s, first un- der coach Buster Brannon (1939- 1942) and then Joe Davis (1943- 1949), winning the conference in 1940, 1942, 1943, 1944, 1945, and 1949. From 1941 to 194s, a Rice Owl was always on the All- American list. Bill Closs was named to the roster once, and Bob Kinney and Bill Henry both twice. The Rice track team con- tinued to win individual con- ference championships with Fred Wolcott, Bill Cummins, Bill Christopher, Augie Erfurth, Harry Coffman, and Tobin Rote. And tennis starred Bobby Curtis, Jack Rodgers, Chick Harris, and Jack Turpin."' By 1950, the future for Rice looked very bright. The campus was expanding in both numbers of faculty members and numbers of buildings. The new president had steered through some much- needed reorganization of the administration, and the new cur- riculum was calculated to produce the kinds of students, occupa- tions, and knowledge that the fu- ture would require. Although the primary emphasis was still in the sciences and engineering, the new curriculum called for expan- sion in the humanities. That ex- pansion would bring the Institute ever closer to the ideal of Edgar Odell Lovett's 1912 vision: Accordingly it is as a university that the Institute proposes to begin, a university of liberal and technical learning, where liberal studies may be studied liberally or technically, where technical subjects may be pursued either technically or liberally, where whatever of professional training is offered is to be based as far as possible on a broad general education.'" CHAPTER 8 A Decade of Growth: The 1950s Much to their dehght, the board announced in 1950 that most of the goals of the long-range pro- gram adopted in 1945 had been accomplished, five years ahead of schedule. The Institute had ex- panded the board, increased the number of faculty and provided raises m salary and benefits for them, added ninety-one semester courses to the curriculum, con- structed a number of new build- ings (including a library, a gymnasium, and a president's home on campus), and lowered the student-teacher ratio to twelve or thirteen to one. Real- ization of these aims did not mean that the trustees would rest on their laurels. The board wanted further improvement of the salary scale, an increase in faculty to reach and maintain a student-teacher ratio of ten to one, expansion in research ac- tivity, library development, more graduate and undergraduate scholarships, a higher enrollment (about 2,000), and more buildings to house and teach the larger number of students and to pro- vide research facilities for both faculty and students. Three million dollars in gifts had helped accomplish the goals set in 1945, but even more money was needed for the future.' In 195 1 estimated annual ex- penses for Rice amounted to more than $1.6 million, and by 1954 the university was spending more than $2 million a year. Most of the revenue came from income on investments; the rest came from student fees, research contracts, donations from alumni, and some income from restricted funds. By 1959 the Institute had more than $91.5 million in assets (including a physical plant valued at more than $28 million), in- come of more than $4.7 million, and expenditures of more than $4.3 million. In the decade from 1947-48 to 1958-59, the Rice Institute burgeoned from a small educational operation with a bud- get of approximately $1 million to a complicated business with a quadrupled budget. Contrary to uninformed opinion, the univer- sity did not have excess money. The board still carefully watched all expenditures, as it had from James Baker's time, and it was looking for new sources of in- come and generous donors.' Reorganizing the Board Since at least 1947, board mem- bers had discussed increasing their own number and using help from outside. In September of that year, while discussing new accounting procedures and the relocation of the business office, board chairman Harry Hanszen had proposed that the Finance Committee be reorganized and enlarged. He suggested a commit- tee of five or six, with three trust- ees and two or three outside members.' Harry Wiess picked some alumni to help on his Building Committee and also fa- vored expanding the number of trustees, but the board took no formal action then. A year later The 1950s 169 it was clear that the board, especially its chairman, was overworked. Hanszen had been devoting almost full time to the Institute's affairs, and his ne- glected personal activities were demanding his attention to such an extent that he was considermg resigning from the board. Harry Wiess had just died, and George Brown, looking after invest- ments, had more work than one person could manage. In fact, the affairs of the Institute had be- come so complicated that the seven-man board could not han- dle them adequately as a com- mittee of the whole or by sepa- rate committees made up only of trustees. In a memorandum to the other members, Lamar Flemmg pro- posed that board members dele- gate authority and responsibility to standing committees compris- ing both trustees and nontrust- ees. The innovation was not unattractive; mixed committees would enable the board to enlist the community's service for the Institute. Fleming suggested the Harvard plan, whereby trustees maintained legal ownership and responsibility as the charter dic- tated, but brought in others as members of the Board of Over- seers (or officers with some other title) to sit with the trustees, vote equally with them, and serve on the various committees.* In August 1949 the board acted. First the trustees asked J. Newton Rayzor to fill the va- cancy created by Harry Wiess's death; after Rayzor accepted, they voted to expand to a fifteen- member Board of Governors. The new board consisted of the seven trustees, who still held legal ownership of the Institute, and eight governors, each of whom served a term of four years and was selected by a majority of the trustees. (The governors had no vote in their selection.) Terms were staggered so that every year two new governors were ap- pointed, and the "term members" were ineligible for reappointment. When his term had expired, a governor became a governor adviser and continued to advise the university. The chairman of the Board of Trustees also chaired the Board of Governors, and committee chairmen were usually trustees. The first eight governors were Robert R Do- herty Harmon Whittington, Walter L. Goldston, John S. Ivy Herbert Allen, L. E. Garfield, Francis T Fendley, and Robert H. Ray. The first committees estab- lished under the new plan were the Finance Committee, the Oil Committee, the Buildings and Grounds Committee, and the Alumni and Student Activity Committee.' After George Brown became chairman of the board in Febru- ary 1950 and John Ivy was named to Hanszen's place after the lat- ter's death, membership of the Board of Trustees changed only twice from 1951 to 1963. Freder- ick R. Lummis retired in 1955 and Gus Wortham in 1961. To their places were named cotton expert Harmon Whittington and oilman Daniel R. Bullard, respectively. One of the primary goals of the new board was to seek additional sources of funding for the Insti- tute. To be sure, funds for special purposes had come to the school from various sources. In 1950 Sallie Shepherd Perkins donated funds to endow a school of mu- sic, but it was several years be- fore the income from her gift grew sufficiently to maintain more than a lectureship and a few courses in music. Olga Keith Wiess endowed a chair of geology m memory of her husband Harry in 1952, and in 1954 she gave still more to construct a building with a laboratory for a depart- ment of geology. In 1953 trustee J. Newton Rayzor established a chair in philosophy and religious thought; Rayzor also wanted to see a chapel on campus. In the same year the Masterson family began the endowment of a chair of history in memory of Harris Masterson, Jr., the chaplain to Autry House. And in 1958 Mrs. Reginald Henry Hargrove do- nated funds for a chair of eco- nomics in memory of her hus- band, a Rice alumnus of the class of 1918." A New Emphasis on Fund Raising Such donations as endowed chairs and bequests, like the part of the Hanszen estate that the In- stitute received, were always ap- preciated; but more money was necessary on a regular basis to fund continued expansion and to cover expenses of the enlarged educational program. It was clear that the university had to make a vigorous effort to attract donors I70 The lysos and solicit funds from many sources if it was to continue to operate on its expanded scale. In 195 ^ the board began seriously to consider soliciting contributions. The Baker board had been reluc- tant to request funds outside of the Rice community because of possible strings attached to any donations; in contrast, the new board looked to thriving postwar Houston for aid. In 19s 3 Harmon Whittington's Development Committee recom- mended a program to attract in- fluential friends for Rice, and the board created the Rice Institute Associates in 1954- The purpose of this group was "to provide a channel for the free exchange of ideas between the students and teachers of the Institute and a group of representative citizens who have been influential in civic, cultural, and educational affairs of the region." Members would also advise the Institute on its development and help increase its service to the com- munity. Membership in the Asso- ciates came by invitation, and some alumni who had worked for Rice's interests through the years were disappointed not to receive one. Newton Rayzor suggested forming a parallel group to be known as the Rice Alumni Asso- ciates, but the board decided in- stead to invite the alumni to join the group that was already con- stituted. The membership pledge was $10,000, paid at the rate of $1,000 per year. The Institute also turned to in- dustry as a source of funds. In 1955 the board established the Rice Institute Research Sponsors and solicited support from se- lected companies at the rate of $10,000 per year for a three-year period. President Houston used this discretionary fund to train graduate students in research methods, to support new re- search, and to purchase research equipment. The program also provided business contacts and served to inform companies about the research being done on campus. Research Days, when representatives of the sponsors came to campus to see where their money was going, were great successes." Throughout the 19SOS Rice also received various monetary grants. Companies began to sup- port research and students in many more ways than through the Research Sponsors program, and Rice benefited from grants and scholarships from such com- panies as Union Carbide, Shell Oil, Superior Oil, DuPont, and Monsanto. The United States government also awarded funds for research and fellowships. Many private individuals and smaller firms established scholar- ships and fellowships as well, and by 1959 there were seventeen graduate fellowships and seventy- two undergraduate scholarships funded by these individuals and corporations (many of them mul- tiple awards) and given out under Institute auspices. These totals do not include noninstitutional awards, such as the Atomic En- ergy Commission Fellowships, made directly to students by or- ganizations outside the campus.' One of the continuing goals of the board was to raise faculty sal- aries, and for that purpose in 19s s the Ford Foundation awarded two grants to the Institute, an Endowment Grant and an Accom- plishment Grant. The Endow- ment Grant had to be invested and only its income used for sal- aries for a period of ten years, after which both principal and income were open to any educa- tional use. The Accomplishment Grant could have been used di- rectly, but the board voted to treat it as an endowment also. By 1957 the Ford Foundation had given the Institute more than $1 million under these grants, and Rice was better able to com- pete with other schools for good faculty."' Growth in the Administration Increased donations, programs, and grants helped to realize the board's goals, but an enlarged and more complicated Institute also meant that the administration had to expand to handle the in- creased load. Faculty committees could take some of the burden, but the administration itself grew slowly yet steadily. A number of administrative changes took place in 1950. Dean Harry B. Weiser retired and re- turned to teaching chemistry, and in his place President Hous- ton appointed Professor George Holmes Richter, Rice '26, an- other chemist. Hugh S. Cameron, dean of students, died suddenly during the summer, and Pro- fessor Guy T McBride, a chemi- cal engineer, became associate The I9SOS 171 dean of students that fall. Why McBride was named associate dean and not dean, as Cameron had been, is something of a mys- tery, but his title is usually ex- plamed by the tradition that there should be only one dean at Rice, the dean of the Insti- tute. When McBride left in 19S8, lames R. Sims became adviser to men, an office that despite its name retained the duties of a dean of students — disciplinarian of the campus. Sarah Lane left the office of adviser to women, which she had occupied since 1 93 1, but remained on the library staff. That office saw a procession of occupants during the 1950s: Betty Rose Dowden (wife of Pro- fessor Wilfred Dowden of the En- glish department), Clara Margaret Mohr Kotch (Rice '51), Paula Meredith Mosle (Rice '52), and Nancy Moore Eubank (Rice '55). There were also several assistants to the president during Hous- ton's tenure: lames Morehead, William H. Masterson, lohn Par- ish, and Thad Marsh." Three men who had become institutions at Rice left the uni- versity during the fifties. William Ward Watkin died in 1952, John T. McCants retired in 1953, and Samuel G. McCann retired in I9S7- These three figures had probably done as much on cam- pus as Edgar Odcll Lovett had to keep Rice operating smoothly, and they were certainly known personally to many more stu- dents and teachers than any president could be. It took a num- ber of people to replace them. Changes in the accounting sys- tem and movement of the busi- ness office onto campus had altered greatly the duties of the bursar. No longer did he have in- dependent control over all money spent and purchases made. The bursar's functions were distrib- uted among several different sec- tions. McCann had been both registrar and director of admis- sions. In 1953 he became director of admissions only, while J. D. Thomas was appointed acting registrar and Michael McEnany assistant registrar. In 1954 McEn- any became registrar. James B. Giles became admissions director in 1957. Watkin had filled a num- ber of posts, including chairman of the Committee on Outdoor Sports, curator of buildings, and, during the war, civil defense chairman, in addition to building the architecture department. His activities were split among a number of people." In 1953 a new position was cre- ated in the administration. The board and the president had been looking for someone to head the new geology department that Mrs. Wiess had established in honor of her late husband. They settled on Carey Croneis, who was at that time president of Be- loit College in Beloit, Wisconsin. Croneis was to be both Harry Carothers Wiess Professor of Geology and provost of the Insti- tute. As professor of geology, his duties were clear — teaching, con- tinuing his research, and super- vising and developing the new department. As provost, his re- sponsibilities were vague. Presi- dent Houston wrote Croneis that his duties would be worked out in practice and would concern the interests of the Institute as a whole. Croneis would begin by serving on the Executive Com- mittee and helping to improve Rice's public relations. It appears that chairing the Executive Com- mittee and acting as goodwill ambassador for the Institute composed the greater part of the provost's duties; academic matters were handled by the dean and the president. A superb speaker, the popular Croneis rep- resented the Institute very well." In place of the four men who had run the Institute under Edgar Odell Lovett, there were eleven listed as officers of administra- tion in the 1956 General An- nouncements: they included an assistant to the registrar, the bur- sar, and the development assis- tant, in addition to the president, assistant to the president, pro- vost, dean, associate dean, ad- viser to women, director of admissions, and registrar. While this may seem to be a significant increase and might imply a high degree of organization, that was not necessarily the case. Rice was still a highly personal institution where matters were handled di- rectly without the intrusion of memoranda and complex organi- zational tables. In fact, when a faculty committee attempted in 19s 3 -54 to answer a Carnegie Foundation questionnaire on higher education, it found mak- ing up a normal organizational chart practically impossible. There were no "channels" to speak of. Confusing though that might have been to outsiders, it worked for Rice at the time.'-' In 1955 the duties of depart- 172 The 1950s > 128. Carey Croneis. at various times professor of geology, provost, acting president, and chancellor of Rice. ment chairman were specifically stated and entered into the fac- ulty minutes for the first time. These duties included the prepa- ration of a departmental budget and recommendations for promo- tions. President Houston pointed out that the chairman had full re- sponsibility for the department, but he who occupied the chair was not necessarily to be re- garded as chief scholar within the department. Houston also thought that it was desirable to rotate the chairmanship from time to time.'* New Faces on the Faculty During the lysos a number of faculty members made their first appearances on campus. In archi- tecture David Parsons and Ander- son Todd came, and in chemistry Ronald Sass and Richard B. Tur- ner, while chemical engineering hired two Rice alumni, Sam H. Davis and Riki Kobayashi. John Merwin joined civil engineering, John H. Auden, economics, and John A. S. Adams, geology. Many will remember Jackson Cope, the poet and novelist James Dickey, Thad Marsh, and John B. Pickard from their English classes, and Andrew Muir, William Nelson, and Frank Vandiver in history. Franz Brotzen and James Wilhoit went to mechanical engineering and Konstantin Kolenda and Niels Nielsen to philosophy. Harold Rorschach and Calvin Class joined the physics depart- ment, as did Andrew Bryan, Rice '18, who returned from the busi- ness community to the campus. In I9s8 the fournal of Southern History, the scholarly publication of the Southern Historical Asso- ciation, moved to Rice, and in i960 the English department started a new quarterly. Studies in English Literature: isoo- igoo. edited by Carroll Camden.'" E.xpansion of departments was a continuous activity in the 1950s, but it was by no means an explosion. About forty people The 1950s 173 were added to the faculty from 1950 to 1959, with the numbers spht fairly evenly among the hu- manities, the sciences, and engi- neering. The new element was an expansion m liberal arts. In 195 1 the administration announced that the aim of the university was "to raise the liberal arts and humanities to the level of excel- lence and breadth of coverage now enjoyed by the sciences," and it set about developing a pro- gram to do so. The library's ac- quisition of new resources for the liberal arts also made possible more and better courses. Except for a single doctorate in history awarded in 1933, the only higher degrees in the humanities offered by the Institute had been mas- ter's degrees in history, English, philosophy, German, the Ro- mance languages, and architec- ture. In 1951 Rice was able to offer doctoral programs in history and English. In 1954, to attract more students to the humanities, the Board of Governors estab- lished scholarships amounting to $300 each for fifteen freshmen in liberal arts."" By 1959 the faculty was of such size and the departments of such complexity that two more ad- ministrative positions were cre- ated, with the dual purposes of further developing graduate pro- grams and making the under- graduate departments more effec- tive. William H. Masterson of the history department was named dean of humanities, and LeVan Griffis from the Borg-Warner Cor- poration became dean of engi- neering. Richter remained dean of the Institute. The duties of the new deanships included acquisi- tion of new faculty, adjustment of salaries and academic ranks, and distribution of office space, labo- ratories, equipment, and the like,- but the positions were not solely administrative. Houston expected these men to teach and carry on research as well. Also in 1959, the Executive Committee was expanded and re- named the Faculty Council. This council was composed of the president, provost, dean of the In- stitute, deans of humanities and engineering, and six members elected by the faculty (two each from humanities, engineering, and science). The committee would continue to advise the president on matters of policy and curriculum. With these changes the administration began to respond to the more compli- cated institution that Rice had become.'" The 1950s Building Boom More students and faculty needed more buildings, and Rice's build- ing boom continued in the 1950s. The first of the new structures was opened in 1953; it housed a six-million-volt Van de Graaff ac- celerator. In 1963 this building was named in honor of Professor Tom Bonner, who died in 1961. It was built to the north of the physics amphitheater, across the street. Not long after that, plans were made for two lab- oratory buildings, an audito- rium, a student center, and more dormitories. The laboratory buildings, one for geology funded by a gift of $1 million from the daughters of the late Harry Wiess, and one for bi- ology financed by a donation from the M. D. Anderson Foun- dation, were located on the west- ern side of the secondary axis running north-south between the men's dormitories. That axis would terminate on the north with a new auditorium. In Ham- man Hall, built with a gift from the George and Mary Josephine Hamman Foundation, the Insti- tute finally gained a real stage for music, drama, meetings, and lec- tures. The new buildings opened in 1958 and 1959. Architect for all three was George F. Pierce, Jr., Rice '42, and his firm of Pierce and Pierce. For the stairwell of the Keith-Wiess Geological Labo- ratories, David Parsons, Rice's resident artist, created a metal mobile sculpture entitled Uni- verse. For the walls of the biology building Parsons molded a num- ber of bricks with intaglio de- signs representing the various phyla of animals."' While the biology and geology laboratories were being built, across the street to the south of them a student center and chapel complex was under way. Trustee J. Newton Rayzor had been lob- bying the board for a chapel since at least 1949. In 1953 he had sug- gested constructing some sort of multipurpose building to house a chapel and the Shepherd School of Music, and possibly the Hous- ton Symphony Orchestra as well. Other board members agreed with Rayzor that a chapel was needed, but they thought that one structure would not be 174 The 1950s 129. A view of Rice's Van de Graaff particle accelerator- column, with the pressure tank removed. ■the high voltage ^ enough for the three activities. They decided that the chapel should be considered as a sepa- rate project. In May 1 9 s 4 Rayzor had pointed out again that a chapel was one of the most urgent needs on cam- pus. Later that month, Dr. Hous- ton reported on a meeting of a committee that was planning a memorial to the students and for- mer students who had died in service to the country. He stated that, while no one favored a me- morial monument by itself, there was much enthusiasm for a stu- dent union building dedicated to those lost. Representatives of the class of 1955, which had lost eleven of its members in a naval airplane crash in 1953, indicated a special interest in such a me- morial. Further discussion, both of a chapel and student religious center and of a memorial student union, resulted in the merging of the two. The Rice Memorial Stu- dent Center was designed by Har- vin C. Moore, Rice '27; its cor- nerstone dedicated the center as a memorial for "the students of Rice who have brought honor to the Institute through their contri- butions to the welfare of man- kind and of those who have given their lives in the service of our country."" Certain questions arose in connection with the planning of a chapel and a student union. The Institute, after all, had been "aggressively non-sectarian" (to quote Cram, Goodhue and Fergu- son) from its inception, and the committee studying the center's proposed uses and the activities to be housed there had much to The 1950s 175 discuss. Their decisions were compHcated by the need to deter- mine exactly how the student union would be used, now that it was definite that a residential college system would replace the student dormitories (see pp. 178- 187). The Committee on Student Housing that was studying the college system did not think that a bookstore, a cafeteria, and of- fices for student associations, publications, and alumni should be in the same building as a chapel. Even the structure's loca- tion and the possibility that such a center would distract attention from the colleges came under dis- cussion. Eventually the center was placed in a line with the new biology and geology buildings. It took the form of a courtyard closed on three sides by the stu- dent center itself, a cloister with offices opening onto it, and the chapel. Located within the center were the campus store, Sammy's (the snack bar that replaced the small and very crowded Roost next to the old campus store in the basement of the library), vari- ous offices for student groups and alumni, and a large ballroom. = ' Funds came from Mr. and Mrs. J. Newton Rayzor, from the book- store surplus, and from alumni. Opening in 1958, the Rice Me- morial Student Center was not an instant success but rather an instant failure. Students com- plained immediately: it was too far from normal activity areas, especially the dormitories and the library; it was too sterile (considering the state of the old Roost in the Fondren Library basement, anything merely clean 130. The Keith-Wiess Geological Laboiatoiy. April 14, 1958. 131. Construction of Hamman Hall, i957- 176 The 1 9 SOS 132. Hamman Hall, a view of the nearly completed building. April 14. igsS. nv Architect Harvin C. Moore's plans for the Rice Memorial Student Center The 1950s 177 134. Construction of the Rice Mcnional Stiulcnt Center. 1 3 s • Interior view of the book^ opened. tore m the student center shortly after it would have looked sterile); there was nothing to do there and no one to see, and the addition of some Ping-Pong tables, a pool table, and a television set to the barren, concrete-floored base- ment did not attract many. The center did have its uses, though. Graduate students, faculty, and nonresident undergraduates of- ten ate lunch and played bridge there, and various groups used the Grand Ballroom for dances and meetings. But the remote RMC did not supplant the Sally- port or the library lounge as the place on campus to meet people." Other small physical changes were made in 1957. Dr. Lovett's gravel walks were paved over with pebble concrete sidewalks, the roads were paved, and the traffic pattern changed drasti- cally. Partly at the instigation of board governor f. T Rather, Jr., the board decided to make the campus more conducive to walk- ing than it had been. For a year or so before the asphalt was laid, barricades were erected across several roads through the middle of the campus to prevent auto- mobile traffic. Many students protested the alteration of their familiar traffic routes, and from time to time someone would blow up one of the barricades with an explosive charge. By the time new landscaping was com- plete, the road running between the third entrance on Main Street and the Mechanical Laboratory had been blocked at its junction with the south part of the cam- pus loop road. The academic quadrangle had also been closed to all vehicles, and the parking 178 The 1950s lots in front of the Mechanical Lab and Lovett Hall had been eliminated in favor of spacious lawns. Although new parking lots were opened, they were not sufficient; convenient parking places were soon at a premium, and some of those who did not like to walk took up bicycling." As badly needed as new class- rooms and laboratories, perhaps more so, were renovated dormito- ries. With the exception of Wiess Hall, all of the dormitory build- ings dated from the first days of the Institute and were in dilapi- dated condition. Doors had been kicked in and never repaired, walls needed new paint, electric wires hung haphazardly, bath- rooms had out-of-date and often inoperative plumbing, and very little was clean. In addition, the dormitories were extremely over- crowded. Freshmen especially were crammed three to a room — usually a room that scarcely held two, that had only one closet, and that provided no study space at all. In 1952, 631 students oc- cupied the space normally meant for 551. Students and faculty alike compared life in these com- munities to living in a zoo. The practice of hazing flourished, and any intellectual endeavor was considered by some to be strictly accidental. Nothing could have been further from Edgar Odell Lovett's concept of the Rice residential halls as gentlemen's clubs. '^ The shabby physical condition of the dorms was due partly to student negligence and partly to Institute neglect. Once damage had been done to a room and not repaired, the successive inhabi- tants had felt little responsibility for careful treatment, so that the buildings deteriorated progres- sively. The deplorable housing situation was the culmination of several factors. Dormitories had been severely overcrowded before Wiess Hall was built in 1947; al- though the new dorm alleviated the strain somewhat, subsequent growth in enrollment had can- celed out the gain. Furthermore, the new five-year engineering curriculum had added approx- imately fifty students a year to the dormitory load. Not only were more students being admit- ted, but a higher percentage were from out of town. The postwar growth of the University of Hous- ton attracted many of the gradu- ates from Houston high schools who in the past would have looked to Rice, thus relieving pressure on the Institute to act as the sole institution of higher learning for Houstonians. That, plus the actions of several groups connected with the Institute, in- cluding the faculty, encouraged young people from out of town and out of state to apply to Rice. Considering the pressure of dorm life, hazing, and the distractions of other extracurricular activities, it was no wonder that freshman grades suffered." Vitally interested in alleviating the dormitory situation were the associate dean of students, Guy T McBride, and the chairman of the board, George R. Brown. In 1953 Brown stated that the most important project for the Devel- opment Committee was to in- crease dormitory facilities, and the board committees on grounds and buildings and on alumni and student activity met to investi- gate the construction of addi- tional housing. McBride had talked to Dr. Lovett and read what Lovett had written in The Book of the Opening about the residential college system; he then wrote a memorandum to President Houston proposing that Rice embrace the college system to improve not only the physical conditions within the halls but the intellectual conditions as well.'" The Residential College System Lovett had envisioned a system of residential colleges at Rice like the one Woodrow Wilson had planned for Princeton, which adapted the English residential college to American undergradu- ate life. Unlike the British mod- els, colleges at the Institute would not have any fundamental educational responsibility; that belonged to the Institute itself. Instead, they would offer educa- tion of a more informal nature: intellectual stimulation, fel- lowship, competition, social activities, democratic self- government. By the 1950s several schools — Harvard University, Yale University, the California In- stitute of Technology, and a few others — had residential colleges, some quite different from the others, some with only subtle differences. The nature of Rice's system remained hazy." The 1950s 179 After a committee under the chairmanship of governor Her- bert Allen had thoroughly stud- ied the costs for new dormitory and dmmg facilities under a col- lege system, the board adopted a program in September 1954- New dormitories for 225 men and 100 women would be constructed; the program stipulated that hous- ing for 125 more men would be built, once there was sufficient demand. There was no rush to complete the scheme; the board wanted it to be carefully planned and executed. They expected completion with occupancy in 1956-57. As it turned out, plan- ning and construction took every bit of the time allotted.'" To formulate a plan for the or- ganization, administration, and supervision of the colleges. Dr. Houston appointed a faculty- student Committee on Student Housing with Dean McBride as chairman. It included faculty members from a number of de- partments, along with the adviser to women, representatives from the Student Council, and a new group, the Women's Hall Com- mittee. J. Newton Rayzor at- tended several meetings and worked closely with the commit- tee. Members of the board and of the committee traveled through- out the United States to visit schools with college systems. Of primary interest were those at the California Institute of Tech- nology and Yale University, but the committee also visited such schools as Wellesley College, Radcliffe College, and Harvard University."' Planning the colleges involved elements from the elevated to the trivial, from discussions of what constituted a college and how to build "collegiate homes for hu- man living" to the proper dress for the college lobby or breakfast. The committee reached some conclusions quickly. They de- cided that certain factors charac- terized a college: group living and dining, traditions, student gov- ernment, continuity, a master in residence, group social affairs, and athletic and intellectual competition. Committee mem- bers also identified two "deficien- cies" in the typical Rice under- graduate that they hoped the colleges would remedy: "a lack of a sense of social concern; not just a vague sympathy but rather an informed sense of responsibility in the spheres of community ac- tion, from the family unit to af- fairs of national global scope. . . [and] a deficiency in broad intel- lectual curiosity.""" In line with these observations, the committee decided that cer- tain provisions should be built into the system. A large dining room and a lounge would allow student gatherings, especially for that most important reminder of the college's unity, the daily meal shared by all residents at one time. These implied buildings of a certain size and configuration. To place responsibility on the student wherever possible, a strong student government would be established in each college to initiate and maintain social and intellectual activities, competi- tions, and traditions, as well as to enforce discipline. The commit- tee hoped to correct the other de- ficiency noted in its report by encouraging increased intellec- tual contact with teachers out- side the classroom; both married and unmarried faculty members would reside in the colleges. A study by the faculty Committee on Educational Inquiry had re- vealed that students thought con- tact with the faculty outside the classroom had usually proved unpleasant, although they still desired it. Perhaps natural in- formal interaction in a domes- tic environment would be more agreeable. The committee had an am- bitious program for the system. They wanted an atmosphere like that of Lovett's "gentlemen's club," a home away from home. They wanted to foster maturity in the students, as well as a sense of responsibility for the welfare of the group and the individual. They wanted to provide an en- vironment conducive to discus- sion of ideas and suitable organi- zation for the development of student leaders. They hoped that the colleges would make a posi- tive contribution to the students' lives." In its basic deliberations on the college system, the committee originally considered establishing only four colleges (based on the four existing dormitories), and these were to be only for men. The planned women's dormitory had its own problems, but at the beginning of its study the com- mittee concentrated on the men's facilities. That the Institute fi- nally established a women's college at the same time is due largely to the efforts of trustee i8o The 1 9 SOS ]. Newton Rayzor and two suc- cessive advisers to women, Clara Margaret Mohr Kotch and Paula Meredith Mosle.'= They con- vinced the others that if Rice was going to have a workable college system, the arrangement needed to apply to everyone on campus from the beginning. The number of students resid- ing in each college was fairly well determined by the existing dor- mitories. East, South, and West Halls housed no students and Wiess housed 220, so it was ob- vious from an architectural stand- point that college size should be some multiple of no. The com- mittee decided that 220 would be ideal, because that number was small enough to be responsive to a single master but large enough to include all types of students and thus maintain a democratic college and campus. (The com- mittee wanted to avoid any sem- blance of exclusivity or a fra- ternity atmosphere about the colleges.) It finally recommended to the board a building program that provided for four colleges of 220 students each, using Wiess Hall as one and increasing the size of the other three. This total of 880 was 105 more than the ini- tial board plan but within the eventual total number that the board had in mind. The commit- tee was certain that the addi- tional places would not go empty, as there was already considerable demand from town students to live in the dorms. ' Essential for the success of the system, the committee thought, were the master and his wife, be- cause they would be the primary ones responsible for achieving the goals of social concern and intellectual curiosity. It was there- fore important to choose the masters with great care; the com- mittee recommended that they be chosen from the ranks of full professors. Although the commit- tee originally thought that mas- ters, faculty fellows, and student officers would handle disciplin- ary matters, the final report em- phasized that masters were not to be thought of as disciplinarians. Fellows were left out of the pro- cess altogether. As in the first dormitories, the students them- selves were to be responsible for discipline, though serious infrac- tions would be dealt with, as they always had been, by the dean of students. The master re- tained overall responsibility for student life in his college, but his mam duties were to counsel stu- dents, provide an example, and advise student committees. The committee further recommended that each master be provided with a house next to his college but physically separated from it. - Other faculty members were to be associated with the colleges, either as residents or nonresi- dents. Called "fellows" at first, these people soon came to be known as "faculty associates." The committee saw the associ- ates' function as stimulating in- tellectual and cultural interests and advising the students and master when asked to do so. They were to join a college by invitation from the master and college members, and the com- mittee recommended that each college have at least fifteen non- resident and two to four resident associates.' Most decisions could be made simply, but the committee spent a number of meetings discussing how a freshman would join a col- lege. At first a separate dormitory was envisioned for freshmen, who would then join a college in their sophomore year after com- petition among the colleges for "desirable freshmen." Militating against this idea were the cost of such a facility in addition to the planned expansion of the colleges- to-be, and the fraternity-like atmosphere that such compe- tition would engender. The committee investigated moving freshmen from one college to an- other during the year and allow- ing them to choose one at the end of that time, but the clear disadvantages in such upheavals soon shelved that proposition. Even inviting freshmen to dine at other colleges before they made their final decision seemed too much like fraternity rushing. Fi- nally the committee decided to assign freshmen arbitrarily to the colleges upon admission, guaran- teeing them the right to request one transfer (but no college could invite such a transfer). Masters and associates were to make the assignments after consulting the student college officers, taking care to distribute students by ma- jor and geographical section of the country to avoid any con- centration in one college. An in- coming freshman could ask for placement in a certain college, but he was not guaranteed that his request would be granted. In the placement system that was The 1950s 181 finally adopted, a new student was allowed to request the col- lege in which a brother was en- rolled, and two freshmen friends could request assignment to- gether but could not designate a specific college. The committee was determined to provide a bal- anced environment in which in- dividuals could find new friends from all geographical regions and from all academic fields.'" Although there was an early suggestion that town students have a college of their own cen- tered around a student union, the committee decided in the end that all town students and trans- fers were to be assigned to col- leges in the same manner that out-of-town students were. They would have all the rights, privi- leges, and responsibilities of resi- dent college members, with a few exceptions concerning certain college offices. The committee also hoped that town students would eat meals at their col- leges, especially on those special evenings designated as College Nights." Endeavoring to resolve as many details as possible for the colleges before they opened, the commit- tee set up two subcommittees on student activities. One recom- mended appropriate social and sports activities and even told college officers to survey their members before formulating final plans. (The committee included a planning schedule for the first year.) The other subcommittee wrote a model college constitu- tion, which established a repre- sentative government in a college Cabinet with executive, legisla- tive, and judicial duties. The Cabinet was to meet regularly, supervise all the various college activities and committees, and control room assignments.'" If a college system was impor- tant for the men, it was equally important — perhaps more sig- nificant— for the women. From the beginning of the Institute, women had usually been left to find their own housing. They could often obtain lists of reputa- ble boarding houses or rentable rooms from Mr. McCants' office or from the adviser to women, but otherwise they had to fend for themselves. Many boarded with the families of present or past Rice students, or lived at home. Partly because of these conditions, most women stu- dents at Rice were from Houston. In 195 1 only 65 of the 300 women enrolled were from out of town. That year the adviser to women, Betty Rose Dowden, recom- mended that the Institute con- vert some of Its property into housing for female students. The Institute had bought a block of apartments on Banks Street in 1948, originally intending to pro- vide housing facilities for faculty; postwar housing had not kept up with Houston's population growth, and new professors had found housing difficult during their first years at Rice. By 195 1 the housing shortage had eased, and some of the Banks Street apartments were vacant; Mrs. Dowden wished to use them for women. The board agreed, and 60 young women moved into the apartments under the watchful of Margaret Dunn, the house- mother. Curfews were estab- lished— the women had to be in by 11:30 P.M. on weekdays and 2;oo A.M. on Saturday nights — and neither liquor nor men were allowed in the apartments. After the committee decided to include the proposed women's dormitory in the college system, the members realized that the number of women who desired housing would greatly exceed the number of spaces in the new dor- mitory. Paula Meredith Mosle, who was adviser to women in 1955, was authorized to find some additional temporary hous- ing. She discovered that the Town and Country Apartments on HMC Street were willing to lease several units to the school. Clara Morrow was housemother for the accommodations there, from which a bus transported so women back and forth to classes. Security in both apartment houses left a great deal to be desired, and more than one mother must have wondered what she was leaving her daughter to after seeing the facilities. However, the women came back; and by 1955, 124 out- of-town women were among the 355 female students enrolled.'" In May 1955 the Committee on Student Housing presented its second interim report, this one on residence halls for women. For a number of reasons, the com- mittee had not initially planned for a women's college. For one thing, only one residential unit was to be built, housing only 100 women. That meant that there could be no competition between colleges for members, as was originally planned for the men's l82 The 19 SOS 136. The Banks Street apartments for Rice women. colleges. Since the dormitory would house only one-third of the female student population, the committee thought it impos- sible to define an absolute center of women's college life. The new dormitory would instead provide a sound basis for a residential campus system once more dor- mitories for women were built. In the minds of the committee members, the existence of "strong female social organizations," the literary societies, also negated the need for immediate college facilities for women. While the committee, which was all male except for the incumbent adviser to women and Sarah Lane, was unwilling to let any hint of frater- nities into the men's colleges, it is interesting that they ignored the societies' resemblance to so- rorities, which could be as divi- sive among the women as frater- nities among the men. Once the committee decided to assign freshmen arbitrarily to colleges, the first reason for excluding women from the college system was no longer valid; but the second impediment, the cost of building a dormitory for 220 women instead of the 100 autho- rized by the board, remained. College or not, the creation of a women's residence hall necessi- tated answering other questions that had not arisen regarding the men's dormitories. First, its site had to be established. Some on the committee favored a location between the President's House and Abercrombie Laboratory; others recommended a spot be- tween Cohen House and the Gate Number 2 entrance off Mam Street. The board decided instead to place the dormitory between the President's House and Sunset Boulevard. There was more space on that side of the campus for future expansion of facilities that would eventually house 440 women. While it seemed to be taken for granted after McBride's original memorandum that each men's college would have a master, the motion that the women's halls also have a master and family liv- ing nearby was not introduced and passed until May 195s. In its interim report, the committee stated Its strong belief in the im- portance of the master and his family to the women's hall en- vironment; it also recommended that "an unmarried woman of faculty status" live in the wom- en's dormitory. At that time, of course, the women's residence hall was not yet designated a col- lege, and there was no unmarried woman of faculty status to serve as hall resident.^ Such a woman would have to be hired first. As early as February 1955 the committee agreed that accom- modations for 200 women would be better than the 100 autho- rized. Women's applications were expected to increase, and the committee wished to pre- serve the existing ratio of men to women in the student body. But money was allotted for only one dormitory unit. In November 195 s Houston Endowment, Inc., gave the Institute funds for a women's dormitory to be known as the Mary Gibbs lones College for Women, in honor of Mrs. The 1950s 183 "^^ ^ 137. Construction of Mary Gibbs lanes College, March 5. 1957. Jesse H. Jones. From that point on, women students had an equal place on the Rice campus. Not long afterward, in July 1956, the board voted to name the men's colleges in honor of some of the Institute's major ben- efactors. East Hall became James A. Baker College, South Hall be- came Will Rice College (after William M. Rice, Jr.), and West Hall became Harry Clay Hanszen College. Wiess Hall had already been named for Harry C. Wiess.-' Dr. Houston finally appointed masters for the various colleges, and true to Rice tradition, none of them knew that the president had him in mind until Houston made the offer. The men chosen were William H. Masterson, pro- fessor of history, for Hanszen; James Street Fulton, professor of philosophy, for Will Rice; Roy V. Talmage, professor of biology, for WiesS; Carl R. Wischmeyer, asso- ciate professor of electrical engi- neering, for Baker; and Calvin M. Class, associate professor of phys- ics, for Jones. The new masters were at a disadvantage in that they had not taken part in any of the Committee on Student Hous- ing's planning, but they had the committee's report. Although much of it seemed unrealistic to at least one master, the report was better than nothing.'' In March 1957, after room as- signments, briefings, and elec- tions, the students moved into their colleges. The administra- tion had decided to inaugurate the system in the spring instead of waiting until fall, because con- struction had progressed so well. Certain shortages still existed, however, and the women in Jones Hall had almost no furniture for about six weeks. Some rules and customs ap- plied to all colleges, both men's and women's. No visitors of the opposite sex were allowed in the rooms of any college except dur- ing Sunday Open House, and all colleges had a seated evening meal, served family style, with freshmen as waiters. In addition, the women were governed by some rules that applied only to them. They had strict require- ments for dress in the Commons and lobbies; Rice was still a very dressy school for women. They also had a curfew. The hours es- tablished for the apartments, 1 1:30 P.M. weekdays and 2:00 A.M. on Saturday night, were re- tained. Restrictive though these hours seemed to some, they were quite liberal for the 1950s and for the state. (Most Texas colleges required their women students to be in much earlier.) Rice went from one extreme to another con- cerning women's housing rules. Earlier, no women lived on cam- pus; soon a women could not live off campus outside her parents' home without the Institute's permission. The introduction of the college system brought about a political revolution on campus. Until 1957 student affairs had been handled by the class organiza- tions, but the classes clearly had little place in the colleges. When the Campanile announced in February 1958, during the first full year of the system, that stu- dents' pictures would appear with their colleges instead of their classes, protest resulted in a referendum in which the col- lege arrangement won by a slim margin. Confhct between the Student Council and the Inter- College Council followed soon after, and again the college sys- 138. A 1917 vicw ui tiiL RiLL iu-.iiUiU lii'iinitones. which became colleges in I9?7. Left to right: Hanszcn College Iformerly West Hall), Will Rice College iSouth Hall). Baker College Commons torigmallv the dining area for all the dormitories), and Baker College Iformerly East Hall}. tern won. After a fierce cam- paign, students passed a new constitution for the Student Association that created a Stu- dent Senate composed mostly of college officers. The Senate com- prised executive officers elected campus-wide, along with the freshman class president, the five college presidents, and two other representatives from each college. Class officers were still elected each year, but they had little to do beyond arranging a few social activities. "'■ Although the final report ot the Committee on Student Housing stated specifically that masters were not to be thought of as dis- ciplinarians, practice did not al- ways conform to theory. College discipline was a gray area. Prece- dent laid the keeping of order first in the hands of the Hall Committee (now the college gov- ernment) and then with the dean of students. The master's respon- sibility was vague. No one really knew what a master was sup- posed to do. When President Houston asked William H. Mas- terson to become master of Hans- zen, the professor asked what a master did. "I don't really know," Houston replied, "whatever you find useful." The lack of clearly defined responsibilities some- times resulted in conflict be- tween a master and the dean of students (whatever his title). While James R. Sims was adviser to men, he considered anything that occurred outside a college to be his province, and anything in- side the college to be the mas- ter's province. It appears that jurisdictions were not finally ad- judicated until 1963, when a The 1950s 185 139. Wiess College, construction substantially completed. Janu 'ary j. i9<;o. memorandum from President Pitzer to masters and deans de- lineated the responsibihties and interrelations of the masters, the dean of women, and the dean of students. For their mternal order, the colleges developed their own judicial systems and in 1962-63 created an Inter-College Court to handle disputes be- tween colleges." Including off-campus college members m the new organization proved to be difficult. At first there were many upperclassmen who were uninterested in their assigned colleges and who did not take part in their activities. An increase in college-sponsored social activities and a change in attitude as new students entered an established system helped somewhat, but the colleges did not find the key, if any existed, to attract and hold the interest of nonresident students. A 1 96 1 Thresher review of the college system after four years pointed out the lack of inter- college competition in academic endeavors. President Lovett's dream of debating societies never materialized. Hardly anyone paid attention to which college had the most scholarships, the best grade average, or the fewest stu- dents on probation. Any competi- tion was usually athletic — or, as in the case of the Rondelet fes- tivities, musical in the Song Fest and a combination of athletic and alcoholic in the Beer-Bike Race." Faculty associates found them- selves in limbo, since their func- tion and their relationship to the students had not yet been defined clearly. Although the designers of the college system intended for 1 86 The 1 9 SOS the interaction between students and associates to stimulate intel- lectual activity, some associates seemed to he as tongue-tied in talking to students as the stu- dents were in conversing with professors. At any rate, associates usually had only a social relation- ship with their colleges, a passive role rather than the active one envisioned. Perhaps intellectual life in the colleges suffered because some students actively resisted it. Oth- ers were too tired from every- thing else they had to do to sit down at a table and discuss mo- mentous issues, ideas, and ideol- ogy. Considering all the academic study required, many undoubt- edly wanted a respite from brain work. Some did not wish to ex- pose their ignorance in the pres- ence of the associates, even in informal conversations. Besides (the argument ran), did stimulat- ing intellectual discussions help you get a job? Like students the world over, those at Rice liked to complain about their work load. Looked at even dispassionately, the aca- demic requirements at Rice in the i9>os seemed designed to weed out the unfit. Fueled by anxiety among nonathletes about their own standing, resentment grew at the so-called double stan- dard for athletes. Rumor had it that the athletes (mostly physical education majors, not those tak- ing a "regular" schedule) had spe- cial help, special grading, and special courses, and that they did not measure up scholastically to other Rice students. Any dif- ferences in behavior or dress that distinguished athletes from other students increased the rancor di- rected toward these supposedly privileged sportsmen. In a college where many were trying to estab- lish traditions of "gracious liv- ing," the athletes seemed to be throwbacks to the old rowdy dor- mitory life when they showed up for Sunday dinner (a seated meal at which men were expected to wear coats and ties) flaunting wheat-colored jeans and T-shirts with their coats and ties. What really angered many students, however, was that the athletes seemed to have plenty of time to loaf, make noise, and enjoy themselves — another manifesta- tion of the unfair system at Rice, they said. By 1963 the colleges still had not measured up to the high hopes of some students and fac- ulty. Although there were subtle differences among the men's col- leges, none of them had a distinct individual personality, a fact that some on the Thresher staff de- plored in a newspaper supple- ment on the college system. This was, no doubt, a result of the freshman placement system, in which a mix of types and majors was the goal. Comparison with the amenities of the houses at Harvard or the colleges at Yale also left the Rice system look- ing like a very poor cousin. For funds, the Rice colleges depended on a small fee collected from all the members; but that amount covered little more than the pur- chase of a television set or a Ping-Pong table. It was certainly not enough to finance construc- tion of larger facilities, such as li- braries, study rooms, and private dining rooms such as the Harvard and Yale houses had. In a state- ment on trends in the colleges in 1962, dean of students Sanford Higginbotham pointed out that students seemed not to feel a sense of responsibility for the colleges or real loyalty to them. He was disappointed that the col- leges were primarily places of en- tertainment and had neglected their primary obligations to sup- ply study facilities and oppor- tunities for social and cultural growth. Higginbotham had ob- served many violations of the let- ter and the spirit of college and university regulations. In the six years since their establishment, the colleges had not yet become the focus of student social, ath- letic, and intellectual activities. In 1963 they still had to live up to their potential. "' Despite the defects that many alumni recall, the colleges made a number of positive contribu- tions to life on campus. The new or renovated dormitories did much to improve living condi- tions on campus. College activi- ties offered a chance to partici- pate to many students who would not have been included or who would not have offered to help under the old system. The col- lege governments attracted a type of candidate different from that for the old class offices and Stu- dent Council, and several mas- ters professed to be surprised and delighted that the students proved they could run their own affairs without faculty guidance. College Nights brought in speak- ers whom students might not The 1950s 187 otherwise have had the chance to hear, and a program of seminars enabled students to discuss pro- fessional fields with Houston business and professional people. Even though the liaisons among college residents and associates were still tenuous, great strides had been made in faculty-student relationships compared to the days when a student described the Institute as "a cold place."" The college system beneficially affected student life in another area as well: the treatment of the freshman class. Freshmen at Rice had always been harassed by sophomores, but during the 1 9 SOS the treatment of fresh- men reached new lows, perhaps as a reflection of the less-than- civilized conditions in the dor- mitories. Although "guidance" was supposed to be different from hazing, and voluntary instead of compulsory, physical punishment continued, along with the re- quirement that freshmen wear beanies and run errands for up- perclassmen; and Forestry 100 still flourished. Voluntarism van- ished in the face of sophomore pressure on dormitory residents. Hell Week, in which the two classes tried to capture each other's president and vice- president, led to pitched battles in which some participants broke bones. In 1955 new rules were passed that decreed a milder Hell Week, with women being specta- tors instead of participants and men's activities restricted to the campus. Only the sophomore president was subject to kidnap- ping, instead of all the class of- ficers and other students who had also been abducted. The Slime Parade turned into what some termed "an orgy" in i9S4; and although the sophomores protected the freshman women from smoochers in 1955, the pa- rade could hardly be called tame. The next year, 1956, was the least restrained. In the Slime Pa- rade, participants smashed in the door of Loew's State Theater; and after the Utah game, which the Owls won 27-0, forty or fifty freshmen mobbed a school bus carrying a high school band that had played at the game. The incident that brought Hell Week to a halt resulted in the deaths of two sophomores. Bill Carroll and Karl Bailey, when they climbed the inside of the smokestack/campanile to put a tire on top and were overcome by carbon monoxide fumes. On Feb- ruary 5, 1957, Dean McBride informed the president of the Student Association that the administration was abolishing Hell Week, which had become "a quasi-legal brawl neither pro- moting the aims of the Institute nor satisfying the significant de- sires of the students." The tradi- tion had become too dangerous to people, too disruptive of uni- versity life and education, and too divisive of the student body. The next fall, changes were also made in the Slime Parade. The line of march led to the Sham- rock Hilton Hotel instead of downtown; participation was truly voluntary, and there was no physical hazing on the way."' The inauguration of the college system changed "guidance" dra- matically. The Sub-Committee on Freshmen of the Committee on Student Housing had been un- able to reconcile the various atti- tudes toward guidance and had not produced any recommenda- tions, but the individual colleges soon worked out new practices. The most brutal forms of hazing disappeared in a few years — in some cases, immediately in the fall of 1957 when the freshmen entered the newly opened col- leges. However, certain remnants persisted for a while. Freshmen still wore beanies, but now in the colors of their colleges instead of the traditional blue and gray. The Slime Parade continued as a pale reflection of its former self until 1964, when the colleges them- selves abolished it. The greased pole event went on; freshmen tried to rescue a beanie from a pole in a sea of drilling mud, and if they were successful, the guid- ance period ended early. Bowing to Sammy at football games lasted until 1961, when the tradi- tion broke down. In 1962 Hans- zen, Wiess, and Baker Colleges reinstated the practice, but Will Rice did not. (Students still bow to Sammy in the 1980s.) "Guidance" become "orienta- tion," something quite different, during these years, as colleges welcomed their freshmen and tried to help them become ac- climated to Rice, Its people, the new college traditions, and Houston."^ i88 The 1 9 SOS Academic Difficulties While the collej;c system im- proved nonacademie life on campus considerably, it did not initially help much with aca- demic matters. Those difficulties continued during the 19SOS, as both faculty and students ac- knowledged— although they went about solving the problems in different ways and from very different perspectives. Early in the decade the faculty began to study the effectiveness of the undergraduate depart- ments. A Committee of Educa- tional Inquiry was established during the 1952-53 school year to investigate undergraduate edu- cation. It took as its starting point a statement from the Car- negie Foundation for the Ad- vancement of Teaching, which implied that colleges "drifted" into educational policies by yield- ing to pressures of the moment and thereafter followed the prece- dents set in haste. The drift had its origins in the fact that admin- istrators could not devote suffi- cient time and attention to plan- ning and policy matters, and the faculty did not. The committee thought that this criticism did not apply to Rice but decided to test Its validity and see where the Institute stood. Fortunately, the committee reported, the faculty generally agreed on the aims and purposes of the undergraduate program: providing the best possible oppor- tunities for the development of "above-average minds," at the same time giving adequate atten- tion to preprofessionai training in certain areas. Indeed, these had been the goals since the founding of the university. There was, however, some difference of opin- ion about how successful the In- stitute had been in achieving those aims. In theory, the common core curriculum introduced in 1947- 48 provided all students with the opportunity to explore various fields and broaden their educa- tional backgrounds before select- ing their majors. The freshman and sophomore years offered basic studies in both humanities and sciences before the student decided on a specialty, and even in the last two years further re- quired courses allowed only lim- ited concentration in an aca- demic field. In practice, the course requirements were not as rigid as they might have seemed. Changes had occurred before even one class had gone through the complete four-year program, as certain requirements were dropped for certain majors. For example, freshmen who ex- pressed a desire to major in biol- ogy could bypass engineering drawing (even though biology was in the science-engineering division, which required the drafting course), and certain engi- neering students no longer took a second year of chemistry. The Committee of Educational In- quiry did not judge whether these changes were good or bad; that was a determination for the fac- ulty to make. The committee was concerned instead with the motivation for these changes: were they made to relieve lo- calized pressures or to alter the basic philosophy behind the program? The intent of the program — to provide a well-rounded educa- tion— was undermined by com- peting interests. Applicants were asked to specify a major, contrary to the plan's intent that a student should not choose a field of spe- cialization until the end of the sophomore year. Students were, after all, admitted to each divi- sion on a quota system, which was defended because of the In- stitute's limited enrollment. The committee was asked whether this system was fair to the stu- dent and whether it ensured that Rice enrolled the most apt 400 applicants. Major requirements and "strongly advised" electives com- peted with courses outside the students' specialties for slots in their schedules. Often their ma- jor departments "suggested" that particular electives be taken in the sophomore or junior years, leaving students no opportunity to satisfy their intellectual curi- osity or to range very far afield from their majors. The choice of electives was narrowed consider- ably by course schedules; after registering for their required courses, students found their se- lection of electives limited to those that met during their re- maining free periods. True to the implications of the Carnegie Foundation's report, the Institute had "drifted" away from its educational policies, the com- mittee decided. The drift was due The 1950s to several reasons. First, the com- mittee suggested, Rice's faculty did not really understand either the policies or the means of ef- fecting them. Contributmg to their confusion were the faculty's failure to discuss policies ade- quately before taking action, a general lack of information about committee and administrative decisions, and the fact that new faculty members were unfamiliar with the background of present policies and procedures. The committee ended its report by suggesting that the faculty reex- amine the core curriculum, its implications, its applicability at Rice, and methods for retaining its desirable features." It appears, however, that the faculty never undertook a close study of the system and curricu- lum. In 1957 the Executive Com- mittee appealed to the faculty to reaffirm the basic principle that students would not declare ma- jors until the end of the second year, and the faculty so voted. The Committee on the Fresh- man Course, still in existence in 1953, continued to wrestle with ever-present freshman diffi- culties. At least twenty percent of the first-year students were in scholastic trouble. They appeared to be bright and spent a reason- able amount of time on their studies. Counseling freshmen was doing no appreciable good, and the committee could reach no conclusion about the qual- ity of instruction in freshman courses. Faculty members on the committee felt that something must be wrong with Rice's selec- tion process. Certain facts were clear: academic students contrib- uted disproportionately to the number of unsuccessful students; out-of-town students did also; and Math 100 was still the most difficult freshman course. How- ever, no one had thought of a de- pendable method of raising fresh- man grades. The Committee of Educational Inquiry suggested that divisional, geographic, and gender quotas be abandoned; but their recommendation was not followed, and the Admissions Committee under S. G. McCann continued to apply quotas to the incoming freshman class. One of the most worrisome problems was summer attrition of the most desirable prospective students. During 19.S4 approx- imately 130 of these withdrew, causing the Admissions Commit- tee to turn to its waiting list — only to find that most of the prospects on the list had refused to wait for Rice's decision. Mc- Cann thought that replacements from further down the list were not as strong as those lost from the top. He wanted (and in 1955 received permission) to accept more candidates in the first round, expecting that a sufficient num- ber would decline admission to keep the freshman class at the desired size. The top-rated appli- cants could thus be offered places before they made other plans. In a way, the problem of admitting only the best-qualified students solved itself during the 1950s, as the number of applicants rose. In 1950 the total number of appli- cations considered was 713. In 1958 it was 2,100, and in 1962 it was 2,700. Rice finally had an abundance of applicants from which to choose, but the problem of keeping students in school remained." In 1955, still looking for a way to find perfect freshmen who could do the work required, the Admissions Committee made an- other change in its procedures: Rice's own entrance examination was replaced with the tests of the College Entrance Examination Board. The old exams had been used mainly to ascertain whether applicants were sufficiently pre- pared; the new ones were to be used not only for that purpose, but also to identify candidates of outstanding ability. The CEEB tests were not an absolute re- quirement for those who sought admission, but those who took them were given "marked prefer- ence" if they scored satisfactorily and fulfilled the other regular re- quirements. The Admissions Committee continued to empha- size that the primary considera- tions were the candidates' high school records, rank in their high school classes, and personal qual- ities. Still, the CEEB exams did provide a series of scores by which to evaluate prospects, and the Admissions Committee, de- liberating long hours over its choices, appreciated help in mak- ing difficult decisions.'' Also in 1955 the faculty made an effort to help freshmen sur- vive Math 100, by offering them a math review before school opened. (By 1956 other depart- ments were asking to present ses- 190 The 1 9 SOS sions to acquaint students witli fundamentals before scheduled orientation at the end of the week.) The mathematics depart- ment also changed the syllabus of Math loo; in 1956 the depart- ment dropped trigonometry, leaving the course to consist of analytic geometry and elemen- tary calculus. In 1958 freshman orientation was revised. The week before classes started, all freshmen were required to live on campus for four days. From eight o'clock un- til noon they took a class in trig- onometry, and in the afternoon they studied math, read a book assigned by the English depart- ment, and took care of registra- tion details. At the end of the week they were tested in math and wrote an essay. Whatever free time was left was filled with vari- ous quasi-social activities. The week could be a grueling one and, as it turned out, did not ap- preciably help the freshmen to succeed in either math or En- glish. However, the practice con- tinued until 1 96 1. One requirement was dropped in 195s, to the relief of poor spellers: the faculty abolished the spelling test that had been re- quired to enter the junior year. Thereafter, passing any English course was assumed to represent proficiency in spelling.'' Investigations by two commit- tees into the motives and meth- ods of the university do not, however, seem to have answered some of the fundamental ques- tions raised by the Committee of Educational Inquiry. Was Rice really providing the best possible opportunities for the develop- ment of above-average minds? Was the curriculum really achiev- ing its stated goals? In 1959 the dean of humanities could still ask what the purpose of the humanities division was. Was the undergraduate student to be "trained" for a professional ca- reer or given a "broader outlook" with more emphasis on the inter- relation of courses? How were the courses to be interrelated and electives chosen — by the stu- dents, their major departments, or the Committee on E.xamina- tions and Standing? These ques- tions could be applied to the science-engineering division as well. For more cross-fertilization of sciences and humanities, the dean thought that new human- ities electives should be created to attract science and engineering students, and courses in scien- tific departments for non-science students ought to be established. Teaching techniques could be greatly improved in some in- stances, and the teaching of freshman courses by graduate students ought to be eliminated." A New Attitude Among Students The faculty's discussions did not result in any real changes for the students, and the evident lack of change had an important effect on the outlook and general atti- tude of many. Alumni from ear- lier or later eras might scarcely recognize their alma mater as de- scribed by their counterparts from the watershed years of the 1950s. Up to the mid-fifties, the pre- dominant attitude of students to- ward Rice seems to have been great fondness. There were some people, often transfers from other colleges, who thought the Insti- tute folk to be somewhat provin- cial and overawed with their own importance;" but the majority look back on their days at Rice as a time of opportunity, cama- raderie, serious learning, and downright fun. They share a sense of closeness, loyalty, and fierce pride. Students were abso- lutely certain that they were re- ceiving the best education avail- able anywhere. Many can still remember every college yell, almost every member of their class, and every professor — with all their idiosyncrasies. Many alumni of the 1920s and 1930s unabashedly state, "I loved the place." The new attitude was manifest in a bitter cynicism toward the university, the administration, the faculty, and even other stu- dents. The number of students who shared this altered view- point is difficult to determine, but it is clear from interviews and printed sources that it made its first appearance around 1952, when all four classes were en- rolled in the new postwar curric- ulum; by 1956 it was widespread. Several external factors as well as internal ones contributed to this cynicism. Pressure to suc- ceed did a great deal to foster its development, and it started be- The 1 9 SOS 191 fore a student was even accepted. Parents were ambitious for then- children. A college diploma, es- pecially from a university with the reputation of the Rice Insti- tute, was considered a passport to success in the business world, and competition for the limited number of places in the best col- leges became fierce. Admission depended on high school grades and College Board scores, and whole futures seemed to be de- cided by numbers alone. Getting into college, however, was only the beginning. Once at Rice, students were faced with a new curriculum, which left little time for the broader aspects of a college education. It offered few electives and gave some students the feeling of being caught m a trap, subject to demands and pro- cedures they thought they could do little or nothing to modify. Many students saw a contra- diction. On the one hand. Rice students were told, and they be- lieved, that they were intellec- tually superior. They had achieved outstanding high school records, and they had succeeded over many applicants to be admitted. On the other hand, as they sat with their freshman class at ma- triculation, being congratulated on their superiority, they were told, "Look at the person on your left and on your right; one of you will not be here for graduation." When they started classes, their grades dropped for the first time in their lives, even though they felt that they were studying very hard. High school friends at other universities reported high grades easily made, while Rice students worked considerably harder for no perceptible reward in grades. Then they were faced with ex- plaining their low marks to their parents. The pressure to succeed was by no means unique to Rice, but added to the other factors, it increased the tension. To fail at Rice was devastating to some' Some students concluded that it was not their own fault that their grades were low; many placed the blame on the pro- fessors and their grading systems. As students examined the pro- fessors, with whom most had lit- tle or no contact outside the classroom, they isolated a num- ber of factors that might explain their scholastic plight. Some pro- fessors seemed to hold students in low esteem, considering them to be necessary evils who en- croached on valuable research time. These men were seen as careless and impatient teachers. Others, the students thought, were not as smart as their stu- dents, but their insecurity seemed to drive them to prove that they were, in fact, superior; it seemed that their method was to grade twice as hard as might have been appropriate. Some professors forced grades into a perfect bell curve, using them to rank the rel- ative standing of students in a class, and not to reflect the worth of a student's work indepen- dently. Others gave extremely dif- ficult tests over minutiae. Some seemed to think they would not be highly regarded unless they graded low, and others announced that they did not "believe" in giv- ing Is. There were a few faculty members who seemed genuinely interested in the students and their education, but very few, the students thought.'" Because Rice charged no tui- tion, students saw themselves as being there on the adminis- tration's sufferance and conse- quently as being powerless. Any student request for changing the system seemed to meet with stony resistance, yet the ad- ministration could promulgate whatever arbitrary regulations it wanted. " (It should be remem- bered that in the 19SOS, students everywhere were held to have few inherent "rights.") The apolo- gia, "We hope this doesn't incon- venience you," accompanied announcements of administrative changes in regulations and be- came an ironic quotation, fre- quently applied. Some students put it into a simpler phrase: "They think they own us."'" The pressure and powerless- ness were not all in the students' imagination. Dean Richter has said that the administration was determined to make the most of Rice's student potential and de- velop it to the highest possible level of achievement. The univer- sity in effect gave a scholarship to each student by charging no tuition, and it intended to get its money's worth. Students would be challenged to the utmost."" In both student and faculty conversations a question arose concerning this challenge. Was Rice both a hard school and a good school, or only a hard one? In the view of at least one pro- 192 The 1 9 SOS fessor, there was a narrowly con- ceived education offered at Rice at that time that resulted in a heaviness and rigidity to the sys- tem. The joy of learning was ab- sent. At the same time, however, that same professor and others complained that the students were intellectually docile and less enthusiastic about learning for its own sake."' This debate went unresolved, but the problem of low grades re- mained. According to Dr. Ken- neth Pitzer, the University of California, Berkeley, kept records of the grade-point averages of its transfer students. Transfer stu- dents from only a few colleges raised their averages at Berkeley; Rice students were among them. " Some Rice faculty members recognized the harm that a diffi- cult grading system could cause and tried to draw their colleagues' attention to the unfairness of a forced curve or extra-strict mark- ing; but their arguments seemed to make little impression. One explanation advanced for the hard grading habits of some pro- fessors was that they had be- come accustomed to the single- minded, mature veterans who returned for their degrees after the war. The professors expected the same industry from the younger students, giving them lower grades when they were not as productive as the veterans had been. Such an explanation, how- ever, does not take into account the new curriculum and new demands on both student and professor."' Students reacted to the aca- demic challenge in various ways. Some accepted it, although they did not enjoy it, and made the "battle" into a game. These stu- dents often turned the system back on itself in a variety of ways, from splitting the chores for test-cramming, to choosing courses known to be easy (aca- demic students had much more leeway here than engineers), to manipulating seating charts to appear present when they were actually absent. Others accepted the challenge by working all the time, becoming in the process what students called "grinds" or "weenies." These students often felt the pressure keenly and knew that worrying was a detriment to their performance, but they also knew that it was almost impossi- ble to stop worrying. Worrying was built into the system. Some flunked out, but even that was done in individual ways. There were those who worked to the bitter end and failed anyway, and there were those who simply threw caution to the winds and enjoyed themselves before they had to leave."" There were also some who re- fused to play the game and left for other colleges where the pres- sure was less and good hard work was rewarded more generously. An alumnus has remarked that he thought Rice was more a test of mental stability than of men- tal agility."' Reaction to the chal- lenge created in a substantial number an "I hate Rice" feeling for the first time in the univer- sity's history."" Some students wanted to escape by graduating, showing the professors that the system could be beaten; they re- solved never to c:ome back and never, under any circumstances, to give money to the Institute. For some, the grind, the busy- work, the feeling that they were wasting their time in rote learn- ing, were alleviated by a few very good teachers who truly chal- lenged them to learn, to think, to reconsider old and new ideas, and to write clearly; a high grade earned from one of these pro- fessors was something to be prized. One further aspect of the tension-filled situation should be mentioned. While "the system" created a great deal of pressure, the highly competitive Rice stu- dents created more of their own. One of the unanswerable ques- tions, endlessly debated by stu- dents in the late 1950s and early 1960s, was whether Rice made students in its own image, or whether the students made Rice: that IS, did Rice attract a distinc- tive type of person? Admissions certainly resulted in a homoge- neous group, but it was also pos- sible that Rice attracted appli- cants similar to the students who were already there. In retrospect, many alumni of the fifties and early sixties have changed some of their negative opinions about Rice. Some found themselves quite well prepared for graduate schools; at the very least they knew how to study. Thinking back, some have real- ized that their perception of Rice's difficulty was artificial. The amount of study required of them had really not been as great as It had seemed at the time (ex- cept for the engineers). Some still The 1950s 193 cursed certain courses and pro- fessors for being a waste of time, but the good instructors helped temper their anger." One long-range effect of the change in attitude was the devel- opment of a special Rice sense of humor — self-deprecating, flip- pant, a bit morbid, somewhat misunderstood by the outside world — still in evidence today. It can be seen in some, but not all, of the half-time performances of the iconoclastic Marching Owl Band." As some changes in the curric- ulum (notably the creation of an- other Math 100 course called loi for academic students, and an expanded selection of courses) "softened" the regulations; as new, younger professors joined the faculty; and as the college system civilized living condi- tions, the bitterest cynicism faded. Improved dormitory and academic conditions allowed stu- dents to look at the university with a clearer perspective. In the 1960s, they would not neces- sarily like every facet of the Rice experience, but the fundamental living and learning conditions seemed more humane. A Lighter View of Campus Life Of course, students did more than just study and complain during the fifties. There was hardly an atmosphere of per- petual gloom and doom, but rather quite the opposite. Stu- dents did their best to escape the 140. Demonstration of radio and teletype at the Rice Exposition. i9S4- pressure-cooker of classroom, laboratory, and carrel. All sorts of activities still flour- ished on campus: the Dramatic Club, politics, literary societies, a reincarnated literary magazine, charity drives, and much else. The college system added more social events to the crowded schedule. Many notable speakers visited the campus, including General Dwight D. Eisenhower, at that time president of Colum- bia University; and the alumni continued to honor benefactors at homecoming. In 1957 the col- leges first competed in the Beer- Bike Race as a part of the Ronde- let festivities; in the early years of the race, the riders also did the drinking. For a while the campus was ab- sorbed in the mystery of what would happen next to Gertrude Stein. Mrs. Kenneth Dale Owen had given a bust of the author to the library as a memorial to trustee Robert Lee Blaffer, her fa- ther. The statue had not been in the library more than a few days when it disappeared, only to be found in a police station. On other occasions it was painted and otherwise adorned (at one point, catfish eyes were put in the eye sockets) before it was fi- nally placed in the Music Room of the library. The band, under the direction of Holmes McNeely rose from what Dr. Houston called "an almost all-time low to what I 194 The 1 9 SOS 141 Jri»*%;^Jti« 141 -143. Three Southwest Conference winners ot the igsos. 141. Football team. i9S}-\4. 142- Football team. /957-5S. think is a respectable organiza- tion for an institution of our size. It seems to me miportant," the president continued, "that we do not undertake to do the kind of thmg that can be done by a very large organization and that we do not expect a large organization from a small student body. I do believe, however, that we can emphasize quality in the Band as we do in other fields and that we have good reason to be satisfied." Another kind of music was not so soothing to Rice's ear. Some Houston high school girls and some women students from the University of Houston came on campus several times, usually singing their school songs, and once, even more foolishly, Aggie songs. Rice men emptied the dorms and surrounded the of- fending visitors, usually dousing the women with water and let- ting the air out of their tires. Sev- eral times the police came to rescue the women and had their tires flattened, too. Once Marvin Zindler, an intrepid reporter for the Houston Press, came to take pictures of the event, only to find himself cameraless, kidnapped for a while, and all wet besides. Of one of these encounters, a po- liceman said that the students were supposed to be educated but had acted like wild men, and he was happy that his son was a stu- dent at AikM.'-' Sports, especially football, at- tracted the students' interest into the 1960s as less Neely and his teams continued to do well. Rice won the conference in 1953 and 1957, going to the Cotton Bowl, and went to other bowl games after the i960 and 1961 seasons. The Owls beat Alabama in the 1954 Cotton Bowl, 28-6, but lost to Navy in 1958, 20-7, to Mis- sissippi in the 1961 Sugar Bowl, 14-6, and to Kansas, 33-7, in the Bluebonnet Bowl. Victories over Texas and AikM during the fifties were satisfying to support- ers, but especially pleasing was Rice's 1957 defeat of the Aggies, who were ranked first in the na- tion. Elated students revived the old custom of locking the cam- pus for an undeclared school hol- iday after a big win. Life was not without its exas- perations for Coach Neely, how- ever. Just when he thought the Owls had beat Army in the i9s8 game. Army blocked a Rice field- goal attempt and then completed The 1950s 19s a long pass for a touchdown. The final score was Army 14, Rice 7. Neely said the worst thing that ever happened to him occurred during an Aggie game of this pe- riod. The Owls had scored 12 points, and time was gettmg short when the Aggies scored their first touchdown. Neely told his players, "There're 68,000 peo- ple here and every one of them knows that they're going to try an on-side kick. So stay right here on the 40-yard line, don't go back, just cover the kick." De- spite the coach's order, somebody backed up, leaving a hole, and all the Aggies had to do was fall on the ball. A long pass resulted in another touchdown, and Rice went down to defeat. ^'' The 1954 Cotton Bowl produced one of the most famous incidents in college football, when an Alabama player jumped off the bench to stop Dicky Maegle's unobstructed run for the goal line. But, as the coach said. Rice got a touch- down out of it, and it did not hurt Maegle. Maegle was only one of the outstanding players that the Rice sports program produced during this period. In football the Owls boasted of such men as King Hill, Buddy Dial, brothers Rufus and Boyd King, mathematics student Frank Ryan, Kosse Johnson, John Hudson, Bill Howton, Richard Chapman, John Burrell, Rhodes scholar Robert Johnston, current Rice coach Ray Alborn, and Mal- colm Walker. In basketball. Rice won the conference in 19 S4 with All-Conference players Gene Schwinger and Don Lance. The basketball team was coached by 143. Basketball team. 19S3-S4 (co-champions). Don Suman from 1950 to 1959 and John Frankie from i960 to 1963. Olympic gold medalist Fred Hansen and Warren Brattlof, Dale Moseley Ed Red, Dale Spence, and Tobin Rote distin- guished themselves in track, while the tennis team won con- ference titles with Ronnie Fisher, Art Foust, Jim Parker, and Fritz Schunck. ' The 1950s in Summary During the 1950s the Rice Insti- tute changed on several levels. It expanded in faculty, student body, and buildings. Graduate work and research also increased as the administration worked to attract outstanding and promising pro- fessors. The attitude of many students took on a new, bitter tinge, and the college system re- arranged student housing, social activities, and politics. Almost all the changes of the fifties would pale by comparison with what was to come, but consider- ing the period of stagnation in the depression years and the fran- tic war years in the forties, the fifties looked good indeed to those interested in the develop- ment of the Institute. By 1959 those people thought that Rice was ready to become what Edgar Odell Lovett had always wanted: a university in name as well as in fact. CHAPTER 9 New Plans to Fit a New Name Edgar Odell Lovett died in 1957 at the age of eighty-six. After his retirement in 1946, he had con- tinued to come to the campus, to keep his eye on what he had buik from an office on the third floor of the Administration Building, now named Lovett Hall. He had relaxed a bit during his years of retirement and had revealed a side of his personality that few had seen before. Professors now found him eager to talk about the Institute, and at a reception given by Dean Richter for retired fac- ulty members, Lovett was the life of the party. Newcomers to the faculty often found that he knew their names and fields before they met him, and it was always difficult to get out of his office in less than thirty minutes when one dropped by to have a few words with him. As a board reso- lution said of him, he was "a rare combination of the dignified scholar and superb gentleman." Lovett had shepherded the Rice Institute through good and bad times. He had seen his hopes for a world-renowned university threatened by the financial prob- lems of the 1920s and 1930s and had seen them rise again in the flush 1940s and 1950s. When he died, the humanities and social sciences at the Institute were fi- nally beginning to move toward a balance with the other side of the campus, and the college system of which he had dreamed in 1912 was a reality. Lovett had called Rice a university from his first connection with it; his death pre- vented his seeing Rice called "university" in name. Changing the Institute's Name In December 1959 the Board of Governors met in special session to explore the possibility of changing the name of the Rice Institute. The term "institute" no longer conveyed the true scope of its educational program or its sta- tus in the academic world, and continued use of the name had caused confusion for some time among prospective students and faculty, not to mention the out- side world. A consensus of board members agreed that a change in name would be desirable, but they decided to explore the atti- tudes of the alumni, faculty, and other interested groups before taking action. Legally, it would not be diffi- cult to effect a change in name. The 1 89 1 charter stated that the Institute was to be known "by such a name as the said parties of the second part (the trustees], may in their judgment select." From the standpoint of public relations, however, the board wanted to be sure that the alumni were on its side, so it broke the news of its considerations in the January i960 issue of Sallyport. the alumni publication. In the article, the board out- lined a number of reasons for its proposal. Confusion over the term "institute" (which was pri- marily used to describe a special- New Plans 197 purpose institution of noncoUegi- ate rank) was only one. Rice was increasingly emphasizing under- graduate, graduate, and research programs that marked a genuine university, and it needed to as- sume its correct designation. Strong evidence in Lovett's writ- ings and in early faculty actions showed that the institution was conceived and launched from the very beginning as a university. It was proving difficult to attract some potential faculty members, especially in the humanities, be- cause they thought the scope of the Institute was limited; they had usually heard of it as a col- lege strongly oriented toward science and engineering. Some private donors, corporations, and foundations, not knowing the In- stitute's program, would not con- tribute to a special-purpose insti- tute, only to a university. Even after an effort to build up the hu- manities, the Institute had found it difficult to attract proper atten- tion to that side of the Institute. The trustees had also considered the possibility of creating spe- cialized institutes within the uni- versity. As long as the mother institution bore the name "insti- tute," confusion would reign and it would be impossible to develop interest in and financial support for subsidiary institutes. Chang- ing the name to Rice University would make it possible for the school to improve its national and international standing and would counter the assumption that Rice was an institution of narrow scope. Finally, the trust- ees said, more and better gradu- ate students, especially in the area of the humanities, would be attracted to Rice if it were prop- erly named. For those who might not know the connotations of the term "university," articles in the same issue of the Sallyport defined the word: an institution of learn- ing of the highest grade, with a strong program of undergraduate instruction; emphasis on the lib- eral artS; graduate work, includ- ing the conferral of doctoral degrees; and significant research activities. The Sallyport pointed out that Rice met all of those criteria and that other schools such as Princeton and Harvard had changed their names at vari- ous times. The president of the alumni association, George Red '25, advocated the change, as did H. Malcolm Lovett '21, who was a governor in 1959. While faculty members saw the possible change as advan- tageous to the Institute, some alumni and students clung nos- talgically to the old name. To a Thresher poll the senior class president responded, "Unless it is necessary, it is regrettable"; but a junior economics major thought it was "an intelligent and long overdue eradication of a funda- mentally unwholesome condi- tion." The Dallas Morning News let it be known that its editor did not approve of the change; but despite sentiment and the Dallas paper, the alumni expressed very little opposition, and the state- wide Executive Committee of the alumni association voted unanimously to recommend the change of name. In March i960 the board decided to proceed. On April 6, i960, the board filed a petition for the name change with the Secretary of State's office in Austin and an- nounced its action to the student body in the Thresher. On July i, i960. The William M. Rice Insti- tute for the Advancement of Let- ters, Science and Art became William Marsh Rice University' A Change in Presidents A heart attack caused Dr. Hous- ton to go on leave for rest and recuperation in August i960, and in September, when he found it necessary to reduce his respon- sibilities and activity still further, he resigned the presidency. In ac- cord with Houston's suggestion, the board voted to appoint him chancellor, an honorary title with- out duties, and Distinguished Professor of Physics because he wanted to continue his teaching and research. These designations became effective February i, 1 96 1, at which time the board ap- pointed Provost Carey Croneis to be acting president. To find a new president, J. Newton Rayzor's Faculty, Student, and Alumni Committee worked as a search committee. A faculty committee composed of Professors McKil- lop, Masterson, Griffis, Talmage, Chapman, and McCann also helped. The search did not take long this time.' Announcement of the appoint- ment of a new president came at commencement in June 1961. After investigating several distin- guished candidates, the board had selected Kenneth Sanborn Pitzer New Plans as Rice's third president. Pitzer, a forty-seven-year-old native of California, had received his B.S. in chemistry from the California Institute of Technology, where he had been in one of Houston's classes, and his Ph.D. from the University of California, Berke- ley, where he had been a friend of Griffith Evans. He was a pro- fessor of chemistry at Berkeley when chosen by Rice and had also been director of research and chair of the General Advisory Committee of the Atomic Energy Commission. He was a member of both the National Academy of Sciences and the American Philo- sophical Society. Among his many awards were a Guggenheim fellowship, an American Chemi- cal Society award, and the Alum- nus of the Year award from the University of California Alumni Association. His major concerns in his field were the development of general principles for predict- ing chemical and physical prop- erties of broad classes of sub- stances, and he had published several books and articles. At the same commencement ceremony the board also announced that Croneis would become chancel- lor with administrative respon- sibilities and that Houston would be honorary chancellor.^ In many ways Rice was at a turning point when Pitzer took over the reins in 1961. Its reputa- tion for academic excellence and for the high quality of its under- graduates had grown over the years to be a prime asset for at- tracting students and faculty, although the university's reputa- tion continued to be stronger in science and engineering than in the humanities. The graduate school had strengthened under President Houston's leadership, but Rice still offered doctorates in only a few fields. The human- ities especially needed to be aug- mented, and even the sciences needed more professors of na- tional prominence in order for the university to gain high aca- demic ranking. As is true for all universities, the key to expansion on both graduate and undergraduate lev- els was money; as had so often been true in the past, the univer- sity was operating extremely close to the limit of its income. During the 1950s income had in- creased, but so had expenses. For the fiscal year ending lunc ^o, 1952, income had been $1.8 mil- lion and expenses $1.7 million for the educational and general funds. For the year ending June 30, 1 96 1, income had amounted to $5.2 million and expenditures to $4.6 million. Per student, the university had spent $1,060 in 1950; in i960 instructional costs were up to $2,031, and by 1962 they were almost $2,400 per stu- dent. Raising funds was not easy, however, because Rice's old, un- warranted reputation for wealth discouraged donations.' When the new president ar- rived, he already had some pro- grams in mind to transform Rice into his conception of a leading university. He spoke of his ideas to the faculty, students, alumni, and other friends of Rice. For the graduate school, where his initial emphasis would be placed, Pitzer wanted a program of modest size but great distinction, staffed with outstanding teachers who were also eminent in research, in the humanities as well as science and engineering. He expected that the graduate school would double in size, from four hundred to about eight hundred students, but with more concern for quality than for mere quantity. He also proposed that undergraduate enrollment be increased. Pitzer predicted that an up- graded faculty would benefit the undergraduate as well as the grad- uate program, as new depart- ments would attract good stu- dents. The faculty was the key to a university's reputation; devel- oping a strong faculty required attracting new people of high quality and scrutinizing those al- ready employed. "Doing reason- ably well will not be good enough at Rice," Pitzer warned the fac- ulty. For evaluating faculty per- formance, he wanted an easily understood system, with clearly stated regular procedures for de- termining promotion and tenure.' With these projects in mind, the new president began to put together a short-range plan with the help of an Academic Devel- opment Committee consisting of Alan Chapman (mechanical engi- neering), Gerald Phillips (phys- ics), and Donald Mackenzie (languages). By the end of 1961, Pitzer presented a plan for the next five years. It assumed that graduate enrollment would dou- ble, with only a small increase in the number of undergraduates. More important to Pitzer than size was the quality of that gradu- ate program; he characterized the New Plans 199 ai .« im 144. Kenneth Sanborn Pitzer, Rice's third president. New Plans existing program as "at best sec- ond rate." "We have far to go," he stated, "before our graduate pro- gram attams the first quahty standmg that our undergraduate program has attained." The short-range plan called for substantial development m cer- tain fields, among them psychol- ogy, political science, biochemis- try, and space science. There would be fifty-five additional fac- ulty positions, of which twenty- five would be at a senior level at a cost of $750,000. The increase in numbers of professors would produce a student-teacher ratio of twelve to one for undergraduates and seven to one for graduate students. The cost of an ad- ditional ninety graduate fel- lowships would be $200,000; eighteen new secretaries and thirty-five technicians would produce a budget increase of $170,000. For the expanded pro- grams, the library budget would need $200,000 more per year, while supplies, equipment, and overhead would cost $250,000. Capital requirements included a new library or expansion of the existing one, costing $1.5 mil- lion; another $300,000 for special collections in new fields; new laboratory equipment not ob- tained through grants but costing Rice directly $500,000; build- ing renovation for the Chemis- try Building in the amount of $300,000; and $2 million for new laboratory buildings to provide 50,000 square feet. Altogether the short-range plan called for capital expenditures over a period of three to five years of $4.6 mil- lion and an increase in the an- nual operating cost of $1.77 million over the existing budget. Pitzer urged that the money be sought as quickly as possible. He hoped to fund many of the capi- tal items and professorships through special donations and endowments. Pitzer also offered some thoughts on long-range plans for buildings and new academic pro- grams. The first buildings to be constructed would house the ar- chitecture and fine arts depart- ments, provide two additional undergraduate colleges (one for men and one for women), and create new housing units for sin- gle male graduate students and for married graduate students. As for new programs, Pitzer thought that Rice should consider estab- lishing professional schools m law and business administration, as these seemed to fit the needs of Houston and Texas. ^ None of Pitzer's plans could be achieved without money, of course. The board (especially Newton Rayzor's Faculty, Stu- dent, and Alumni Committee) began to study ways to raise the funds that would enable the pro- gram to proceed. New money was coming into the university, mostly in the form of grants from companies, foundations, and gov- ernment agencies; but it was ear- marked for specific purposes, not to be added to the endowment. The proximity of Rice University was an important element in the choice of the Houston area as the site of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, and the university could expect sub- stantial government aid and ben- efits to the graduate programs in science and mathematics through its links with NASA. But that was still not enough. The univer- sity needed funds for all depart- ments, especially general funds that the board could apply wher- ever needed. Gifts helped, like the one from John W. Cox '27, who gave the university the lease rights to the old Yankee Stadium in New York City. However, a university is a great consumer, and expansion made a long-term steady income necessary. It would be less difficult to manage the initial expansion than the ongo- ing maintenance of the larger program." The Move to Charge Tuition Private colleges and universities usually raise some of their money by charging tuition, yet Rice's charter stated that the Institute was to be free. In 1941 the board had considered petitioning for a change in the charter to allow tu- ition fees, but the purchase of the Rincon oil field and some timely gifts had postponed the need to take action then. By i960, how- ever, it was becoming clear that costs were rising and would con- tinue to rise and that the uni- versity had to investigate every possible source of income. Fur- thermore, the policy of not charg- ing tuition was causing some problems in securing grants. Some foundations refused to give funds to a university that was not actively using all its resources (including tuition) to the fullest and that did not appear to be am- New Plans bitiously striving for educational preeminence. An institution that had a reputation for wealth and seemed to be living comfortably and complacently on whatever money came its way gave the im- pression to foundations and cor- porations that their gifts might be used to better effect else- where. Rice's Board of Trustees had always felt that an image of mercenary eagerness was beneath its dignity. To rebut the argu- ments of grantors, however, the board had begun to consider the question of tuition as part of the overall financial situation in 1961, even before President Pit- zer made his recommendations. ' By January 1962 Rayzor's com- mittee was ready to recommend that the endowment be increased by S20 million and that the full board consider charging tuition. In February the committee rec- ommended definite steps to be taken toward raising the funds for an expanded program: a study to determine how tuition would affect the numbers and quality of students, and a request that the university's attorneys determine what actions and information were necessary for the authority to charge tuition. With this infor- mation in hand, the board could decide how to proceed. In April the board further discussed intro- ducing tuition step by step, be- ginning with the freshman class entering in September 1963. A scholarship system would accom- pany such a charge, and for this purpose they hoped to add S3 3 million (instead of $20 million) to the university's endowment by June 30, 1966. The board as a whole approved the committee recommendations in principle and directed its attorneys to initi- ate the legal proceedings neces- sary to secure permission from the courts to charge tuition.' Related but at the same time separate was racial discrimina- tion in admissions. Here again loomed the charter, specifying that the school was intended for the white inhabitants of Texas. Although the Institute had ad- mitted students of Asian descent for twenty years or more, there were still no black students on campus. Government research contracts included nondiscrimi- nation clauses, and Rice's segre- gation policy, like its lack of tuition, was detrimental to fund raising. In May 1962 several board members thought that the board should not act unilaterally to integrate the school and that they should defer any move to- ward integration. After discus- sion, the board agreed that they should try to build favorable pub- lic sentiment for both tuition and integration. The lawyers reported in July that the Texas attorney general would cooperate with the university in legal action on both questions. On September 16, 1962, the Board of Governors unanimously resolved to initiate legal action to obtain the authority to admit qualified students to the univer- sity without regard to race or color and to charge tuition. The resolution stated that while the indenture quoted in the char- ter imposed segregation on the school and limited the charging of tuition, it also left to the board the right to set requirements for admission and the obligation to maintain good order and honor. The world had changed since 1 89 1; complexity and costs had increased beyond any degree imaginable at that time, and cus- toms, mores, and laws had also changed. For the university to continue to develop as an educa- tional institution of the highest quality, as William Marsh Rice had desired, the university had to be free from the restrictive im- plications of the language of the charter. A suit to amend the charter was filed m Judge Philip Peden's district court on February 21, 1963. After a challenge to the trustees' petition brought by alumni John B. Coffee and Val T. Billups, a jury considered the case in Judge William Holland's court and in February 1964 ruled in favor of the university. Judge Holland's ruling held that the university was then entitled to charge tuition and to admit stu- dents without regard to color. After an appeal by the challeng- ers, the Texas Court of Civil Ap- peals in October 1966 affirmed the judgment rendered by the dis- trict court. Both judgments held that the restrictive provisions m the charter would prevent the achievement of Mr. Rice's main purpose, which was the estab- lishment of an educational insti- tution of the first class. Relatively certain of victory in the courts, the trustees and alumni began the $33 million campaign in the spring of 1965; by 1969 some $43 million had been raised." New Plans President Pitzer's Long-Range Plan While the board was looking for ways to raise money, President Pitzer began constructing his long-range plan for the university. First the specific objectives of the S3 3 million campaign had to be spelled out. The Ford Foundation wanted more definite informa- tion before committing a pro- posed grant to the university, and Pitzer desired a current appraisal of his new institution. He also wanted the faculty's evaluation of long-term possibilities for the university. In December 1962, Pitzer ap- pointed an Academic Planning Committee composed initially of professors Edgar O. Edwards (economics), Thomas W. Leland (chemical engineering), Louis Mackey (philosophy), and Clark P. Read (biology). The committee was to prepare a plan for develop- ment, and it began work in Janu- ary 1963 to chart a realistic course for the future, with the grand objective of making Rice into the major independent uni- versity "of a vast area." Pitzer's shorthand descriptions for his projected university were, in terms that a westerner could un- derstand, "Stanford without a medical school" (since Baylor College of Medicine is across the street), and for an easterner, "Princeton with girls." Pitzer knew that his ideal might never be realized, but it would certainly provide a challenge. The commit- tee was to consider such matters as optimum size of the student body and faculty ratios of under- graduate and graduate students to faculty, expansion of existing areas of study and introduction of new ones, costs, and priorities for development. Before planning could begin, the committee needed basic guidelines concerning Rice's probable status in various areas. The president told the committee to assume that tuition and racial restrictions would be removed, that a large scholarship program would be instituted, that Rice would continue as a member of the Southwest Conference, that admission standards would re- main high, that the college sys- tem would be retained, that the balance between general and spe- cialized studies would be main- tained, that space science and molecular biology would be de- veloped, and that the emphasis on the scientific basis of engi- neering would continue. He also told the professors to plan for a balance between regional service and the broader service to Texas that a genuinely international in- stitution would provide. To help the committee, seven faculty subcommittees were ap- pointed for various tasks. They studied virtually every academic area of the university: old and new departments, undergraduate and graduate education, research, relationships between the univer- sity and the world outside, and physical facilities. The commit- tee reports did triple duty. They were incorporated in a self-study that Rice was obligated to pre- pare as part of the accrediting procedure for the Southern Asso- ciation of Colleges and Schools under the guidance of Chancellor Croneis. At the same time they were used in preparing requests for grants from various founda- tions and agencies. Their primary purpose, however, remained to aid the Academic Planning Com- mittee in making its recommen- dations for the future. In lune 1963 the central com- mittee reported on its progress. The members saw Rice's princi- pal needs as more distinguished professors and good facilities, both as quickly as possible. The committee called for Ss million to be raised by the autumn of 1964, as well as new programs for research professors, visiting pro- fessors, and preceptors (young faculty members on contract for three years); an enlarged library; standard but flexible faculty teaching loads; increased re- search funds; and more liberal faculty salaries and fringe bene- fits to meet competition in the marketplace. For students, the committee spoke of more flex- ibility in the curriculum for the first two years, along with pro- grams better tailored to student interests and needs and some in- terdisciplinary workshops at the senior level (but no specific inter- disciplinary programs). Several matters ought to be fur- ther discussed and studied, the committee thought. First, what exactly were the objectives of the undergraduate program in gen- eral- Was it to be an end in itself, or preparation for graduate work, or some combination? The com- mittee cautioned that the para- mount concern of any university was the education of human be- New Plans 203 ings. Second, with respect to ad- missions, it appeared that as many as thirty-five percent of Rice students avoided standard requirements by participating in athletics, the band, or the Naval ROTC, or through personal sta- tus or influence. The committee suggested that the rate of failure of these special cases be deter- mined. Third, the committee re- iterated the long-felt need for a better student advisory system. Fourth, President Pitzer had spe- cifically asked the committee to study the minimum practical size for a distinguished univer- sity. It reported that of those it had studied, Princeton was the smallest first-rate university; its student body was double the size of Rice's, but its faculty was three or four times as large. The committee's last recommenda- tion was that professional schools be low in priority for the mo- ment. The university's task would be difficult enough with- out adding another issue. '- The committee's final report was made public in the Ten Year Plan, published in 1964. Rice would expand on all levels. Ulti- mately (in 1975, according to the plan), the university was to have 4,000 undergraduate and graduate students and a faculty of 400. Students were to be selected for their high intellectual ability motivation, and personal qualifi- cations, and the professors were to be the ablest men and women that Rice could attract. The en- dowment would have to increase from the 1964 level of $81 mil- lion to about $93 million, and the annual budget would rise from about $6 million to an ex- pected $19 million. The $21 mil- lion building program was sepa- rate from the endowment and operating funds. It included new academic buildings, new resi- dential colleges, improvements in existing structures, major pur- chases of laboratory equipment, and library acquisitions. The plan was extremely ambitious." From 1961 to 1963, before pub- lication of the final plan. Presi- dent Pitzer had seen that there was much to do. Administrative organization badly needed clar- ification and definition. The orig- inal Academic Development Committee had reported that fac- ulty members were deeply dis- turbed by the administrative structure — or more precisely, by the lack of structure. In the past there had been no clear lines of authority, no administrative channels by which requests were made or decisions announced. A faculty member might take a matter to his department chair- man, but he might just as readily go to the dean or for that matter directly to the president. In ear- lier days memoranda were not kept of queries or decisions, and departmental secretaries had ap- peared on the campus only in the 1950s. Pitzer instituted official lines of communication, and a number of policy statements de- fined responsibility for various administrative positions. One could still, however, bypass the formal channels and go straight to the top. Like his predecessors President Pitzer was interested in hearing directly from faculty and students.'" A slight reorganization of the administrative titles, functions, and personnel took place in 1961 and 1962. Sanford W. Higgin- botham became dean of students, replacing fames R. Sims, and the office was combined with that of assistant to the president. Cath- arine Hill Savage, who had re- ceived her B.A. from Rice in 1955 and was an advanced graduate student in the French depart- ment, became adviser to women in 1 96 1 and was succeeded in 1962 by Alma L. Lowe, the first woman to hold the title "dean of women." Also in 1962, G. Fiolmes Richter, who had been the dean of the university, became dean of graduate studies, and the old of- fice that had for so long been called simply "the dean" existed no more." The lack of a tenure policy mirrored the absence of admin- istrative structure at Rice, and some faculty members had begun to lobby for definition in this area as well. Under President Lovett and on through William Houston's presidency, someone (possibly the president but prob- ably the dean) usually told a new member of the faculty after a year or two (ordinarily two) whether his career at Rice was expected to be long or brief. If he was expected to remain, he re- ceived an annual notice of reap- pointment along with a state- ment of his next year's salary. In practice, faculty members, even assistant professors, assumed that they had tenure even though it had not formally been granted. The result of this procedure was clear: first-class people who 204 New Plans might have stayed with the re- ward of tenure did not have the incentive to remain; mediocre professors who could not have passed a formal tenure review en- joyed a high degree of job security and were difficult to remove from the faculty. A period of two years was hardly enough time to judge the abilities of a new faculty member effectively, and if the de- cision makers guessed poorly, the university had to live with the mistake. Since the academic world was becoming more mo- bile, there was no reason to sup- pose that really outstanding professors would remain at Rice. Rice's ad hoc process seemed al- most guaranteed to produce a second-rate faculty. However, the system did have some positive aspects. New fac- ulty members had time to de- velop professional competence and were spared the gnawing un- certainty of an untenured posi- tion. At other universities the scramble for tenure often led to petty personal rivalries, publica- tion of trivia for the sake of pub- lishing, and neglect of teaching to win a reputation for scholar- ship. As long as Rice was small, the university could minimize the disadvantages of its informal tenure system. As long as it de- veloped slowly, strengthening only a few departments at a time, it could and often did leave its second- and third-rate people in place. If, however. Rice was to be- come a first-rate university in all fields, it could not afford to keep unproductive faculty or to con- tinue without a formal mecha- nism for evaluation that included clearly written procedures. In i960 the Rice chapter of the American Association of Uni- versity Professors discussed the matter of tenure with acting pres- ident Croneis and the board. Re- flecting the national trend toward tenure in higher education, Pit- zer's first Academic Develop- ment Committee recommended a stated tenure policy as neces- sary to attract superior profes- sors; early in 1962 the president submitted a tenure system for board approval. In lanuary the board approved the system and in March confirmed the status (ei- ther with tenure or on a one- to three-year appointment) of all faculty members.' Expansion of the faculty began even before the final plan was adopted. What had begun under President Houston continued during Carey Croneis's brief term as acting president and increased under Kenneth Pitzer. From about 130 in 19 S7, faculty num- bers rose to over 150 in i960 and to 183 (17s men, 8 women) in 1962. Additions to the ranks in the late 19SOS and early 1960s in- cluded William Caudill in archi- tecture, Edgar O. Edwards and Gaston Rimlinger in economics, Thomas Rabson in electrical en- gineering, Alan Grob and Walter Isle in English, and Frederic Wie- runi and lames Wilhoit in me- chanical engineering. Economics historian Louis Galambos, Bis- marck and Roosevelt scholar Francis Loewenheim, southern historian Sanford W. Higgin- botham, and Austrian specialist R. |ohn Rath joined history, while lean-Claude DeBremaecker went to geology and Paul Donoho to physics. The cheerful Scot Don- ald Mackenzie came to teach classics; archaeologist Frank Hole and Japan scholar Edward Norbeck constituted the new de- partment of anthropology; Alex- ander Dessler headed the space science department, the first such department in the country. The board did not forget those outstanding professors now at the compulsory retirement age. Believing that some of these men could still be useful to Rice, the board, at Rayzor's suggestion, created the position of Trustee Distinguished Professor for cer- tain honored faculty members, who would continue some teach- ing and research after official re- tirement. Each was limited to teaching six hours a semester. By 1963 Professors Chillman, Bray, McKillop, and Tsanoff had been chosen for this position.' To be a university of national and international stature, Pitzer thought that Rice needed a more comprehensive curriculum; and as new teachers were hired, the course list expanded. The hu- manities and social sciences, un- emphasized for so long, finally began to come into their own. New departments such as fine arts and the anthropology-sociol- ogy combination (sociology was transferred from its odd-fellow combination with economics and business administration), an ex- panded foreign language depart- ment, and new offerings in estab- lished departments strengthened New Plans 205 the undergraduate level. By 1962 Rice offered doctorates in eco- nomics, German, and philosophy along with those previously es- tablished in history, English, and French. Curriculum additions in the sciences and engineering were mainly on the graduate level. Both humanities and the sciences benefited from a pro- gram for college teacher educa- tion assisted by the Ford Foun- dation. Under this program, designed to answer the national need for college teachers, a stu- dent was able to complete all re- quirements for the master's de- gree and be well on the way to a doctorate within five years of en- tering the university. In i960 and 1961 the campus received the good news that two more buildings would be con- structed to house some of the ac- ademic expansion. In i960 Mr. and Mrs. J. Newton Rayzor gave the university money for a new building for the humanities. Rayzor Hall was placed at right angles to the library, across the quadrangle from Anderson Hall. In 1962 Professor and Mrs. L. B. Ryon bequeathed their entire es- tate for a new engineering labora- tory building. Ryon had been at Rice for forty-five years, having come as an instructor in civil en- gineering in 1917 and retired as a professor in 1958. The Ryon Laboratory site was to the west of the Mechanical Laboratory Building.'" 145. Rayzor Hall during construction. May 10, 1961. Further Changes in the Curriculum Although there is little evidence that student opinion directly in- fluenced curriculum changes, the cries of undergraduates did not go unheard. The faculty made small changes in the require- ments to introduce a wider range of electives and greater flexibility. Groups A, B, and C were rede- fined to include the new offerings. In place of simply languages, literature, and music, the new Group A offered architecture, classics, English, fine arts, for- eign languages, history, human- ities, music, and philosophy. In place of history, social studies. philosophy, and education. Group B now had anthropology, eco- nomics and business administra- tion, education, political science, psychology, and sociology. In ad- dition to biology, chemistry, physics, mathematics, and geol- ogy, and in place of psychology, Group C included engineering and space science. The language requirement was changed to al- low students to take whatever languages they liked. (In 1962- 63 the foreign language depart- ment offered French, German, Spanish, Greek, Latin, and Rus- sian in at least the 100 and 200 levels.) The nemesis of so many. Math 100, was split into Math 100 for science-engineers and 206 New Plans Math loi for academic students in 1960; some third- and fourth- year engineering courses were changed to increase emphasis on the science underlying modern engineering; and the third-year science requirement was dropped for academic students of the class entering in 1962. These redefinitions and addi- tions did not really change the curriculum. Its basic premise was still to introduce breadth into each major program by means of outside electives or diversifica- tion requirements, and several of the old problems remained. There was still no agreement among the faculty about what specific courses constituted a "well-rounded" education. There was a general consensus that every student should be exposed to a variety of subjects within major divisions — that everyone should study some math, some history, and so forth. Exceptions to the requirements were still allowed, though, and some de- partments were still "strongly ad- vising" their students to take cer- tain electives closely related to the major. The Self-Study report pointed out these controversies and commented on the difficulty of assessing the effectiveness of the curriculum, but it made no recommendations for the future. A perennial question, some faculty members thought, was how to treat athletes. The faculty perceived a conflict between aca- demic and athletic interests in colleges and universities nation- wide, and Rice was no exception. Some thought that the presence of the athletes and their separate Department of Health and Physi- cal Education lowered standards for the university as a whole. A vocal group rankled at the special consideration given to athletes at admission time and the rumored (but never substantiated) special academic consideration they re- ceived. While many faculty mem- bers recognized that the intel- lectual caliber of the students admitted under the athletic quota was constantly rising, that some Rice athletes in recent years had been outstanding scholars, and that more were able to carry a normal course load in addition to the demands of their sport, they still saw problems. In i960 a special faculty com- mittee on the athletic curricu- lum began to study a new pro- gram for athletes. The committee recommended a new course of study toward a business admin- istration degree. Called the com- merce curriculum, the plan reasonably assumed that most college athletes would go into some form of business after grad- uation, not into coaching or teaching. This curriculum was placed before the whole faculty in 1 96 1 and was vigorously de- bated. Those who objected to it claimed that it would depress ac- ademic standards in the interests of championship football, and they said that they thought foot- ball and a first-class university were incompatible. Those in favor of the plan advocated pro- viding for students who were going to be on campus whether members of the faculty liked it or not (the board had just reaffirmed the university's commitment to athletics in the Southwest Con- ference), and ridiculed the claim that one department or course of study could lower the standards of the entire university. The com- merce curriculum passed the fac- ulty by a vote of 67 to 5 1 on the first vote and 65 to 56 on the second."' Admissions Procedures Despite continual worries about the abilities of incoming fresh- men, admission procedures changed little. Under director of admissions James B. Giles, who had assumed that position in 1957, the Admissions Committee retained its quota system, group- ing students by science-engineer- ing, academic, and architecture divisions. Physical education ma- jors had always entered under a separate system. In the 1961-62 catalog. College Entrance Exam- ination Board examinations were declared mandatory, and the quota system was mentioned spe- cifically. There was a quota of sorts for women: the number of women in the academic curricu- lum was limited to the number of men admitted under that cur- riculum. On the other hand, there was no limit for the num- ber of women admitted to science-engineering and archi- tecture. Few women applied to those divisions, anyway. Whether Rice's single dormitory for women affected the number of non- Houston women admitted is unclear, but once the second women's college was built in 1966, the number of out-of-town New Plans women increased. One thing was clear: by i960 Rice was no longer having difficulty attracting students." A continuing dilemma was the admission of out-of-state students. By limiting their num- ber, Rice had to turn down some outstanding candidates, but the charter stated that the school was intended to educate residents of Houston and Texas. On the other hand, if Rice aspired to be more than a state or regional institu- tion, it had to admit more of those it attracted from outside. Eventually the non-Texan enroll- ment was raised to thirty-five or forty percent, a figure that seemed to ensure admission of the most able students in both categories." The "Rice Myth" By the early 1960s, incoming Rice undergraduates had heard quite a bit about the excellence of the school's standing. Rice's regional reputation remained high, and its research and schol- arly achievements had gained some prominence nationally and internationally. Discussion about turning Rice into a first-rate uni- versity stimulated some students to consider their own situation, though their conclusions did not always match some of the glow- ing praise they were hearing. The school year 1960-61 seems to be the point at which students be- gan to reexamine their own edu- cational experiences at Rice; it was a year when several popular professors left. Their student sup- porters claimed that they were excellent teachers who chal- lenged them to do more than memorize. An angry Thresher editorial in 1961 charged that Rice could not be one of the na- tion's finest schools, because its faculty contained too many peo- ple lacking in "academic vitality" and because dynamic newcomers often resigned to escape what some students saw as a stifling, provincial, closed-minded atmo- sphere. The idea that Rice was the "Harvard of the South" was a myth, the vociferous students claimed. By 1962-63 corroboration and rebuttal for the existence of a "Rice myth" were coming from several directions, and the dis- cussion widened to include all phases of undergraduate life. Stu- dents, particularly those in the academic division, criticized the grading system, the quality of in- struction, the position of the hu- manities in relation to science and engineering (commonly called the "lag" of the human- ities), the limited holdings of the library, and the merits of the col- lege system. Grading and instruc- tion seemed to be the focus of discussion, perhaps because it was in the classroom that the students confronted the system head-on. Grades at Rice, the students claimed, were still overempha- sized and maintained at artifi- cially low levels, producing both apathy about learning and the phenomenon of "grade-grubbing" (the pursuit of grades instead of knowledge). Grade-grubbing had its roots early in the student's school career, as the result of pressure from parents and sec- ondary schools; no one blamed solely the grading system at Rice, but its system certainly contrib- uted. Furthermore, to the outside world, grades were earned on an absolute scale, and Rice students who were not at the top of their classes often faced unexpected difficulty getting into graduate and professional schools because of their records, even though they performed well on the Grad- uate Record Examinations. Faculty members agreed with many of the student criticisms and began to say so in committee reports. Thresher articles, and communications with the presi- dent and deans. In the fall semes- ter of 1 96 1, grades were distrib- uted as shown in Table i. In the class of 1962, thirty-eight percent of the students were on probation at some time (twenty-one percent were on probation once and sev- enteen percent twice); and thirty- six percent of the class withdrew before graduation, twenty-seven percent voluntarily and nine per- cent involuntarily." Such a grade distribution was not anomalous with that of other selective institutions, such as the University of California, Berke- ley, the University of Pennsyl- vania, the University of Chicago, or the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. However, it indi- cated to some professors that the overall grading standard at Rice was inconsistent with the high quality of the undergraduate stu- dent body. The Subcommittee on the Program on Undergraduate Instruction of the Academic Planning Committee commented 208 New Plans TABLE I Distribution of Grcuk-s. Fall 796/ Number loo-level courses y.s"" 27.7% ^9.6% is. 9% 7.^% 2,792 200-level courses 9.9 t,H.i ^1.8 10.9 4.^ 2,182 ■500-level courses 12.6 40.7 34. s 90 t,.i 2,182 400-level courses 12. i 35.3 36.1 11.6 4.8 8,373 Figures do not include withdrawals or 35 "satisfactory" grades in 400-level courses. The total number of grades is in the last column, and percentages do not always total 100 percent. in its progress report that the grading system appeared to be dc- morahzmg many students; the committee members beUeved that many individual teachers and some departments were "in- discriminate" in awarding low grades. Donald Mackenzie wrote to President Pitzer: "The present system does, I believe, impair our effectiveness: the morale of our students is lowered, and they tend to become discouraged and dissatisfied, rather than encour- aged to find the joy in learning which inspires true scholarship. High standards are created through excellence in instruc- tion, not in low grades."'' Although the Committee on Examinations and Standing could find little conclusive evidence of irregularities or injustices in the grade distribution data, it recom- mended that all departments consider and discuss at length freshmen and sophomore courses especially. It encouraged faculty members to pay particular atten- tion to grading, presentation, and content, taking into account the students' preparation, future ob- jectives, and the work load. They should try to estimate the time needed for an average student to do all assignments adequately. The most notorious course for failures was still Math 100, even without the academic students, who had moved over to Math loi. In 1961, 24.1 percent of Math 100 students made IVs and 19.8 percent made Vs. In 1963 the figures were 19.0 percent and 21.8 percent respectively. A de- fender for the mathematics de- partment spoke in the Thresher of a "very difficult and demand- ing course" and claimed that part of the result was due to the "gen- erally weak high school prepara- tion" of most of the students. The next week a humanist asked how it could be that the students were unprepared, when 8 per- cent of the freshman class had scored above 1 30 on the National Merit Qualifying Test and when the class average on the mathe- matics aptitude section of the College Boards was 701 out of a possible 800 points. In 1964 the failure rates for Math 100 were still a high 13.9 percent IVs and 24. s percent Vs; the Self-Study report stated, "Obviously this sit- uation reflects an unrealistic grading standard, especially in view of the fact that Rice fresh- men are selected on the basis of their promise in mathematics." The alarming failure rate was eliminated only by abolishing the requirement that every freshman take a form of Math 100.'- Discussion of the quality of in- struction involved more than methods; it extended to the ob- jectives, principles, and impor- tance of undergraduate education in general and the place of under- graduate instruction in a univer- sity that emphasized research and graduate studies. Hearing an- nouncements about the antici- pated growth of the graduate school and reading about more and more research grants, some undergraduates became appre- hensive about their position. They were not alone in their con- cern; faculty members had been discussing, in one form or an- other, the place and purpose of undergraduate instruction even before the Academic Planning Committee and its subcommit- tees were created. The enduring question con- cerned the purpose of an under- graduate education: was it prepa- ration for graduate study, or an end in itself for those going no further than a well-rounded B.A. degree- Most people felt that the solution should provide for both eventualities within the same basic curriculum. However, there were additional considerations. A university has two purposes: production of new knowledge New Plans 209 through research and study, and production of knowledgeable graduates. Professors should be able to conduct research in their fields as well as teach. The prob- lem was of course that twenty- four hours a day were simply not enough for one person to prepare lectures and teach, carry on re- search and writing, attend the numerous committee meetings by which the university ran it- self, counsel students, and an- swer other personal demands. It was necessary to set priorities. In 1963 both the dean of humanities and the dean of engineering told the Academic Planning Commit- tee that the university needed to emphasize teaching — to re- ward classroom proficiency and lighten the class load to allow more preparation time. President Pitzer told a meeting of students that he believed a de- partment should concentrate its best talent at the beginning lev- els, because "that's where the most souls are saved." Although professors and departments tried several different methods of re- wards and types of organization over the ensuing years with vary- ing degrees of success, the major problems — preparation time, evaluation of teaching, and re- wards— remained. Students con- tinued to complain and to cling to the few teachers whom they considered really inspiring as proof that they were not wasting their time.'* Student Activities Although it was fashionable to be cynical towards Rice, most stu- dents still enjoyed the university experience in the early 1960s. With the advent of the college system and the building of a ball- room in the student center and an auditorium in Hamman Hall, many on-campus students found that they had little need to leave campus at all. They only had to make a quick trip to the nearby Village shopping area for articles unavailable on campus, or to eat on the days when the colleges did not serve food. Dances, plays, football games, visiting outside lecturers, and college functions could all now take place on campus. The drinking age in Texas was still twenty-one at the time, and no alcohol was allowed on cam- pus. The liquor laws drove many parties outside the hedges, but it was still possible to ignore the rest of the city for much of col- lege life. Big dances such as Ron- delet, the Senior Dance, the literary societies' formals, and other such events usually took place at a hotel or country club, but the Beer-Bike Race was run every spring on campus. No longer did the riders both drink and ride — that had proved en- tirely too dangerous — but teams of riders and drinkers practiced for months on their respective specialties. In 1961 the record for drinking twenty-four ounces of beer was 3.2 seconds, and for rid- ing the loop road around the cen- tral campus it was 2 minutes and 8 seconds. The administration brought 146. Rondelet dance, 1962-63 school year. New Plans 147. Will Rice College Chorus. 1962-63. one student pastime to a halt for a while. In their disorganized warfare with members of other colleges, the men had refined water-bomb throwmg (propelling balloons partially filled with wa- ter) by using slingshots made with surgical tubing, to the ex- tent that one missile was capable of breaking a window. Being Rice students, they also calculated the muzzle velocity for these water cannons. The destruction caused by these skirmishes resulted in the banning of water fights and payment for repairs by the students. "Rice's Honor," the school song, caused some argument in 1962. Many students and alumni did not think that a song that emphasized "fighting on" and that was sung to the same tune as many high school songs was appropriate for serious academic occasions. Although it had been used only infrequently, "The Rice Hymn," composed in 1947 by Rice alumni Louis Girard and Nealie Ross, was proposed as a substitute. In 1962 lyrics were written for Sibelius's "Finlandia," but neither anthem caught on and attempts to press for their use were dropped. Students, faculty, and friends of Rice had the chance to see and hear a number of important speakers in the early 1960s. Two Presidents of the United States came to campus, Dwight D. Eisenhower in i960 for a non- New Plans 148. The visit of President Eisenhower to Rice. October i960. New Plans 149. The visit of President Kennedy. September 19(12. (© 1962, Aubrey Calvin) political address and John F. Ken- nedy in 1962 for a speech on space exploration. In 1962 and 1963 some of the most promi- nent scholars in the world spoke on the Rice campus. The 1962- 6 3 academic year marked the fiftieth anniversary of the Insti- tute's opening, and the semicen- tennial celebration rivaled the ceremonies of 1912."' CHAPTER 10 Semicentennial As in 1912, so it was in 1962. Again invitations went out to universities, colleges, and insti- tutes, to learned and professional societies. The Board of Governors and the faculty of William Marsh Rice University would inaugurate the university's third president and celebrate its semicentennial with an academic festival on Oc- tober 10, II, and 12. Would the invited institution send a repre- sentative to attend the festivities- Again the replies came, this time from Oxford, Zurich, Toronto, Is- tanbul, Mexico City, and Taiwan, from the National Academy of the Lincei in Rome, the National Academy of Sciences, the Ameri- can Geophysical Union, and the Institute of Aerospace Sciences, from Stanford, Columbia, Chi- cago, Notre Dame, Wellesley, and UCLA. Rice's fellow halls of learning were pleased to congrat- ulate the university on its fiftieth anniversary and to send a dele- gate for the celebrations. Planning for the semicenten- nial had begun in i960. The com- mittee that was placed in charge by the board had as its honorary chairman Professor Harold A. Wilson, a member of the original faculty. The cochairmen were governors H. Malcolm Lovett '21 and John D. Simpson '31; Chan- cellor Carey Croneis was the ex- ecutive director. The committee planned an extensive celebration, not to be confined to only three days. It was to stretch through- out the school year, with special speakers, symposia, and other programs in each department of the university. And this time the students would not be left out. There had been significant changes in Houston since the time of the first festival. It had grown from a small city to the largest in Texas, with a popula- tion of 950,000 in the city itself and 1,250,000 in the metro- politan area. The area was known throughout the United States and beyond for its petrochemical in- dustries, its wealth, and the aero- space complex. Houston had several universities, many cul- tural attractions, and interna- tional connections. It was no longer strange to see prominent philosophers, physicists, authors, artists, anthropologists, and chemists there. In addition to the inauguration of the series of lectures, the cere- monies were to include presenta- tions of Medals of Honor and Certificates of Merit to each of the speakers and to some of the university family. Hubert E. Bray, James H. Chillman, William V. Houston, Alan D. McKillop, Radoslav A. Tsanoff, and Harold A. Wilson were the Rice pro- fessors being honored. The guests who gave lectures included histo- rian Arnold Toynbee of the Brit- ish Royal Institute of Interna- tional Affairs, speaking on the change in the United States' posi- tion and outlook as a world power; Brand Blanshard, pro- fessor emeritus of philosophy at Yale University, with a speech en- titled "The Test of a University"; and chemical engineer Sakae Yagi from the University of Tokyo, 214 Semicentennial 150-155. Scenes ftum the semicentennial celebrations and the installation of President Pitzer. discussing Japanese problems in engineering education. Bertrand H. Bronson, professor of English literature at the University of California, Berkeley, spoke on English and American folk songs, and Sir George P. Thomson, a physicist from Cambridge Uni- versity, traced the consequences of the last fifty years in physics. Architect John 1. Reid discussed design; Vladimir Prelog from the Swiss Federal Institute of Tech- nology spoke on steric strain in organic chemistry; Allan Nevins, a historian from the Huntington Library, lectured on the relations between private and public uni- versities; and Albert Szent- Gyorgyi, director of research at the Institute of Muscle Research at the Marine Biological Labora- tory in Woods Hole, Massachu- setts, surveyed the horizons of life sciences. Louis Landre from the University of Paris explored the cultural history of western Europe; Fritz Stiissi, a colleague of Prelog's at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, talked about structural engineering; Princeton economist Jacob Viner looked at the United States as Semicentennial 215 a welfare state; and Henri M. Peyre, professor of French litera- ture from Yale University, dis- cussed a Frenchman's view of American education. Claude E. Shannon, a mathematician from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, looked into the fu- ture of computers; another math- ematician, Jean Leray from the College de France, dealt with a problem discussed in one of the 19 1 2 lectures of Emile Borel; and anthropologist Margaret Mead talked of human capacity and potential. Two Rice alumni were also honored: physicist William G. Pollard, M.A. '34, Ph.D. '35, exec- utive director of the Oak Ridge Institute of Nuclear Studies, and William Maurice Ewing, B.A. '26, M.A. '27, Ph.D. '31, director of the Lamont Geological Obser- vatory at Columbia University. Pollard addressed the alumni association dinner; honoree Keith Glennan, president of the Case Institute of Technology, spoke at President Pitzer's inau- gural ceremonies; and nuclear chemist Glenn T. Seaborg, chair- man of the United States Atomic Energy Commission, spoke at the Rice Associates' dinner. As had the first festival, the semicentennial gathering defined objectives for Rice University. The opening celebration in 19 12 had outlined aspirations and fu- ture plans and was designed to chart a distinguished course for the new Institute; the later fes- tival looked to the past as well as to the future. The Semicenten- nial Committee expressed its purposes as follows: To commemoiate the first fifty years of Rice University: and to signalize the fulfillment of the dreams of William Marsh Rice, the founder — in which dreams there was envisaged the creation and development in Houston of an outstanding American in- stitution for the advancement of letters, science and art; and, fur- ther, to re-create the interna- tional academic enthusiasm engendered by the significant ceremonies held at the opening of the University in the Fall of igi2. To present to the world at large, as well as to scholars of every nation, plans and projects whose fruition, during the next half- century, will not only make se- cure the place of Rice University 2l6 Semicentennial in the forefront of the worhl's distinguished institutions of higher education, but also further increase the Univer- sity's contributions to public enrichment through private endowment. To inspire among the friends of Rice, as well as in its Trustees, administration, faculty, students and alumni, a renewed aware- ness of the importance of both the research for truth and the dissemination of knowledge as exemplified by the record of the University during its first so years — and, further, to make plain to all citizens the rich op- portunities which in the next half-century will present them- selves for contributing to the progress and welfare of mankind through supporting an institu- tion pledged to the quest for ex- cellence in all its activities.' These ceremonies, while filled with activities, did not demand the same stamina of the dele- gates and representatives as the first ones did. On Wednesday, Oc- tober ID, after lunch in the vari- ous college commons (honorees and delegates ate in a different college each of the three days), everyone gathered on the east side of Lovett Hall for the inau- gural ceremony, which had been postponed for a year to coincide with the semicentennial. A pro- cession made up of the senior class of 1963, the delegates, the Rice faculty, the Board of Trust- ees, and special honorees began the ceremonies. The seniors entered first, dressed in black robes, and were seated behind the rows of dele- gates. The delegates, in contrast, wore the hues of their alma ma- ters— crimson, blue, gold — all the medieval colors from Old World and New World institu- tions. In place of mortarboards, many wore oddly shaped cha- peaux — tams, pillboxes, some- thing that looked like a French gendarme's cap. Surrounded by the flags, the solemn proces- sional music, and the partici- pants' regalia, one could easily imagine that he or she had been transported to a distant time and could savor one of the truly splendid ceremonial occasions that universities still celebrate. After the crowd had sung the "Star Spangled Banner" and had heard the invocation and greet- ings from the students, the alumni, and the faculty. Dr. Houston presented the speaker, Keith Glennan, who delivered an address entitled "The Univer- sity in a World of Accelerating Change." The Rice University Chorus sang a song, and then Dr. Houston presented Dr. Pitzer to board chairman George R. Brown, who formally installed Kenneth Sanborn Pitzer as Rice's third president. Following the in- auguration were a reception at 4:30 P.M. in the Rice Memorial Student Center and a dinner for 1,220 at 7:30 that evening in the Crystal Ballroom of the Rice Hotel. Only two things went wrong. It was extremely hot for October: at noon on the day of the inaugura- tion the temperature stood at ninety-five degrees. To relieve the discomfort of the formally robed participants, the next morning's speech by Arnold Toynbee and the presentation of medals to the honorees were moved downtown to the air- conditioned Music Hall, instead of being held on the Lovett Hall lawn as planned. The lectures that followed on campus were all in air-conditioned buildings. The second problem concerned the new president's voice. A viral in- fection attacked his throat and left him with almost no voice, but he still managed to be heard and was fully recovered in a few days. Lectures morning and after- noon, lunch in the colleges' commons, and dinners at night completed the three days of fes- tivity. The Rice Hotel was the scene of all the dinners: the in- augural banquet, the Rice Asso- ciates' dinner for the visiting scholars, and the homecoming dinner of the alumni association. On Saturday the alumni laid their yearly wreath at William Marsh Rice's monument. Follow- ing a practice that President Houston had begun at his inaugu- ration, Pitzer had placed a second wreath on the steps of the monu- ment before joining the pro- cession to his inauguration the day before. At 10:30 Saturday morning the new president pre- sided at the dedication of Rayzor Hall. The alumni attended a brunch and later a showing of the alumni semicentennial film Golden Years, the work of Mr. and Mrs. Shad Graham (Ruth McLain '28I and Grace Leake Watts '22. Festivities ended that night at the football game, which Semicentennial 217 the Owls lost to the University of Oregon, 31-12. The semicentennial celebra- tion contmued throughout the year, as departments and colleges held their own festivals with ad- ditional distinguished partici- pants. The history department discussed theory in American politics, the idea of the South, and perspectives in medieval history. Physics looked at fast neutron physics; the geology de- partment held symposia on natu- ral radiation in the environment and on the earth sciences; and psychology contrasted behavior- ism and phenomenology. Biology held a symposium on delayed im- plantation and anthropology studied prehistoric people in the New World, while economics dis- cussed the nation's objectives in that field. The English depart- ment organized two symposia, one with essays on Restoration and eighteenth-century literature in honor of Alan McKillop, and the other with critical and histor- ical essays. The architects looked at the people's architects, and Jones College held its own gath- ering focused on the role of the educated woman.' One regret might have sad- dened participants in the celebra- tion: Edgar Odell Lovett did not live to see Rice's fiftieth year. More than anyone else, except the founder, he was responsible for the idea of Rice, what the uni- versity stood for, what it hoped to be. Lovett had been with Rice since its inception. He had seen his dreams for a university inter- rupted in the hard economic times of the 1920s and the 1930s, and he had seen them revive in the 1940s. His Institute was a small place, with an excellent reputation for scholarly stan- dards, for its graduates, and for some of its faculty members. At first its reputation was concen- trated in Texas and the South. At the same time, the Institute had friends at some of the most pres- tigious universities both in the United States and abroad, mainly because of Lovett's wide acquain- tance, his continuing travels, the faculty he had attracted, and the accomplishments of Rice gradu- ates. The academic world was much smaller in those days. Transportation was slow, Rice was far from the centers of learn- ing on the east and west coasts, and scholars in the East had diffi- culty thinking that distinguished universities could be found west of the Appalachians or south of the Ohio River. Many people, in- cluding some applicants for fac- ulty positions, hardly knew where Houston was. Without money for expansion, the Insti- tute could do little but try to maintain its position. As with most universities, the progress of Rice has been tied to its finances. The Baker board members are much to be praised for establishing the university as they did. Their reluctance to raise additional funds in the 1920s may have stemmed from provisions in the charter placing full responsibility for the Insti- tute in their hands and forbidding them to go into debt, and from the fear that donations would often have unwarranted strings attached. The proscription against debt made the cautious businessmen only more conser- vative in their financial dealings. To such men the oil business in the 1920s and 1930s looked like dangerous speculation, and they were hampered by Texas law, which apparently prohibited trustees from investing in equi- ties. Furthermore, at that time Texas was a place for self-made men, without the tradition of community giving and with an aversion toward fund raising. Al- though Rice did not grow as it might have had more funds been available, the Institute survived the Great Depression while many other schools did not. In this case the board's conservative fiscal management proved to be the right course to follow. Through it all. President Edgar Odell Lovett pressed on. He was able to attract and hold such pro- fessors of sterling repute as McKillop, Lear, Hartsook, Wil- son, Tsanoff, and Weiser. Of course, he had help. It is impossi- ble to imagine Rice without Mc- Cann, McCants, and Watkin, and the contributions of these men are legion. When Lovett relin- quished his beloved Institute to a new president and a new board in 1946, he could justly be proud. Its reputation for excellence was intact, its potential sound. The Institute had produced, and con- tinues to produce, eminent grad- uates, including prominent scientists, literary figures, busi- nesspeople, teaching scholars, and public servants at the state and national levels. The history of the Rice Insti- tute has also been closely related 2l8 Semicentennial to the city of Houston. When the city began to grow in size, wealth, importance, and reputa- tion, so did Rice. After World War II many people learned more about both the city and the Insti- tute. After the war, thanks to the Board of Governors, their invest- ments and contributions, and the new president, William Ver- million Houston, Rice was at last able to begin the expansion that President Lovett had wanted so much in 1920. Emphasis was still on the sciences, but the human- ities had begun to grow with the strong encouragement of Presi- dent Houston and the endorse- ment of the board. With its dominant scientific and engineer- ing reputation, however, the In- stitute still had trouble convinc- ing the academic and outside worlds that it was not the "Rice Institute of Technology." Chang- ing Its name to Rice University in i960 helped to alter the mis- conception. But it was not until the humanities had strong and well-known undergraduate pro- grams to match those in science, and the faculty had exceptional teachers at all levels, that Rice was to become a university in the complete sense. Kenneth Sanborn Pitzer hoped to complete the task set by his predecessors, and in 1963 the world was full of promise. Some students were disgruntled, but they were constructively point- ing out important concerns and weaknesses that they felt needed consideration. Although several of the semicentennial speakers discussed the problems inherent in the vast enlargement of scien- tific and technological knowl- edge and wondered about human ability to to cope with the new realities, the academic festival was invigorating and exciting. The university was expanding at a rapid pace, there were plans for numerous improvements, money was coming in from many grants and gifts, and the first fund- raising drive in Rice history was about to start. Everyone could look forward with anticipation and enthusiasm to the next half century. NOTES Chapter i /*\^.oit^M^ 1. One hundred fifty-two organiza- tions sent delegates to tfie opening. The Book of the Opening of the Rice Institute, i; J. T. McCants, "Some In- formation Concerning the Rice Insti- tute," Woodson Research Center. The center will be cited hereafter as WRC. The information on the open- ing ceremonies has come from The Book of the Opening and the Mc- Cants manuscript unless otherwise noted. 2. The city directory estimate of Houston's population in 1912 was 109,594, based on a "name count" of 60,41 1 individuals and the number reported for their families. 3. Houston Post. October 12, 1912. 4. Julian Huxley, "Texas and Aca- deme," p. 54; BooA' of the Opening, 1:41-44; Julian Huxley, Memories. pp. 94-95; photographic file, WRC. 5. McCants, "Rice Institute," p. 7S; Harry Marshall Bulbrook, "Odyssey of a Freshman — 1912," manuscript copy in possession of the Rice His- torical Commission. 6. Huxley, Memories, p. 95. 7. Houston Post. October 14, 1912. 8. Bulbrook, "Odyssey." 9. Houston Post, October 10, 11, 12, 13, 1912; photographic file, WRC. 10. It IS interesting to note that few provisions of any kind were made for the students, and there was no one to represent them at the con- vocation. Hattie Lei Red '16 heard some of the lectures from the bal- cony over the Faculty Chamber and remembers being much impressed by the people who were there. Hattie Lei Red, June 28, 1977. Chapter! Se,p/nni^ 1. For a complete biography of the founder, see Andrew Forest Muir, William Marsh Rice and His Institute. 2. Muir, William Marsh Rice. pp. 104-9. 3. Ibid., p. 109; J- T. McCants, "Some Information Concerning the Rice Institute," p. 13. 4. James A. Baker, Jr., "Reminis- cences of the Founder," pp. 127-44; McCants, "Rice Institute," p. 81. 5. McCants, "Rice Institute," pp. 82-83. 6. William M. Rice, Jr., had the idea of electing his brother Joseph to the board in 1901; but Raphael said that the board could not do that, since Joseph did not live in Houston and the charter said that the trustees must reside in the city. The excep- tion had been made in the case of the original trustees because that was what the founder had wanted. James Baker concurred with Raphael, so the position remained open. William M. Rice, Jr., to E. Raphael, April 13, 1901, Letters addressed to Secretary E. Raphael, 1891-1907, WRC (cited hereafter as Raphael Letters); Raphael to Rice, Jr., April 17, 1901, Raphael Letters; James A. Baker, Jr., to Raphael, April 27, 1901, Raphael Letters; Ellis A. David and Edwin H. Grobe, comps. and eds., New Ency- clopedia of Texas. 7. Charter of the William M. Rice Institute for the Advancement of Lit- erature, Science and Art, WRC. 8. McCants, "Rice Institute," pp. 13, 14; Minutes of the Board of Trustees, William M. Rice Institute, Treasurer's Office (cited hereafter as Board Minutes), April 27, 1910. Prior to the early 1940s, there were no Texas statutes governing invest- ments by trustees. However, there were laws of "guardianship," which prohibited guardians from investing in stocks. Trustees generally as- sumed that they were governed by these statutes, and the Rice board was no exception; therefore, they limited their investments of the Rice endowment to bonds, liens, etc. In the early 1940s, some trustees went to court and received permission to invest in equities. Later the Texas Trust Act was passed, further freeing trustees to invest their trusts in the stock market. H. Malcolm Lovett, oral communication, January 15, 1982. 9. The charter stated that the Insti- tute would be open to white inhabi- tants; the indenture within the charter said "open to all." 10. Charter of the Institute. 11. Muir, William Marsh Rice. pp. 53-55- 12. Raphael and McAshan to "Dear Sir" [recipient unknown], January 10, I ^'•^' Notes iyo7, Raphael Letters, bylaws in Board Minutes, August 4, lyos. IV Raphael to the Board of Trust- ees, December 28, 1906, in Board Minutes, January 8, 1907; H. H. Har- rington to Raphael, July 2^ 1906, Raphael Letters. 14. J. N. Anderson to Baker & Botts, February 26, 1906, Raphael Letters; D. F. Houston to Raphael, January 25, 1906, Raphael Letters; A. R. Hill to Rice Institute, October 18, 1905, Raphael Letters; Board Min- utes, January 8, 1907. 15. Raphael and McAshan to "Dear Sir," January 10, 1907, Raphael Letters. 16. D. F. Houston to Raphael, Janu- ary II, 1907; J. E. Pursons to Rice Institute, January is, 1907, both in Raphael Letters. 17. Collection Index, No. 2, Raphael Letters; Board Minutes, Feb- ruary 20, 1907. 18. Raphael and McAshan to Board of Trustees, February 18, 1907, Raphael Letters; Board Minutes, Feb- ruary 20, 1907. 19. D. F. Houston to Raphael, lanu- ary 11, 1907, Raphael Letters; Board Minutes, February 20, 1907- 20. A. R. Hill to Raphael, March ^ 1907, Raphael Letters; H. Mc- Clanahan to Raphael, March 3 1 1 907 'I, Raphael Letters; Board Min- utes, February 29, 1907, March 20, 1907. 21. Statement by Edgar Odell Lov- ett, July 19, 1944, in Presidents' Pa- pers, Edgar Odell Lovett, Office Records, WRC. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid.; Lovett to Rice, Jr., De- cember 18, 1907, copy in possession of H. Malcolm Lovett. 24. Statement by Edgar Odell Lov- ett, July 19, 1944, in Presidents' Pa- pers, Lovett, Office Records. 25. Hill to Raphael, March 2S, 1907, April 4, 1907, Raphael Letters. Hill said that there were other fields that on the whole offered greater attractions. 26. Collection Index, No. 2, Raphael Letters; Raphael and McAshan to the president and the Board of Trustees, February 18, 1907, Raphael Letters; Houston Post. April I S, 1907. 27. Board Minutes, November 20, 1907. 28. Board Minutes, December 18, 1907. 29. Baker to Lovett, December 19, 1907, copy in possession of H. Mal- colm Lovett. The same letter is also in Edgar Odell Lovett, Personal Pa- pers, Correspondence, Lovett-Trust- ees, WRC, and in Raphael Letters. 30. Raphael to Lovett, December 21, 1907, copy in possession of H. Malcolm Lovett. 31. Ibid. 32. Board Minutes, December 28, 1907; Raphael to Lovett, December 29, 1907, Raphael Letters. 33. Lovett to Raphael, January 2, 1907 1 1 908], Lovett, Personal Papers, Wilson Correspondence; Board Min- utes, January 22, 1908. 34. William V. Houston, "Edgar Odell Lovett," pp. 137-40; Lovett to J. F. Downey, May 12, 1897; J. M. Page to Downey, May 12, 1897; O. Stone to Leavenworth, April 3, 1897, April IS, 1897; Alexander Ziwet to Leavenworth, May 5, 1897, all in Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Mis- cellaneous Correspondence. 35. W. Wilson to Lovett, Lovett, Personal Papers, Wilson Correspon- dence; Andrew Forest Muir, "Rice's Future Mapped in Early 1900s"; Lov- ett to Wilson, January 3, 1908, copy in possession of H. Malcolm Lovett. 36. Board Minutes, March 1 1, 1908; "Recommendations," n.d., copy in possession of H. Malcolm Lovett. 37. Clippings, n.d., with Weems to Lt)vett, n.d. 1 1 908 -I, Lovett, Personal Papers, Correspondence, Lovett- Trustees. 38. Board Minutes, May 6, 1908, June 10, 1908; Lovett's Travel Jour- nal, Presidents' Papers, Lovett. 39. Lovett's Travel Journal, Presi- dents' Papers, Lovett; Lovett to Raphael, August 12, 1908, November 27, 1907, January 31, 1909, March 14, 1909, published in Dallas News, Lovett, Personal Papers, Unarrangcd; Lovett to Raphael, September s, 1908, October is, 1908, November 17, 1908, December 21, 1908, March 14, 1909, March 25, 1909, Lovett, Personal Papers, Unarranged, and Correspondence, Lovett-Trustees; Board Minutes, April 28, 1909. 40. Lovett to Raphael, August 12, 1908, September s, 1908, March 14, 1909, March 2S, 1909, Lovett, Per- sonal Papers, Correspondence, Lov- ett-Trustees. 41. Edgar Odell Lovett, "Historical Sketch of Rice Institute, A Gift to Texas Youth"; idem, "Early Deci- sions in the Development of the Rice Institute," n.d., both in Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records. 42. University and college histories and studies of higher education that I consulted included: John S. Bru- bacher and Willis Rudy, Higher Edu- cation m Transition: Nicholas Murray Butler, Across the Busy Years: Horace Coon, Columbia: C. H. Cramer, Case Western Reserve: Ernest Earnest, Academic Pro- cession: Orrin L. Elliott, Stanford University: Hugh Hawkins, Pioneer; Brooks M. Kclley Yale: Samuel Eliot Morison, The Development of Har- vard University Since the Inaugura- tion of President Eliot: George Wilson Pierson, Yale College: An Ed- ucational History: idem, Yale: The University College: Frederick Rudolph, The American College and University: George P. Schmidt, T^Jt' Notes Liberal Arts College: Laurence R. Veysey, The Emergence of the Ameri- can University; and Thomas Jeffer- son Wertenbaker, Princeton. 43. Lovett, "Historical Sketch"; idem, "Early Decisions." 44. Board Minutes, May 12, 1909, July 15, 1909, August 4, 1909; Lovett, "Historical Sketch." 45. Board Minutes, July 15, 1909. 46. Board Minutes, April 10, 1907, April 24, 1907, June 24, 1908, April 7, 1909; McCants, "Rice Institute," pp. 16-24. 47. McCants, "Rice Institute," pp. 23-26. 48. Ralph Adams Cram, My Life in Architecture, pp. 124-28; Thresher, February 20, 1963. 49. Cram to Lovett, August 30, 1909, in Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Lovett-Watkin Correspondence. 50. Lovett to Charles W. Eliot, September 27, 19 10, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Lovett-Watkin Correspondence. 51. Board Minutes, November 30, 1909, December i, 1909; Lovett to Cram, Goodhue and Ferguson (CG&.F), December 16, 1909, Presi- dents' Papers, Lovett, Lovett-Watkin Correspondence. 52. Lovett to CG&F, January 13, 1910; CG&F to Lovett, January 14, 1910, both in Presidents' Papers, Lov- ett, Lovett-Watkin Correspondence. 53. Lovett to CG&lF, January 13, 1 9 10, February 4, 19 10, March 11, 191O; CG&F to Lovett, January 14, 19 10, January 28, 19 10, March 17, 1910, all in Presidents' Papers, Lov- ett, Lovett-Watkin Correspondence. 54. CG&F to Lovett, January 18, 1910, January 19, 191O; Lovett to CG&F, February 4, 19 10, all in Presi- dents' Papers, Lovett, Lovett-Watkin Correspondence; Lovett, "Historical Sketch." 5S- Board Minutes, April 27, 19 10, June 27, 1910, September 16, 1910; "The Rice Institute, A Memorandum of Information Prepared for the Sen- ate and National Council of Phi Beta Kappa" (1921), pp. 5, 6, in Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Department Records. 56. Pamphlet entitled "The Rice Institute"; William Ward Watkin, "Architectural Development of the William Marsh Rice Institute," pp. 1 10- 12. 57. Pamphlet entitled "The Rice Institute"; Watkin, "Architectural Development," pp. no- 12. Cram, My Life, pp. 126-27; Julian Huxley, "Texas and Academe," pp. 61-62. 58. Thresher November 12, 1937; Hubert E. Bray, June 18, 1976, Sep- tember 30, 1976. 59. Muir, "Rice's Future." 60. The Book of the Opening of the Rice Institute. 1:175-76; la Rose to Lovett, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Planning of the Institute; Lovett to la Rose, December 14, 1910, ibid.; Lov- ett to J. T. McCants, December 14, 1 9 10, Lovett, Personal Papers, Early, Math. 61. Lovett to McCants, February 4, 1912 ligii'l, Lovett, Personal Papers, Early, Math; Lovett to Lombardi, Feb- ruary 24, 191 1, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Opening of the Institute, Lov- ett Correspondence; Board Minutes, March i, 191 1. 62. Loose clippings m envelope, Lovett, Personal Papers, Unarranged. 63. Board Minutes, May 31, 1912. Chapter 3 .^^^.^ f 1. Board Minutes, October 8, 1908. 2. H. A. Wilson to Lovett, March 22, 1912, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Miscellaneous Correspondence. 3. P. V. Bevan to Lovett, February 26, 1912, April 20, 1912, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Planning of the Institute. 4. Bevan to Lovett, February 26, 1912, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Planning of the Institute; Wilson to Lovett, March 22, 1912, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Planning of the Insti- tute and Miscellaneous Correspon- dence; Board Minutes, May 31, 1912, June 5, 1 9 12, June 12, 19 12, July 11, 19 1 3; Samuel Eliot Morison, The De- velopment of Harvard University Since the Inauguration of President Eliot, p. Ixi; H. Malcolm Lovett, July 27, 1981. 5. Wilson to Lovett, March 22, 19 12, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Mis- cellaneous Correspondence; G. C. Evans to Lovett, February 28, 1912, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Planning of the Institute. 6. Evans to Lovett, February 17, 1912, March 3, 1912; Maxime Bocher to Lovett, March 4, 19 12; William F. Osgood to Lovett, March 4, 19 14, all m Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Plan- ning of the Institute. 7. Board Minutes, May 2, 1912. 8. A. S. Cleveland to Lovett, Au- gust 16, 1941, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees; Lovett to Baker, June 13, 1935, Presi- dents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees; Thresher November 12, 1937; Houston Post, September 27, 19 12; Houston Chronicle, September 26, 1912. 9. The Rice Institute Preliminary Announcements, 1915. The catalog for the university has varied in title and publication over the years. From 1912 to 1924, It was called the Pre- liminary Announcements: from 1925 to 1950, Announcements: and from then on. General Announce- ments. From 1947 to 1954, it was published as part of the Rice Insti- tute Pamphlet. Between 1950 and i960, the annual catalog alternated between the general announcements issue and the graduate announce- ments issue. In the notes to this book, the catalog will be cited here- Notes after as Announcements. 10. Sarah Lane, October 20, 197s- 1 1. I. T. McCants, "Some Informa- tion Concerning tlic Rice Institute," pp. 88-9O; Harry Bulbrook, October 28, 1977; Hattie Lei Red, lune 28, 1977; Helen Batjer, August 10, 1976; J. W. Wilkinson to Board of Trustees, January 4, 19 13, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records. 12. Hattie Lei Red, lanuary 23, 1976; Campanile. 1916. IV Draft article, "Coeducation in the Colleges," dated September 17, 1929, for Gargoyle, in Lovett, Per- sonal Papers, Speeches. The copy has two endings. In the first Lovett said he would endow a women's college if he were in a position to endow an undergraduate college. The second said he would endow a college re- stricted to men or women for a hun- dred ycars; and if he endowed a women's college, he would make it subject to such academic organiza- tion as Harvard or Oxford. 14. Hattie Lei Red, June 28, 1977- 15. Houston Chronicle, |uly 24, 191 5; William H. Wilson to Lovett, July 31, 191 s, Lovett, Personal Pa- pers, 191 1 -1957; Lovett to W. H. Wilson, August 31, 191 5, Lovett, Per- sonal Papers, 191 1-1957. The Chronicle article spoke in the name of the founder, William Marsh Rice, and claimed to know what he wanted for women; it was not what they were getting at the Institute. W. F. Edwards to Baker, April 5, 19 15, May 20, 191 5, with Baker to Lovett, May 21, 191 5, Lovett, Personal Pa- pers, Unarranged. 16. Mrs. Harold Wilson, "Rambling Reminiscences of Early Days at Rice by a Septuagenarian," WRC; Hattie Lei Red, January 23, 1976; Board Minutes, September 29, 191 5. 17. Harry Bulbrook, October 28, 1977; idem, "Odyssey of a Fresh- man— 1912." 18. Lovett to Board of Trustees, lanuary 30, 1918, Dean of Students, Cameron file, WRC; speech at stu- dent meeting, September 28, 1920, Lovett, Personal Papers, Speeches; Florence McAllister Jameson, Febru- ary 3, 1978; The Book of the Opening of the Rice Institute, 1:164. ig. Announcements, 1915; Thresher, December 15, 191ft; Bulbrook, "Odyssey." 20. Hattie Lei Red, June 28, 1977. 21. Campanile. 19 16; Thresher, December 15, 191 6. 22. Isaac Sanders, note on Rice University Historical Commission, vol. I, no. I, in possession of the commission; Henry A. Tillett, De- cember 23, 1975; Bulbrook, "Odys- sey"; H. Malcolm Lovett, May 19, 1976. 23. After participating in 191 5, the Institute took a leave of absence in 1916 and rejoined the conference in December 1917. 24. Houston Post, October 10, 1912; Football '77.- Southwest Con- ference Roster and Record Book. pp. .S, 64- 25. Thresher. February 15, 191 7; Debbie Davies, "Rice has been trad- ing knocks with the distinguished Texas A&M University for 63 years," pp. 10- 1 1; Basketball '78: The 197S Southwest Conference Roster and Record Book, pp. 24-29; Southwest Conference 1978 Spring Sports Me- dia Guide, pp. 24-36. 26. Wilson to Lovett, February 28, 191 3, March 2, 191 3, March 31, 1913, June 13, 1913, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Miscellaneous Correspondence. 27. Clipping from the Daily Pnncetonian, August 10, 191 3, in Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records; Lovett to John R. Effinger, April 24, 1920, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, L^epartment Records. 28. Board Minutes, July 11, 191 3; Wilson to Lovett, March 2, 19 13, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Mis- cellaneous Correspondence, "The Development of the Rice Institute," typescript, in Lovett to George R. Brown, July 20, 1944, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees. 29. Ortrud Much, oral communica- tion, March 24, 1982. 30. Weiser wrote in August asking for a job and was hired for the fall, but it unclear how many hopeful ap- plicants did this and were successful. Apparently Lovett, the dean, and various department chairmen relied on recommendations from friends and well-known men in the various fields to fill most vacancies in the faculty ranks. Weiser to Lovett, Au- gust II, 191 5, Lovett, Personal Pa- pers, 191 1- 1957. 31. Andrew Forest Muir, "Rice's Future Mapped in Early 1900s." 32. Belle Heaps, February 17, 1978; Florence McAllister lameson, Febru- ary 3, 1978; Hattie Lei Red, June 28, 1978; Huxley and Hughes to Lovett, August 13, 1914, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Miscellaneous Correspon- dence; Huxley to Lovett, November 5, 19 14, Lovett, Personal Papers; Julian Huxley, Memories, pp. 99- 100. 33. Board Minutes, January 10, 1917; Tony Martino, vertical file, WRC; Mrs. Jess Neely, oral commu- nication, October 10, 1977; notes from Eula Goss Wintermann, July 24, 1979- 34. Board Minutes, May 30, 1916, June I, 1 9 10. 35. Address by Lovett on H. A. Wilson, June 2, 1950; Wilson to Lov- ett, March 2, 191 3, March 31, 191 3, all in Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Mis- cellaneous Correspondence. 36. Faculty Minutes, June 5, 1914; Announcements. 1915, pp. 21-22. 37. Faculty Minutes, June 5, 1914; Announcements. 191 5, pp. 21-24. 38. Announcements. 191 5, pp. 53-54- Notes 223 39. George Wilson Pierson, Yale College: An Educational History, pp. 202, 258-66, 317-18, 319-33, 428- 31; idem, Yale: The University College, pp. 198-205. 40. Announcements, 1917, pp. 33-34; Huxley, Memories, p. 99. 41. Faculty Minutes, Early Com- mittee Lists. 42. Faculty Minutes, fune 5, 1914; Blayney to Lovett, lune 1914, Presi- dents' Papers, Lovett, Miscellaneous Correspondence. 43. Bulbrook, "Odyssey"; Hattie Lei Red, January 24, 1976; Faculty Minutes, January 7, 191 5; Announce- ments, 1915, p. 24- 44. Faculty Minutes, February 3, 1916, April 13, 1916, April 27, 1916, March i, 1917, June 5, 1919- 45. Recommendations from Com- mittee on Examinations and Stand- ing and Committee on Schedule and Courses of Study, October 19 16, in Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records; Faculty Minutes, November 23, 1916, January 10, 1918, February 21, 1918; Blayney to Lovett, June 1 9 14, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Mis- cellaneous Correspondence. 46. Lovett to T. J. J. See, October 17, 1911, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Opening of the Institute. 47. Alice Dean, vertical file, WRC; Sarah Lane, October 20, 1975, July 1, 1977. It appears that m 191 5, at least, the question of a librarian came up. Evans wrote Lovett that perhaps he, Evans, should ask at Columbia and other schools for "a reliable and ca- pable man, trained in the history of science, who would be willing to en- ter the library at an instructor's sal- ary, with the hope of eventually becoming the librarian." Lovett's re- ply is lost, but if such a search was begun. It never produced a candidate. Evans to Lovett, August 5, 1915, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Planning of the Institute. 48. Board Minutes, July 11, 191 3, November 18, 19 14, November 17, 191 5, July 10, 1920; Library Appro- priations, 19 1 6- 19 1 7, Faculty Minutes. 49. Sarah Lane, October 20, 1975, July I, 1977. 50. Edgar Odell Lovett, "The Meaning of the New Institution," 51. 51. Rice Institute Pamphlet 5, no. I (January 1918), 3. 52. Lovett, "Fiistorical Sketch"; Announcements. 1918, pp. 87-88. 53. Ibid. 54. Commencement, vertical file, WRC. 55. Faculty Minutes, February 18, 1915, March 30, 1916; W F. Edwards to Baker, April 5, 19 15, May 20, 1915, with Baker to Lovett, May 29, 191 5, Lovett, Personal Papers, Unar- ranged. Edwards was an older faculty member and had been president of the University of Washington. Fie seems to have thought that he was to establish the chemistry department, but other sources indicate that Lov- ett was still looking for a chemistry professor. Edwards had the rank of lecturer. Edwards wrote some bitter letters to James A. Baker, Jr., but he evidently did not receive satisfacion. The quarrel between Lovett and Ed- wards seems to have been personal as well as professional and ended with Edwards leaving the faculty in 191 5. Whether he resigned or was fired is unclear, but he considered himself "dismissed." Lf he had wished to stay, however, it would appear that he chose a difficult way to do so, since in his last letters he did not hesitate to take the board to task for not do- ing what he saw as their duty; to get rid of Lovett. 56. Guerard to Lovett, January 21, 19 18, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Of- fice Records, Trustees. 57. H. O. Murfee to Lovett, July 21, 1909, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Planning of the Institute; A. L. FLughes to Lovett, July 23, 1916, Lov- ett, Personal Papers. 58. F. Carrington Weems to Lovett, January 7, 1926; Lovett to Weems, January 26, 1926, both in Lovett, Per- sonal Papers. Chapter 4 '^ ^l-*-^- 1. Hughes to Lovett, September 1, 1 9 14, Lovett, Personal Papers; Thresher. March 11, 19 16, October 18, 1916, December 15, 1916, Febru- ary I, 1917. 2. There was the proviso that the faculty members on war duty be in condition physically and mentally to perform their faculty duties in order to return to the faculty. Board Min- utes, April 30, 1917, July II, 1917. 3. Andrew Forest Muir, "Rice's Fu- ture Mapped in Early 1900s"; H. Mal- colm Lovett, March 29, 1978. 4. Rice Institute Pamphlet 6, sup- plement (1919). The entire supple- ment is devoted to those who served in the war. 5. |Lovett| to General Scott, April 19, 191 7, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, World War I, Announcements. 1917, PP- 56-57. 6. Thresher. September 29, 1917- 7. Thresher. October 27, 1917; Campanile. 1918; H. Malcolm Lov- ett, March 29, 1978; Sarah Lane, July I, 1977; Florence McAllister Jame- son, February 3, 1978. 8. Sarah Lane, July i, 1977; Flor- ence McAllister Jameson, February 3, 1978; Hattie Lei Red, January 23, 1976, June 28, 1977. 9. Thresher, September 29, 1917. 10. Tape, January 19, 191*^; Thresher, December 14, 1917, Febru- ary 2, 1 918. 11. Tape, January 19, 1918. 12. Thresher, December 14, 1917. 13. Thresher, January 19, 19 18. 14. Tape, January 19, 1918. 15. Thresher, February 2, 1918. 16. Ibid. 224 Notes 17. Ibid., February 16, lyiS. 18. Ibid.; Helen Batjer, August 10, iy76. ly. Rice was not alone in suffering the wrong man for the job. At Yale the retired army captain who took over the ROTC proved likewise un- able to handle his assignment, and school morale sagged. George Wilson Picrson, Yale College: An Educa- tional History, pp. 444, 4S9-71. 20. Thresher. February 2, 1918; |Lovett| to President Maclaurin, Au- gust 7, 19 1 8, Presidents' Papers, Lov- ctt. Office Records, World War I; ROTC regulations, ibid.; Abstract of General Order Number 49, ibid.; Graustein affidavit, 19 19, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Department Records; Tape, lanuary 19, 1918. 22. Thresher. February 16, 1918. IT,. Ibid., February is, 191 7, March I, 1917, March 24, 1917, February 2, 1918, April 20, 1918, May 25, 1918. 24. Faculty Minutes, April 25, 1918. 25. Student Association Constitu- tion, Thresher, February 6, 1919, May 25, 1919; File with constitutions for the Women's Council in Dean of Stu- dents, Cameron. 26. "Three Gifts to the Rice Insti- tute, announced by the Trustees at the third Commencement Convoca- tion," Rice Institute Pamphlet 5, no. 3 (July 1918), 153-58. 27. Pierson, Yale College, pp. 444-46, 473-74; Charles F. Thwing, The American Colleges and Univer- sities in the Great War, pp. 56-58; SATC, vertical file, WRC. 28. Thresher. February 6, 1919; McCants to Lovett, August 30, 19 18; McCann to Lovett, August 17, 1918, both in Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, World War I; SATC, vertical file, WRC. 29. Caldwell to Robert E. Vinson, October 24, 19 18; Commissioner Rees to Lovett, November 26, 19 18, both in Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, World War I; Pierson, Yale College, pp. 444-4S, 473-74; SATC, vertical file, WRC. 30. Faculty Minutes, November 19, 1918, December 5, 1918; Committee on Education and Special Training to A. H. Wheeler, lanuary 3, 19 19, Pres- idents' Papers, Lovett, Office Rec- ords, World War I; Thresher, February 6, 1919. 31. Axson to Baker, June 24, 1918, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees; Hawes to Lovett, lanuary 3, 19 19, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Department Records. 32. Board Minutes, December 31, 19 1 8, February 26, 19 19; Wheeler to Cohn, January 11, 1919; Lovett to Cohn, February 27, 1919, both in Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees; Floyd Seward Lear, "History and the Humanities in Our Earlier Years," 5. 33. Caldwell to Lovett, July 16, 1929, July 17, 1932, Lovett, Personal Papers, Unarranged; Board Minutes, July 14, 1919. 34. Newspaper clippings on Hux- ley lectures. Presidents' Papers, Lov- ett, Miscellaneous Correspondence; Houston Chronicle. May 22, 1916; Baker to Lovett, February 15, 1918; D. K. Cason to Baker, February s, 19 1 8, both in Presidents' Papers, Lov- ett, Office Records, Trustees. 35. I?) to Board of Trustees, March II, 1918, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records. 36. Most of the information for this episode comes from the Lyford P. Edwards file in the vertical file, WRC. This file consists of newspaper clippings from several papers with the Houston Post and the Houston Chronicle predominant, dating from May 14, 1 9 19, to June 22, 1919. Other sources are "To the Public" (the trustees' statement; n.d.|. Presi- dents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records; Lyford P. Edwards to Jerome Davis, November 17, 1931, Presidents' Pa- pers, Lovett, Office Records; Resolu- tion on Academic Freedom, Faculty Minutes, May 26, 1919; Muir, "Rice's Future"; Thresher. May 22, 19 1 9. Chapter s '^ '^ 1. Elisha D. Embree and Thomas B. Eaton, The Flying Owls: Rice Insti- tute from the Air 2. Thresher, October 22, 1920, Sep- tember 22, 1922, October 12, 1923; Faculty Minutes, October 6, 1921; Weiser to Lovett, January 7, 1920, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Depart- ment Records; Chandler to Lovett, January 29, 1923, ibid. 3. Faculty Minutes, June 5, 1919, February 12, 1920, March 11, 1920, April 8, 1920, June 4, 1921. 4. Faculty Minutes, May 17, 1923; Thresher, October 12, 1923. 5. Faculty Minutes, November 8, 1923, November 22, 1923; Board Minutes, March 5, 1924. 6. Board Minutes, March 5, 1924; Notice to the Faculty, November 21, 1 1 924], Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Of- fice Records; Faculty Minutes, No- vember 8, 1923, November 22, 1923. 7. Thresher. September 21, 1926; "Suggestions regarding the matter of admissions to the Rice Institute," from S. G. McCann, May 28, 1927, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records; Board Minutes, June 18, 1927. 8. Caldwell to Lovett, December 8, 1927, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Of- fice Records. 9. Caldwell to Lovett, December 19, 1927, ibid. ID. Caldwell to Lovett, May 4, 1928, ibid. 11. Ibid. 12. Hughes to Lovett, June 25, 19 19, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, De- partment Records; Wilson to Lovett, March 26, 1920, ibid.; Lovett to Wil- Notes 225 son, July 17, 1919, April 3, 1920, ibid.; Lovett to various university presidents, April 3, 1920, and replies, ibid.; Board Minutes, July 24, 19 18, May 21, 1919, July 14, 1919, May 22, 1920, July 10, 1920, May 18, 1921. 13. Board Minutes, July 10, 1920, June 27, 1923, July 23, 1924, July i, 1925, June 22, 1926, June 18, 1929. 14. Lovett to Baker, April 2, 1923, Lovett, Personal Papers. IS- Houston Post. February 15, 1924, May 7, 1924. 16. Houston Chronicle. June 9, 1924; clipping with no paper given, dated June 10, 1924, both in Presi- dents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Commencement; Houston Post. De- cember 12, 1924. 17. Thresher, September 21, 1926, November 25, 1926; Houston Post, December 31, 1929, September 30, 1930; Lovett to D. S. Jordan, May 9, 1929, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Of- fice Records, Trustees. The registrar of Stanford replied that all that was necessary to charge tuition was an enabling act of the California legisla- ture. Houston Chronicle, December 30, 1928; Houston Press, April i, 1929; Slaughter to Baker, June 19, 1929, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Of- fice Records, Trustees; Baker to Slaughter, June 20, 1929, ibid.; Board Minutes, May 20, 1929; Will Hogg to George S. Cohen, June 26, 1929, Lov- ett, Personal Papers. 18. Chandler to Lovett, November 28, 1933, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Department Records; McCants to Lovett, September 30, 1924, ibid.; Wilson to Lovett, June 3, 1924, ibid.; C. W Heaps to Lovett, July 5, 1924, ibid.; Lovett to W. S. Parish, June 6, 1924, Lovett, Personal Papers; Fac- ulty Minutes, June 7, 1924; Thresher, October 3, 1924, October 30, 1925, April II, 1924. 19. Wilson to Lovett, February 11, 1925, February 15, 1925, March 2, 1925, Lovett, Personal Papers, Unar- ranged; Lovett to Wilson, March 24, 1925, ibid.; Baker to McCants, Febru- ary 12, 1925, ibid.; Board Minutes, March 20, 1925; Wilson to Lovett, April 10, 1923, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Department Records; W. S. Parish to Lovett, March 23, 1925, ibid.; Chandler to Lovett, May 5, 1926, ibid.; Altenburg to Lovett, Au- gust 16, 1924, ibid. 20. As president of the Institute, Lovett received a salary of Si 2,000 in 1920, which was raised to Si6,ooo in 1 92 1. This was very high for the South and higher than all the col- leges studied by the registrar of Georgetown College in 1925. "Salary Study by the Registrar of George- town College," 1925, in Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records. Board Minutes, January 8, 1926, June 21, 1928. 21. Weiser to Lovett, March 26, 1927, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, De- partment Records; Evans to Lovett, January 14, 1929, Lovett, Personal Papers, Unarranged; Watkm to Lov- ett, May 27, 1929, ibid. 22. Altenburg to Lovett, August 16, 1924, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Department Records; Thresher, April 3, 1925- 23. Houston Chronicle, April 22, 1929, April 29, 1929. Miss Dean was apparently never appointed as the Chronicle recommended. 24. Faculty Minutes, January 15, 1920; James U. Teague, June 29, 1977; John Parish, September 28, 1977. 25. Board Minutes, March 21, 1927; Lovett, speech to Faculty Club, October i, 1931, Lovett, Personal Pa- pers, Speeches; Thresher, January 22, 1920, March 25, 1927, November 24, 1927. 26. Faculty Minutes, March 6, 1919, May 28, 1919, February 24, 1921, May 5, 1921, March 25, 1921, January 12, 1922, February 23, 1922, November 20, 1922, June 10, 1922, May 7, 1925, June 6, 192s, February II, 1926, April 15, 1926, January 13, 1928, February 13, 1928, June 6, 1928; Thresher, May 15, 1925; An- nouncements, 1927, pp. 38-39, 45-48. 27. Faculty Minutes, November 4, 1920, June 2, 1926, June 5, 1926, June 4, 1927; Thresher, April 29, 1927; Announcements, 1926, p. 52-53; 1927, pp. 55-56. 28. Faculty Minutes, April 3, 19 19, November 18, 1920, December 2, 1920, February 24, 192 1; Thresher, February 27, 1919, March 6, 1919, October 29, 1920, January 7, 1921, October 21, 1927; H. K. Humphrey to [?], November i, 1927, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records. 29. Lmdsey, Dyer, Hinckley, and DePrato were in track and field sports, and Underwood and Dyer again were consensus All-Conference in football. Football '77; Southwest Conference Roster and Record Book, pp. 61-69; Basketball 'j8: The 1978 Southwest Conference Roster and Record Book, pp. 24-29; Southwest Conference 1978 Spring Sports Me- dia Guide, pp. 24-36; Watkin to Lovett, December 9, 1923, Presi- dents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records; Thresher. December 14, 1923. There is some evidence that President Lov- ett was about to ask for Arbuckle's resignation, but whether he did is unclear. At any rate, Arbuckle did re- sign. Lovett to Arbuckle, November 28, 1923, marked "Not sent," Presi- dents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records. 30. Watkin to Lovett, January 29, 1924, January 30, 1924, February 3, 1924, February 6, 1924, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records; Watkin to Lovett, February 3, 1924, William Ward Watkin Papers, WRC. 31. McCants to Watkm, February 7, 1924, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records; Board Minutes, Feb- ruary 12, 1924, April 2, 1924; April 25, 1924- 226 Notes 32. Thresher, February 19, 1924, March 28, 1924, April 11, 1924, April 18, 1924, May ^, 1924, May 10, 1924, September 18, 1924; Hubert E. Bray, June 18, 1976; Gaylord and Louise Johnson, February 20, 1978; Jack Ag- ness, "All About the Heisman," Houston Post. December 4, 1977. 33. Alex C. Humphreys to Palmer E. Pierce, lune 18, 1924; Pierce to Heisman, July 7, 1924; Watkin to Heisman, July 11, 1924; Heisman to Watkin, July 15, 1924, July 16, 1924; Pierce to Watkin, July 16, 1924; Humphreys to Watkin, luly 17, 1924; Heisman to Lovett, July 18, 1924; Watkin to Frank W. Nicholson, No- vember 4, 1924, all in Presidents' Pa- pers, Lovett, Office Records. 34. Thresher. April 3, 1925, April 10, 1925, May I, 1925, October 9, 1925. Heisman also did not like the idea of female cheerleaders; Thresher. November 7, 1924. East Hall, before Heisman appropriated it, had been the place for seniors and "big men on campus" to live. Dean G. Holmes Richter, who was one of the tutors for the athletes, remarked that he did not know how Heisman managed to get hold of that building. G. Holmes Richter, July 5, 1977. 35. Gaylord and Louise Johnson, February 20, 1978. 36. Thresher. January 21, 1927; Football '77, p. 64. 37. Heisman Terms, November 21, 1927, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Of- fice Records; Lovett to Heisman, De- cember I, 1927, ibid.; Heisman to Lovett, December 2, 1927, ibid.; Board Minutes, December g, 1927; Thresher. December 9, 1927; Gaylord and Louise Johnson, February 20, 1978. 38. Watkin to Baker, December 5, 1927, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Of- fice Records. 39. Baker to Lamar Fleming, Jr., February 20, 1929, Presidents' Pa- pers, Lovett, Office Records, Trust- ees; "Note on the Proposed Course in Physical Education," from H. A. Wil- son, December 4, I92|8?|, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records. 40. Faculty Minutes, December 1 3, 1928. 41. Board Minutes, February 27, 1929; Fleming to Baker, February i s, 1929, March 6, 1929, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees. 42. Announcements. 1930, pp. 95-99; Watkin to Lovett, January 16, 1929, January 17, 1929, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Department Records. 43. Harris Masterson, Jr., to Lovett, September 30, 192 1, Autry-Master- son, Lovett Papers, WRC; Thresher. September 30, 1921, October 23, 1947; Autry House, vertical file, WRC. 44. Henry A. Tillett, December 23, 1975; Programs for the Rice Institute Engineering Show, WRC; Thresher. May 13, 1920, February 4, 1921, April 23, 1926. 4v Thresher. November s, 1920, November 19, 1920, October 6, 1922, November 7, 1930, May 6, 1921, May 12, 1922, February 8, 1924; Cam- panile. 1922. The pageant for the first May Fete presented the poem from the opening, "Texas, A Demo- cratic Ode." Article on Archi-Arts from Pencil Points (March 1922I, in Watkin Papers; Thresher. November II, 1921, October 19, 1923. 46. Thresher. October 22, 1920, April 8, 1921, November 3, 1922, September 25, 1925, October 16, 192s, October 23, 1925; Andrew For- est Muir, "Rice's Future Mapped in Early 1900s." 47. Thresher. January 26, 1923, Oc- tober 19, 1923, November 2, 1923, September 18, 1924, February is, 1924, September 26, 1924, October 17, 1924, October 24, 1924, October 31, 1924, November 27, 1924, Febru- ary 27, 1925- 48. Thresher. March 27, 19 19; Houston Chronicle. March 29, 1929. 49. Constitution of the Student Association, 1922, in Dean of Stu- dents File, Cameron; Thresher. Janu- ary 13, 1922, March 10, 1922. so. Caldwell to Lovett, May 6, 1922, Faculty Minutes, Early Com- mittee Lists, December 2, 1920, June S, 1922; Thresher. March 2, 1962; Fred J. Stancliff, September 28, 1977; "Statement read to the students of Rice at a called meeting held in the Physics Amphitheatre at twelve- fifteen O'clock, Thursday, June Eighth," June 8, 1922, Presidents' Pa- pers, Lovett, Office Records. The clubs that were abolished can be seen in the Campanile. 1922. They were the Tattlers, Blue Moon, Hoots, Sigma Beta, Idlers, Alpha Rho, Samu- rai, and the Ku Klux Klan. The Toil- ers had disbanded themselves in May "in the interest of Rice Institute." Thresher. May 26, 1922. 5 1. "Statement read to the stu- dents," June 8, 1922, Presidents' Pa- pers, Lovett, Office Records. 52. Fred J. Stancliff, oral communi- cation, March 28, 1979. 53. Thresher. September 15, 1922. 54. Thresher. September 15, 1922, October 13, 1922, October 20, 1922, November 28, 1930; Faculty Min- utes, October 19, 1922, January 18, 1923. 55. Thresher. September 21, 1923, September 28, 1923, February 23, 1924, January 22, 1926, April 16, 1926, March 25, 1927, April 15, 1927; Faculty Minutes, November 8, 1924. 56. Board Minutes, October 5, 1927; Thresher. May 18, 1928, Octo- ber 12, 1928, November 9, 1928, Jan- uary II, 1929, November 8, 1929, November 28, 1930. 57. Thresher. November 2s, 1920, December 3, 1920, November 22, 1929- 58. Ella Lonn to Lovett, April 7, 1922; Pamphlet, AAUW, 192s; Mary Notes 227 S. Torrens, Report of AAUW Con- ference, April 1926; Lonn to Lovett, March 8, 1927; Lovett to Mrs. Leata Mercer, April 14, i9}0; Mary H. Smith to Edwina Wiess, November 4, 1936; Wheeler to Wiess, November 30, 1936; Wheeler to Mrs. Don Kim- mel, November 14, 1945, all in Presi- dents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records. 59. Oscar M. Voorhees to Lovett, December 30, 1921, September 26, 1922, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Of- fice Records; John J. McGill to Lov- ett, May 23, 1927, ibid.; Thresher. October 5, 1928, January 25, 1929, March i, 1929, March 8, 1929, March 21, 1930. Chapter 6 JA ^^3^ ' 1. Outline of a System of Ac- counts, Budgets, and Reports for the Board of Trustees, May 30, 1947, Budget File, Comptroller's Office. 2. Baker to Lovett, March 26, 1932, Lovett, Personal Papers, Unarranged; Cohn to Baker, March 25, 1932, ibid.; Board Minutes, May 25, 1932. 3. Board Minutes, June 24, 193 1, June 2, 1932. 4. Board Minutes, June 5, 1932, June 8, 1932; Wilson to Lovett, April 4, 1932, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Department Records; Baker to Lov- ett, June 6, 1932, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees. 5. Board Minutes, June 29, 1932. 6. Wilson to Lovett, June 9, 1932, Lovett, Personal Papers, Unarranged; Board Minutes, June 29, 1932. 7. Board Minutes, June i, 1932, August 24, 1932; Report on William M. Rice Institute for the Advance- ment of Literature, Science and Art, prepared for the Board of Trustees by the Survey Committee, May 7, 1945, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees (cited hereafter as Survey Committee Report). 8. Board Minutes, April 11, 1933; Houston Chronicle. April 12, 1933, April 13, 1933, September 8, 1933; Thresher. April 14, 1933; Baker to Trustees, April 3, 1933, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records. Board v/as provided for the students at cost, and the price fluctuated from month to month. The initial cost v^'as $1.05 in 1931; it dropped to 94(1: in 1933, rose to 981 in 1934, and to $1.00 in 1936. Rooms had previously cost from $78 to $115 in 1932, depending on the size of the room and the num- ber of roommates. The new plan charged everyone a flat rate of $90. Announcements, 1931, 1932, 1933, 1934, 1935, 1936- 9. Baker to Lovett, February 24, 1933, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Of- fice Records; Board Minutes, May 26, 1933- ID. Houston Chronicle, December 3, 1934, December 6, 1934, Decem- ber 7, 1934, July 28, 1938, July 29, 1938; Thresher. December 7, 1934; Board Minutes, May 18, 1939, De- cember 19, 1934. 1 1. Baker to Lovett, June 4, 1936, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees; Weiser to Lovett, August 9, 1936, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Department Records; Board Minutes, June 3, 1936; Faculty Min- utes, June 6, 1936. 12. Houston Chronicle, December 23, 1936, January 8, 1937. 13. Board Minutes, December 24, 1936; Houston Chronicle, December 23, 1936, January 8, 1937; Thresher, September 15, 1938; Baker to Lovett, October 19, 1938, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees. 14. Houston Chronicle, July 14, 1933, July 30, 1933, September 11, 1933, October 11, 1931; Thresher. March 6, 1931, March 20, 1931; Sarah Lane, August 10, 1976. 15. Hubert E. Bray, June 18, 1976; Wilson to Lovett, June 9, 1932, Lov- ett, Personal Papers, Unarranged. 16. J. D. Thomas, July 13, 1977; Carroll Camden, September 20, 1977; Evans to Lovett, October 12, 1933, Presidents' Papers, Department Records; Board Minutes, October 18, 193 3; Houston Chronicle, October 27, 1933- 17. Watkin to F. Browne, February I, 1934, Watkin Papers; Survey Com- mittee Report, March 8, 1945, Presi- dents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees; Thresher. March i, 1935; Faculty Minutes, April 15, 1935- 18. Board Minutes, April 20, 1938, August 4, 1905, February 25, 1942; Lovett to Nicholas Murray Butler, October 29, 1935, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees. 19. Scott to Lovett, December 14, 1933/ Presidents' Papers, Lovett, De- partment Records; Weiser to Lovett, July 28, 1934, ibid.; Houston Chroni- cle, June 4, 1933, November 28, 1937. 20. Thresher, January 17, 1936; Houston Chronicle, March 11, 1932; A. C. Lederer to Rice University His- torical Commission, May 10, 1978, in possession of the commission; Eula Goss Wintermann, July 24, 1978. 21. Baker to Lovett, April 26, 19387" Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees; Lawrence Sochat to Baker, April 22, 1938, ibid.; H. Meyer to Editor, Houston Press, n.d., clipping, ibid.; Lovett to Baker, June 20, 1938, ibid.; Thresher. April 29, 1938. 22. Baker to James W. Rockwell, October 6, 1937, in Board Minutes, October 13, 1927; Thresher January 22, 1937; Andre Bourgeois, Novem- ber 28, 1977. 23. Thresher. October 22, 1937. 24. Board Minutes, May 24, 1922, November 28, 1928, May 28, 1930. 25. Thresher. October 28, 1932, November 4, 1932; Houston Chroni- cle. November 4, 1932, November 10, 1932, March 20, 1934. 26. Thresher November 28, 1930, 228 Notes September is, 1932, Oetober 7, lyu, September 13, 1934, September 19, 1940, September 27, 1940, Oetober 4, 1940, October 17, 1940, October 10, 1941, October 2, 1942; Houston Chronicle, September 14, 1933, Sep- tember 27, 19??, October 24, 19^3, September 11, 1934, September 19, 1935, September 24, 19U'; news- paper clippmgs with no papers named, dated September 16, 1938, October i, 1938, September 14, 1939, September 19, 1940, September 24, 1940, Oetober 5, 1940, September 18, 1941, September 27, 1941, from a collection of newspaper clippings made by Dr. Floyd S. Lear and given to the Woodson Research Center by the Rice University Historical Com- mission, cited hereafter as Lear clippings. 27. Thresher, April 11, 1930, Oeto- ber 28, 1938; Pound to Lovett, April 9, 1938, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Department Records. 28. Thresher, March 17, i933, March 6, 1936, March 13, 193''^; Baker to Lovett, March 30, 1933, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records; Houston Chronicle, April 28, 1933, May 4, 1933, May 7, I933; Lear clippings, March 7, 1940. 29. Houston Chronicle, October 27; 1933/ October 28, 1933, October 29/ 1933/ October 30, 1933, Novem- ber 9, 1933, November 10, 1933, No- vember 27, 1933, November 28, 1933; Houston Post, November 8, 1933; Thresher, November 3, 1933, November 10, 1933, November 24, 1933; 1. D. Thomas, luly 13, 1977- 30. Cooperative store indenture in Board Minutes, May 31, 1938; Hans- zen to A. H. Fulbnght, August 26, 1947, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records; Fulbright to Hans- zcn, September 2, 1947, ibid.; Thresher, May ii, 1937, May 23, 1937/ October 4, 1938, February 17, 1939. 31. Andrew Forest Muir, "Rice's Future Mapped in Early 1900s"; Thresher, April 24, 193ft; Lear clip- pings. May 28, 1939. 32. Houston Chronicle, February 10, 1933, February 12, 1933, Novem- ber 30, 1933, December 9, 1933, 15e- cember 10, 1933; Houston Post. February 10, 1933, February 11, 1933; Thresher, February 17, 1933, December 15, 1933. 33. Gaylord and Louise Johnson, February 20, 1978; Clark Ncalon, February 2, 1978. 34. Clark Nealon, February 2, 1978. 35. Board Minutes, October s, 1938; Clark Nealon, February 2, 1978; Football '71: Southwest Con- ference Roster and Record Book, p. 14. 36. Football 'jj, pp. 60-6S; South- west Conference 1978 Spring Sports Media Guide, pp. 24-36, 73-74, 84; Basketball '78: The 1978 Southwest Conference Roster and Record Book. pp. 26-29, 76-77; Houston Chroni- cle, March 5, 1934, March 6, 1940, March 20, 1934, April 8, 1934, Au- gust 21, 1934. 37. Board Minutes, December is, 19^7, lanuary 26, 1938, March 30, 1938; Clark Nealon, February 2, 1978; Houston Chronicle, April 27, 1938- 38. Houston Post, December is, 1939; Thresher. January 12, 1940; Football '77. PP- 60-65. 39. Thresher, February 15, i935, February 23, 1935, March 1936. 40. Thresher. March 3, 1939, Sep- tember 14, 1939, September 29, 1939/ October 14, 1941; Houston Chronicle, October '7' '''^'- . Ciy^ -V chapter 7 '■'iU ^^'^^ I. Naval ROTC, vertical file, WRC; Thresher, September 18, 1941. December 12, 1941, December 20, 1941. It appears that the administra- tion had applied for an Army ROTC unit in 1940. Lovett said that the unit had been approved by the War Department, but it was never estab- lished before the war. Thresher. Sep- tember 27/ 1940. 2. The provision for dental, law, and medical students remained in effect only for the war years. Faculty Minutes, February s, 1942; Board Minutes, February 4, 1942. 3. L. E. Denfeld to Lovett, March II, 1943, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, World War II; "Man- ual for the Operation of a Navy V-12 Unit," Navy V-12 Bulletin, no. 22 (lune 18, 1943), ibid.; Board Minutes, March 17, 1943; Naval ROTC, verti- cal file, WRC. 4. Thresher, April 9, 1943; L. E. Denfeld to Lovett, March 11, 1943, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, World War II; Board Min- utes, April 7, 1943; "The Navy Col- lege Training Program — V-12, Curricula Schedules," Presidents' Pa- pers, Lovett, Office Records, Navy. 5. Thresher, July 8, 1943, August 19, 1943, September 9, 1943, April 9, 1943; "The Navy College Training Program — V-12, Curricula Sched- ules," Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Of- fice Records, Navy; "V-12 and NROTC Routine," ibid.; Campanile. 1944, vols. I and 2; Naval ROTC, vertical file, WRC; George Holmes Riehter, July 5, i977; Houston Chronicle, June 25, 1943. 6. Andrew Forest Muir, "Rice's Fu- ture Mapped in Early 1900s"; Board Minutes, March 3, 1943; Lovett to Meyer, February 25, 1943, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Department Records; Thresher. April 20, 1944. 7. Announcements, 1947, pp. 129-35; I9S2, pp. 187-90; Report to the President from the Registrar, 1946, 1947, Registrar's Office Files. 8. Board Minutes, April 16, 1941; Houston Post, November 23, 1940, Notes 229 November 24, 1940; Houston Chron- icle, November 23, 1940. 9. Board Minutes, April 23, 1941. 10. Board Minutes, May 14, 1941; Houston Post. May 18, 1941, May 20, 1941; Houston Chronicle. May 18, 1941, May 20, 1941. 11. Board Minutes, August 13, 1941, October 8, 1941, May 6, 1942; Thresher, September 18, 1941; Hous- ton Chronicle. August 14, 1942, (une 2, 1942. 12. Houston Chronicle, December 28, 1941, October 15, 1941. 13. Board Minutes, August 6, 1941, November 9, 1938, December 7, 1938. 14. Board Minutes, January 9, 1940, March 20, 1940; William A. Kirkland, |uly 19, 1977. 15. Board Minutes, February 11, 1942, May 6, 1942, February i, 195 1. 16. Charter of the William M. Rice Institute for the Advancement of Lit- erature. Science and Art. WRC. 17. Board Minutes, October 7, 1942, November 9, 1942, November 18, 1942, November 28, 1942, De- cember 18, 1942; Auditor's Report as of June 30, 1943, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Fiscal Records; H. Malcolm Lovett, June 27, 1977; Thresher, De- cember 4, 1942; Houston Chronicle. November 24, 1942, December 18, 1942, December 19, 1942, January i, 1943, January 16, 1944, April 5, 1944. 18. Board Minutes, July 6, 1944, September 17, 1948; Houston Chron- icle. March 22, 1935, July 6, 1944; Thresher, December 9, 1955- 19. Carl M. Knapp to Board of Trustees, May 30, 1944, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records; Lov- ett to Brown, July 20, 1944, Presi- dents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees. 20. Board Minutes, February 28, 1945; Lovett speech on the naming of Wiess Hall, March 25, 1950, Lov- ett, Personal Papers, Speeches. 21. Survey Committee Report, May 7, 1945, 22. Ibid.; "Rice Looks Forward," speech by H. C. Wiess, in Wiess to Scott, November 8, 1945, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees. 23. Board Minutes, July 30, 1945. 24. Board Minutes, October 11, 1945; "Rice Looks Forward," speech by Wiess, in Wiess to Scott, Novem- ber 8, 1945, Presidents' Papers, Lov- ett, Office Records, Trustees. 25. Board Minutes, April 8, 1942; Lovett to W M. Rice, Jr., November 19, 1942, Lovett, Personal Papers, Correspondence; Lovett to Cleve- land, February 22, 1944, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trust- ees; Cleveland to Lovett, June 14, 1944, ibid.; Wiess to W K. Lewis, March 31, 1945, ibid. 26. Survey Committee Report, May 7, 1945- 27. Remarks of J. T. Scott, April 10, 1945, in Faculty Minutes, April 14, 194.S. 28. Faculty Minutes, April 14, 1945; Preliminary report submitted to the Trustees of the Rice Institute by the Committee selected by the Faculty for consultation on the choice of a new President, April 25, 1945, Treasurer's Office Correspon- dence, Retirement of Dr. Lovett and Selection of a new President, Trea- surer's Office; George Fiolmes Rich- ter, July 5, 1977, March 9, 1978. 29. Wiess left notes of his meetings and phone calls during his travels, and without these notes it would have been very difficult to trace the hiring process. Very little correspon- dence with the candidates or their supporters survives. Notes and other enclosures from Wiess are with Weiss to Members of the Board, June 9, 1945, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees; Wiess to Scott, June 12, 1945, ibid.; Wiess to Members of the Board, June 15, 1945, ibid.; Wiess to Members of the Board, July 1 3, 1945, ibid.; Wiess to Mem- bers of the Board, November 20, 1945, ibid. Other sources for this sec- tion are Faculty Minutes, April 14, 1945; Board Minutes, April 11, 1945, January 4, 1946; McKillop, Richter, and Ryon to Trustees, April 25, 1945, Treasurer's Office Correspondence, Retirement of Dr. Lovett and Selec- tion of a new President; Wiess to W K. Lewis, March 31, 1945, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trust- ees; George Holmes Richter, July 5, 1977, March 9, 1978. 30. Board Minutes, January 4, 1946; Press Release, January 4, 1946, Treasurer's Office Correspondence, Retirement of Dr. Lovett and Selec- tion of a new President; H. Malcolm Lovett, May 19, 1976, June 27, 1977, March 29, 1978; William A. Kirk- land, July 19, 1977. 31. Board Minutes, June 27, 1946, May 21, 1947, July 28, 1947; Hans- zen to Trustees, August 6, 1947, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records, Board Minutes; Hanszen to Trustees, August 26, 1947, ibid.; Re- port of Committee on the System of Accounts, Budgets and Reports, June 2, 1947, ibid.; Report of Committee on the System of Accounts, Budgets, and Reports, May 30, 1947, Outline of System, Budget File, Comptroller's Office; Kirkland to Samuel L. Fuller, March 19, 1947, in possession of the Rice University Historical Commis- sion; Shamblin to Trustees, May 4, 1964, ibid.; Houston Chronicle. No- vember 13, 1946, March 5, 1947; Thresher. November 7, 1946, March 6, 1947. 32. Sketches from American Men of Science and Who's Who in Amer- ica in Wiess to Scott, June 12, 1945, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records, Trustees; Thresher. April 10, 1947. 33. Thresher, April 10, 1947. 34. Muir, "Rice's Future"; Board Minutes, December 4, 1947. 230 Notes 35. Muir, "Rice's Future"; Hous- ton's address to the faculty, March i6, 1946, in Faculty Minutes, March 16, 1946. 36. Houston's address to the fac- ulty, March 16, 1946, in Faculty Min- utes, March 16, 1946. 37. Faculty Minutes, March 16, 1946. 38. The assistants to the president were fames C. Morehead, William H. Masterson, John E. Parish, Thad Marsh, and Sanford W. Higgin- botham. Thresher. April 10, i947; James C. Morehead, April 6, 1978; William H. Masterson, October 11, 1977; George Holmes Richter, July s, 1977, March 9, 1978. 39. Faculty Mmutes, April 15, 1946, June 28, 1946, October 15, 1946, November 6, 1946, April 23, 1947, April 18, 1949; Mmutes for the Committee on Examinations and Standing, May s. 1948, Undergradu- ate Dean's Office; Houston Chroni- cle, December 2, 1946, August 14, 1947; Announcements. 1946, pp. 51-60, 106- 7, 109-16, 131-33; 1947, pp. 19-30, 44-52; 1949, pp. 57-67; 1950, pp. 61-74; George Holmes Richter, July 5, 1977, March 9, 1978. 40. Faculty Minutes, November 6, 1946; Thresher. December 5, 1946; Announcements, 1940, pp. 37-42; 1947, pp. 19-27. 41. Announcements. 1947, pp. 26-27. 42. Board Minutes, April 4, 1946, May 8, 1946, May 29, 1946, March 6, 1947, October 30, 1947; Thresher. October 3, 1946; Houston Chronicle, September 18, 1947, September 12, 1948. 43. Thresher. March 22, 1947, May 22, 1947; Board Minutes, April 4, 1946; Houston Chronicle. November 21, 1946. 44. Thresher. October 9, 1947; Co- operative Committee on Library Buildings, Report, April 27-28, 1945, Presidents' Papers, Lovett, Office Records; John E. Burchard to Trust- ees, January i, 1946, ibid.; Heaps to Burchard, January 7, 1946, ibid. 45. Board Mmutes, March 11, 1946, May 6, 1946, October 30, 1947, December 3, 1947, December 4, 1947; Hanszen to Trustees, April 29, 1947, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records, Board Minutes; Houston Chronicle. November 8, 1947, June 29, 1946. 46. Thresher. December 18, 1947; Houston Chronicle, December 22, 1947, November 21, 1948, August 15, 1949, October 30, 1949. 47. Board Minutes, October 30, 1947; Houston Chronicle. March 12, 1946. 48. Program for the opening of Ab- ercrombie Laboratory, November 20, 1948, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records, Abercrombie; McVey to Rather, November 13, 1948, ibid.; Maurice J. Sullivan to Hanszen, April 7, 1947, ibid.; Thresher. February 12, 1949, McVey also did the sculptures for the San Jacmto Monument. 49. The Houstons had been pro- vided a house to live in until the house on campus was completed. Houston Chronicle, July 20, 1949; Thresher, February 9, 1949, March 24, 1950; Announcements. 1950, pp. 7-8, 42; 1952, pp. 7-8, 44-4S- 50. Burchard to Wiess, October 9, 1947, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records, Stadium; Burchard to Wiess, November 6, 1947, ibid.; Houston Chronicle. December 2, 1948-February 12, 1949, May 6, 1949, February 15 -July 12, 1949, No- vember 15-18, 1949, November 20, 1949, November 23-December 4, 1949; Board Minutes, January 9, 1948, November 17, I949, December 30, 1949. 51. Board Mmutes, January 9, 1948, November 17, 1949, December 30, 1949, October 25, 195 1; Jess Neely, October 10, 1977; Thresher. January 13, 1950, September 15, 1950; Houston Chronicle, November 20, 1949, November 23, 1949, De- cember 4, 1949, December 30, 1949, April 5, 1950, October 24, 1951. 52. Jess Neely, October 10, 1977; Houston Chronicle, August 31, 1949, November 5, 1949, December 3, 1950, November 5, 195O; Announce- ments, 1950, pp. 7-8. 53. Thresher, January 16, 1954, February 27, 1942, May 15, 1942, Oc- tober 16, 1942, December 18, 1942, February 19, 1943, November 18, 1943, November 26, 1943, January 4, 1945, May 3, 1945, May 23, 194S; Campanile, 1944. 54. Thresher. May 17, 1945. 55. Thresher. September 20, 1945. 56. Annoimcements. 1941, pp. 52-55; 1948, pp. 64-67; Houston Chronicle. February 29, 1948; Report to the President from the Registrar |i948-49:|. Registrar's Office. 57. Report to the Faculty from the Committee on the Coordination of Freshmen (also called Committee on the Freshman Course), in Faculty Minutes, June i, 1950; Minutes, Committee on the Freshman Course, November 15, 1948, January 17, 1949, January 20, 1949, WRC. 58. Mmutes, Committee on the Freshman Course, March 6, 1950, April 8, 1950, April 17, 1950; Com- mittee report in Faculty Minutes, June I, 1950; Faculty Minutes, April II, 1950; G. Williams to Committee on Examinations and Standing, marked received March 30, 1950, with Minutes of the Committee on Examinations and Standing, April 10, 1950, Undergraduate Dean's Office; Committee on Examinations and Standing to Committee on the Fresh- man Course, April 10, 1950, ibid.; Thresher. May 18, 1949. 59. Faculty Minutes, February 13, 1948, April 23, 1947; Thresher. March 25, 1948, April 29, 1948, March 25, 1948. Notes 2.31 60. Thresher. October 31, 1946, February 13, 1947, March 6, 1947, December 11, 1948, December 9, 1949; Faculty Minutes, November II, 1948. 61. Thresher. May 2, 1946. 62. Thresher. April 17, 1947, Febru- ary 17, 1950, May 12, 1950; Nancy Moore Eubank, February 22, 1978; Clara Mohr Kotch, February 10, 1978; Paula Meredith Mosle, Septem- ber 7, 1978. 63. Thresher, April 17, 1947, Febru- ary 17, 1950, May 12, 195O; Paula Meredith Mosle, September 7, 1978; Clara Mohr Kotch, February 10, 1978. 64. Thresher, September 20, 194s, October 3, 1946, October 24, 1946. 65. Thresher, October 2, 1947. 66. Thresher, September 22, 1948, September 25, 1948, October 2, 1948, October 9, 1948, April 30, 1949, May 7, 1949, May 14, 1949, September 30, 1949, October 7, 1949, lanuary 13, 1956; Houston Chronicle, September 30, 1949, October 26, 1949, October 30, 1949, March 15, 1950, March 16, 1950, March 17, 1950; Raymond L. Lankford, January 30, 1978. 67. Jess Neely October 10, 1977; Virgil C. Eikenberg, February 9, 1978; Football '77' Southwest Con- ference Roster and Record Book, pp. 62-69. 68. Houston Chronicle. October 21, 1948, October 24, 1948; Jess Neely, October 10, 1977. 69. Basketball '78: The 1978 Southwest Conference Roster and Record Book, pp. 24-29, 68-70; Southwest Conference 1978 Spring Sports Media Guide, pp. 24-36, 73-74- 70. The Book of the Opening, 1:177. Chapter 8 ^_^^ / ^b'^ * 1. Thresher, September 22, 1950; Houston Chronicle, February 26, 1950, December 31, 1950; Houston Post, February 26, 1950. 2. Board Minutes, May 2, 1951, May 5, 1954, September 30, 1959, April 22, 1953. 3. Hanszen to Board of Trustees, September 5, 1947, Presidents' Pa- pers, Houston, Office Records. 4. Fleming to Trustees, September 15, 1948, Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1961-1963; William A. Kirkland, July 19, 1977. 5. Board Minutes, August 5, 1949, September 23, 1949, May 27, 1953; Houston Chronicle. September 8, 1949; William A. Kirkland, July 19, 1977; James U. Teague, June 29, 1977; Herbert Allen, September 27, 1977- 6. The donor's stipulation that the music school be housed m a building in the style of early colonial Virgin- ian architecture was a small source of worry but was somehow finally settled. Board Minutes, November 24, 1950, February i, 195 i, March 8, 1951, May 2, 1951, January 24, 1952, December i, 1954, April 22, 1953; Houston Chronicle, September 18, 1950, December 5, 1950, January 6, 1952, June I, 1958; Houston Post, December 5, 1950, June 6, 1962. 7. Board Minutes, February 4, 1953, September 23, 1953, May 5, 1954; Announcements, 1956, p. 4. The pledge is now $15,000, payable over a period of ten years. 8. Board Minutes, February 23, 1955; Faculty Minutes, November 22, 1955; The President's Discre- tionary Research Fund, August 24, i960. Presidents' Papers, Houston, Departments. 9. Houston Chronicle, September 5, 1950, February 8, 1953, March 22, 1954, May 31, 1956, March 30, 1957, June 8, 1956, November 18, 1958, January 6, 1959, April 24, 1959, May 31, 1959; June 4, 1959; Houston Post. May 12, 1957; Announcements, 1959, pp. 38-43; i960, pp. 62-66. 10. Board Minutes, July 25, 1956; Houston to Robert M. Hutchins, Feb- ruary 28, 1951, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records; Ford Foun- dation College Grants Advisory Committee Questionnaire, ibid.; Houston to Joseph M. McDaniel, Jr., June 24, 1957, ibid.; Survey of Sal- aries, ibid.; Thresher, December 16, 1955; Houston Chronicle, June 24, 1957- 11. Board Minutes, August 28, 1950; Thresher, September 15, 1950, September 18, 1952, September 16, 1955, April 6, 195 1. 12. Thresher, May 15, 1953, May 10, 1957; Faculty Minutes, October 30, 195 3- 13. Board Minutes, June 15, 1953, June 24, 1953; Houston to Croneis, June 18, 1953, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Departments; George Holmes Richter, March 9, 1978; Wil- liam H. Masterson, October 11, 1977- 14. Faculty Minutes, May 30, 195 3; Michael V. McEnany, Septem- ber I, 1977. 15. Faculty Minutes, April 21, 1955- 16. Board Minutes, May 7, 1958, July 30, 1958; Thresher, September 11, 1958; Houston Post, February 12, 1960; Houston Chronicle, February 12, i960. 17. Houston Post, December 21, 195 1; Houston Chronicle. January 4, 195 1, October 9, 1954; William H. Masterson to T M. Greene, April 21, 1954, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records; Board Minutes, Sep- tember 29, 1954. 18. Board Minutes, June 23, 1959; Thresher. September 19, 1959; Hous- ton Chronicle. July 26, 1959; Hous- ton to Griffis, May 8, 1959, Presi- dents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 232 Notes 1961-1963; Faculty Minutes, Octo- ber 19, 1959. ig. Announcements. 19^6, p. 92; Houston Post. luly is, 19s i, April 13, 1956, February 10, i9S7; Houston Chronicle, October 14, 1951, Decem- ber 12, 1954, August 28, 195s, Sep- tember 25, I9S6, February 19, I9S7, April 4, 1958, |une 3, 1960; Thresher. February 27, 1953; Tom Bonner, ver- tical file, WRC; Biology Building, vertical file, WRC; Geology Building, vertical file, WRC. 20. Board Minutes, March 2s, 1953, May 5, 1954, May 26, 19S4, December is, i949, lunc 29, 19s S, July 26, I9SS; Nielsen and McBride to Houston, (August I9S5'1' Presi- dents' Papers, Houston, Office Rec- ords; Press release, ibid.; Minutes ot meeting of an informal committee on the Student Religious Center, July 13, 1955, ibid.; Houston Post. No- vember I, 1955. 21. Board Minutes, (une 29, 1955, September 28, 1955; McBride to Por- ter Butts, July 27, 1954, November 8, 19 54, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records; Minutes of informal committee on Student Religious Center, July 13, 19s S, ibid.; Houston Post. November i, 1955, October 26, 1958, February 29, 1956; Thresher. November 4, 19SS; Houston Chroni- cle. November 4, 1955, October 26, 1958. 22. Thresher. November 6, 1963. 23. Houston Chronicle. September I, 1957; Nancy Moore Eubank, Feb- ruary 22, 1978; George R. Brown, July 14, 1977. 24. Guy T. McBride, October 24, 1977; Thresher. May 28, 1962; Com- mittee on Student Housing Minutes, November 22, 19S4, Committee on Student Housing, vertical file, WRC; Committee on Student Housing, "New Dimensions in Student Life, Reports of the Committee on Stu- dent Housing," September i, 1956, bound volume of reports in Fondren Library, Rice University, Houston, Texas, 1-5. The Committee on Stu- dent Housing will be cited hereafter as CSH. 2s. Guy T McBride, October 24, 1977; "New Dimensions," s-<'i- 26. Board Minutes, May 27, 19s 3, June 24, 19s 3; Guy T. McBride, Oc- tober 24, 1977; "New Dimensions," i-iS. 27. The Book of the Opening. i: 164-70. 28. Board Minutes, September 29, 1954, August 25, 1954. 29. "New Dimensions," 17-22; Faculty Minutes, October 26, 1954; Guy T McBride, October 24, 1977; Clara Mohr Kotch, February 10, 1978; Board Minutes, March 30, 19s S; Houston to A. Whitney Gris- wold, February 15, 19s S, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records; Houston to L. A. DuBridge, February IS, 1955, ibid. 30. Report to the faculty by the CSH, Faculty Minutes, April 21, 1955- 31. CSH Minutes, November 22, I9S4, November 29, 1954; "New Di- mensions," 22-25; Faculty Minutes, April 21, 1955. 32. "New Dimensions," 32; Paula Meredith Mosle, September 7, 1978. 33. "New Dimensions," 26-27; Faculty Minutes, April 21, 1955; CSH Minutes, February 7, 1955, April I, 1955. 34. "New Dimensions," 14, 27-28, 5 3-55- 35. "New Dimensions," 14, 27-28, 54-S7. 36. "New Dimensions," 13-14, 24-25, 45-48; CSH Minutes, No- vember 29, 1954, January 10, 1955, January 17, 1955. 37. "New Dimensions," 37-41. 38. "New Dimensions," 67-76. 39. After Mrs. Dunn retired, Daisy Coe became housemother along with Mrs. Morrow. Paula Meredith Mosle, September 7, 1978; Dowden and McBride to Houston, May 2, 1951, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records; Meredith to Houston, May 22, 1957, ibid.; Houston Chronicle. July 12, 1948, May 20, 195 1; Board Minutes, March 28, 1956, July 25, 1956; Thresher. September 28, 1951; Clara Mohr Kotch, February 10, 1978. 40. "New Dimensions," 28-33; CSH Minutes, February 9, 1955, April I, 1955, May 6, 1955, May 16, 19s 5; Paula Meredith Mosle, Septem- ber 7, 1978; Board Minutes, June 29, 1 9 S 5 . 41. Board Minutes, November 30, 1955, June 27, I95''''/ July 25, 1956; Houston Chronicle. November 17, 1955; CSH Minutes, February 9, 195 5; McBride to Houston, February 15, 195s, Presidents' Papers, Hous- ton, Office Records; Will Rice Col- lege, vertical file, WRC. 42. Calvin M. Class, January 20, 1978; James Street Fulton, September 30, 1977; William H. Masterson, Oc- tober II, 1977; Paula Meredith Mo- sle, September 7, 1978; Guy T. McBride, October 24, 1977- 43. Thresher, March 13, 196^,. 44. Paula Meredith Mosle, Septem- ber 7, 1978; William H. Masterson, October 11, 1977; James Street Fulton, September 30, 1977; James R. Sims, January 18, 1978; Calvin M. Class, January 20, 1978; Respon- sibilities and Interrelations of the College Masters, the Dean of Women, and the Dean of Students, April II, 1963, Presidents' Papers, Pitzcr, On Campus, 1961-1963; Thresher. March 13, 1963. 45. Thresher. April 21, 1961. 46. Thresher. April 21, i9''ii, March 13, 1963; Statement on Trends in the Colleges from Higgin- botham, January 24, 1962, Presi- dents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1 961 -1963; Paul Burka, September 12, 1978; James B. Giles, September 6, 1978; James Street Fulton, Scptem- Notes 233 ber 30, 1977- 47. William H. Masterson, October II, 1977; James Street Fulton, Sep- tember 30, 1977; Calvin M. Class, January 20, 1978; James R. Sims, Jan- uary 18, 1978; Thresher, April 21, 1961, March 13, 1963. 48. Houston Post. October 10, 1956; Thresher, October 8, 1952, March 4, 1955, October 7, 1955, Oc- tober 14, 1955, February 24, 1956, February 17, 1956, October 12, 1956, November 9, 1956, February 8, 1957, October 25, 1957, February 22, 1957; Houston Chronicle, October 10, 1956, November 4, 1956; McBride to Jack Holland, February 5, 1957, Presi- dents' Papers, Houston, Office Rec- ords; McBride to Houston, October ID, 1957, ibid.; Faculty Minutes, May 10, 1957; Paula Meredith Mosle, Sep- tember 7, 1978; Nancy Moore Eu- bank, February 22, 1978; Jacquelin Collins, September 9, 1978. 49. Thresher, October 31, 1962, December 3, 1964; Houston Chroni- cle, October 14, 1959; "New Dimen- sions," 48. 50. Mike V. McEnany to Houston, May 28, 1953, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records; Report to the Executive Committee from the Committee of Educational Inquiry, May 1953, ibid.; Faculty Minutes, March 30, 1953. 51. Oral communication, Mrs. Douglas Dunlap, Admissions Office, Rice University; Annual Report to the President, Registrar's Office. 52. Report of the Committee on the Freshman Course, October 1953, with the papers given to the Rice Historical Commission by J. D. Thomas. The commission then gave the papers to the WRC. McCann to Houston, March 29, 1955, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records; Statement of revised admission re- quirements and procedures, 19s S- 1956, ibid.; Faculty Minutes, October 26, 1954, May 10, 1957, June 2, 1955; oral communication, Mrs. Douglas Dunlap; Annual Reports to the Presi- dent, Registrar's Office. The Com- mittee on the Freshman Course was abolished in 1955, and a new com- mittee was appointed to study the problem of providing better oppor- tunities for contact between students and faculty. 53. Faculty Minutes, April 21, 195s, February 17, 1956, May 10, 1957, May 29, 1958; Thresher, May S, 1961. 54. Proposals for the Humanities Division, in Masterson to Houston, September 23, 1959, Presidents' Pa- pers, Pitzer, On Campus, 196 1- 1963. 55. Louise Johnson, February 20, 1978. 56. James B. Giles, September 6, 1978; Frank E. Vandiver, April 3, 1978, April 25, 1978; George H. Richter, July 5, i977, March 9, 1978; Paula Meredith Mosle, September 7, 1978; Paul Burka, September 12, 1978; and informal conversations with Hugh Rice Kelly Molly Kelly Myra Bahme, Patricia Teed, Mary Fae McKay, Mary Margaret Hill, Kather- ine Drew, S. W. Higginbotham, Car- oline Reynolds, and Sam Stewart. 57. Paul Burka, September 12, 1978; James B. Giles, September 6, 1978; Frank E. Vandiver, April 3, 1978, April 25, 1978; Calvin Class, January 20, 1978; Jacquelin Collins, September 9, 1978; Paula Meredith Mosle, September 7, 1978; and infor- mal conversations with those cited in note 56. 58. Some remember a cartoon from the period that showed a student, dripping blood, walking down the sidewalk in front of the Physics Building, with an enormous sword of the old Roman style stuck in his back. Two other students are watch- ing, and one says to the other, "I think he just asked to change a course." James B. Giles, September 6, 1978. 59- 1978; 1978; 1978. 60. 1978. 61. 1978; 1978, Septe 62. James B. Giles, September 6, Paul Burka, September 12, Jacquelin Collins, September 9, George H. Richter, March 9, Calvin M. Class, January 20, Frank E. Vandiver, April 3, April 25, 1978; James B. Giles, mber 6, 1978. Kenneth S. Pitzer, October 26, 1977- 63. Report of the Committee on the Freshman Course, October 1953, WRC; Report to the Executive Committee from the Committee of Educational Inquiry, May 1953; Pres- idents' Papers, Houston, Office Rec- ords; Mike V. McEnany to Houston, May 28, 1953, ibid.; Kenneth S. Pitzer, October 26, 1977; James B. Giles, September 6, 1978; Jacquelin Collins, September 9, 1978; Collins to Meiners, December 14, 1978, in possession of the commission. 64. Paul Burka, September 12, 1978; Jacquelin Collins, September 9, 1978; and informal conversations with Myra Bahme, Caroline Rey- nolds, Sam Stewart, and Hugh Rice Kelly 65. Paul Burka, September 12, 1978. 66. Jacquelin Collins, September 9, 1978; James B. Giles, September 6, 1978; George H. Richter, July 5, 1977, March 9, 1978; and informal conversations with S. W. Higgin- botham, William H. Masterson, Hugh Rice Kelly, Jacquelin Collins, and Frank E. Vandiver. 67. Paul Burka, September 12, 1978; George H. Richter, March 9, 1978; Paula Meredith Mosle, Septem- ber 7, 1978; and informal conversa- tions with Myra Bahme, Frank Vandiver, Hugh Rice Kelly, Jacquelin Collins, Patricia Teed, and Mary Fae McKay. 68. Other sources for this section are Finis E. Cowan, March 16, 1978; 234 Notes William P. Hobby, |uly 28, ly??; Nancy Moore Eubank, February 22, 1978; Chalmers M. Hudspeth, |uly 19, 1978; James Street Fulton, Sep- tember 30, 1977; James R. Sims, Jan- uary 18, 1978; John E. Parish, September 28, 1977; Houston to W. E. Allen, February i, 1955, Presi- dents' Papers, Houston, Offiee Records. 69. Houston Chronicle. October 28, 1950, November 9, 1950; January II, 1954, November 10, 1950, April 27, 1951, May 14, 1955, May 22, 1953, November 19, 1954; Thresher. November 10, 1950, February 23, 1951, April 12, 1957, May 3, 1957, December 11, 1959; Houston Post, May 14, 1955, November 19, 195 s, December 21, 1955; Jacquelin Col- lins, September 9, 1978; Gertrude Stem, vertical file, WRC; Houston to F. Talbott Wilson, September 4, 1953, Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records; Report of the Food Commit- tee, 1950- 19s I, Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1 961- 1963. The bust of Gertrude Stein was the work of sculptor Jacques Lipchitz. 70. Jess Neely, October 10, 1977. 71. Jess Neely, October 10, 1977; Football '77; Southwest Conference Roster and Record Book, pp. 61-69, 157-204; Basketball '78: The 1918 Southwest Conference Roster and Record Book, pp. 24-29, 82-88; Southwest Conference 1978 Spring Sports Media Guide, pp. 24-36, 73-76. >?.>" Chapter 9 .^L'^ 1. Board Minutes, September 25, 1957; George Holmes Richter, July 5, 1977; Guy T. McBndc, October 24, 1977- 2. Board Minutes, December 16, 1959, March 30, i960, June 29, 196O; Sallyport 16 (January i960); Thresher. January 16, i960, February 26, i960, April 6, i960, April 9, 196O; Houston to Rice Associates, February 2, i960, Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Cam- pus, 1961-1963; Houston Chronicle. January 9, i960, January 10, i960, April 7, i960, April 8, i960, April 9, 1960; Houston Post, January 10, i960, January 18, 196O; H. Malcolm Lovett, June 27, 1977. 3. Board Minutes, September 19, i960, January 25, 1961; Houston to Faculty, July 27, i960. Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1961- 1963; Faculty Minutes, lanuary 30, 1961, February 20, 1961; Thresher, September 10, i960, October 28, i960, September 23, i960. 4. Board Minutes, April 26, 1961, May 31, 1 96 1; Mrs. J. Newton Ray- zor, February 8, 1978; Kenneth S. Pit- zer, vertical file, WRC. 5. Board Minutes, October 2, 1952, September 28, i960, September 27, 1961, March 28, 1962; Thresher. Oc- tober 3, 1 96 1; Houston Post. April 17, 196O; Masterson to Croneis, June 7, 1961, Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1961-1963. 6. Faculty Minutes, September 28, 1 96 1; Pitzer to J. Wallace Sterling, August 31, 1962, Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 196 1- 1963; "Call to the Semifrontier," Time. No- vember 24, 1961, clipping in Presi- dents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1961-1963; "The Third President Looks at Rice," Rice Alumni Maga- zine I (March 1963), 5 -9; Houston Chronicle. July 6, 1961; Thresher. September 15, 1961. 7. Pitzer to Board, January 25, 1962, Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1961-1963; Report of the Academic Planning Committee to the President, December 8, 1961, ibid.; Houston Chronicle, December 21, 1 96 1, December 22, 1961, clip- pings in Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1961-1963. 8. Houston Chronicle. February 4, i960, February 21, i960, April 4, i960. May IS, i960, July 24, i960, January 3, 1961, March 9, 1961, April 21, 1961, August 25, 1961, Septem- ber 19, 1 96 1, September 24, 1961, December 14, 1961, December 21, 1961, December 27, 1961, January 7, 1962, January 18, 1962, March 23, 1962, April 4, 1962, April 8, 1962, April 12, 1962, May 29, 1962, June 22, 1962, July 19, 1962, August 23, 1962, October 8, 1962; Houston Post, June 19, 1962; Houston Post, n.d., clipping in Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1961-1963; Board Min- utes, August 23, 1961, October 25, 1 96 1; Thresher. September 19, 1962. 9. Houston Chronicle, February 10, 1961, March ig, 1961, November 19, 1961; Kenneth S. Pitzer, October 26, 1977; Report of joint meeting of members of the faculty and of the Board of Governors, November i s, i960. Presidents' Papers, Houston, Office Records; Board Minutes, May 23, 1962, September 27, 1961. 10. Board Minutes, January 31, 1962, February 28, 1962, April 25, 1962, September 27, 1961; Chancel- lor Croneis thought that S20 million was much too small a sum. He sug- gested to Rayzor that at least 875 million was needed and that it would only be the beginning. The S20 mil- lion would be helpful, but he thought the board should be told "quite plainly" that even S7S million would prove to be entirely inadequate. Cro- neis to Rayzor, February 27, 1962, Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Cam- pus, 1 96 1 -1963. 11. Board Minutes, September 27, 1961, May 23, 1962, July 25, 1962, September 26, 1962, February 27, 1963; Faculty Minutes, June i, 1962; H. Malcolm Lovett, June 27, 1977, March 29, 1978; Kenneth S. Pitzer, October 26, 1978; Thresher. February 27, 1963, February 12, 1964, February 13, 1964, February 19, 1964, February 26, 1964, March 11, 1964; Houston Post, February 22, 1963; S33 Million Notes 235 Campaign Newsletter, WRC. 12. Kenneth S. Pitzer, October 26, 1978; Notes written in Pitzer's hand, n.d., in Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1961-1963; "The Aca- demic Planning Committee: Purpose and Program," n.d., but stamped March 6, 1963, ibid.; Academic Plan- ning Committee Minutes, January 4, 1963, February 11, 1963, April 29, 1963, May 7, 1963, ibid.; Progress Re- port of Academic Planning Commit- tee, June 4, 1963, ibid.; Self-Study of William Marsh Rice University. October i, 1964, pp. xii-xx; Faculty Minutes, March 12, 1963. 13. Self-Study, pp. 4-6; Thresher, October 15, 1964. The General and Educational Budget for 1978 amounted to $25 million. 14. Self -Study, pp. 9-11; Faculty Minutes, September 28, 1961; Memo on role of the Dean of Students, n.d.. Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Cam- pus, 1961-1963; Policy for Masters, Dean of Women, Dean of Students, April II, 1963, ibid.; Kenneth S. Pitzer, October 26, 1978; Frank E. Vandiver, April 3, 1978; Report of Academic Development Committee, December 8, 1961, Presidents' Pa- pers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1961-1963. 15. Faculty Minutes, April 16, 1962; Thresher. May 12, 1961, Sep- tember 15, 1961, April 13, 1962. 16. Board Minutes, lanuary 31, 1962, March 28, 1962; Donald Mac- kenzie to Masterson, May i, 1961, Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Cam- pus, 1961-1963; Pitzer to Depart- ment Chairmen, March 9, 1962, ibid.; Report of Academic Develop- ment Committee, December 8, 1961, ibid.; Kenneth S. Pitzer, October 26, 1978; Frank E. Vandiver, April 3, 1978. 17. Board Minutes, November 30, ig6i. May 29, 1963; Thresher, Febru- ary ID, 1961. 18. Board Minutes, February 24, 1960; Thresher, February 26, i960, December 16, 1 96 1; Houston Post, February 26, 1960; Houston Chronicle, February 26, i960, December 10, 1961. 19. Announcements. 1958, pp. 69-81; 1961, pp. 37-46; 1962, pp. 36-46; Faculty Minutes, Janu- ary 30, 1961, February 20, 1961, April 24, 1 96 1; Self-Study, pp. 70-74; Thresher. February 26, i960, April 29, i960, September 16, i960, April 28, 1 96 1; Houston Chronicle. July 24, i960, September 11, i960, February 24, 1961, April i, 1962; Notes and minutes on meeting of di- vision of the humanities, March 29, i960, Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1961-1963; Croneis to Mackenzie, February 4, 1961, Presi- dents' Papers, Houston, Depart- ments; Jess Neely, October 10, 1977; Hubert E. Bray, June 18, 1976, Sep- tember 30, 1976. 20. James B. Giles, September 6, 1978; Annoimcements, 1961, p. 33; Admissions policy, n.d.. Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1961- 1963; Thresher, March 4, i960. May II, 1962, September 19, 1962; Hous- ton Chronicle, September 6, i960. 21. James B. Giles, September 6, 1978; Kenneth S. Pitzer, October 26, 1977; Admissions policy, n.d.. Presi- dents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1961 -1963. 22. "Distribution of Grades in Se- lected Institutions, Spring 1961," Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Cam- pus, 1961-1963. 23. Mackenzie to Pitzer, February 25, 1963, Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Campus, 1961-1963. 24. Thresher, May 5, 1961, May 12, 1 96 1, February 6, 1963, February 13, 1963, March 13, 1963, September 24, 1964; "Distribution of Grades in Se- lected Institutions, Spring 1961," ibid.; Subcommittee on Program of Undergraduate Instruction to Aca- demic Planning Committee, n.d., ibid.; Committee on Examinations and Standing to Pitzer, March 5, 1963, in Minutes of the Committee on Examinations and Standing; Self- Study, pp. 48-49, 76-78; James B. Giles, September 6, 1978; Paul Burka, September 12, 1978. 25. Joint Meeting of Members of the Faculty and of the Board of Gov- ernors, November 15, i960, Presi- dents' Papers, Houston, Office Records; Subcommittee on Program of Undergraduate Instruction to Aca- demic Planning Committee, n.d.. Presidents' Papers, Pitzer, On Cam- pus, 1 96 1 -1963; Academic Planning Committee Minutes, April 29, 1963, May 7, 1963, ibid.; Thresher, Septem- ber 19, 1962, March 13, 1963, Febru- ary 13, 1963, September 18, 1963, September 24, 1964, October i, 1964; Houston Post, May 12, 1963; Self- Study, pp. 48-49. 26. Thresher, November 10, 1961, September 19, 1962, October 24, 1962, November 28, 1962, October 8, 1964; Houston Post, October 22, i960, April 29, 1961, September 6, 1962, December 6, 1962; Houston Chronicle, September 8, i960, Sep- tember 25, i960. May 10, 1961, Sep- tember 7, 1962, December 6, 1962, December 13, 1962; Chalmers Hudspeth, July 19, 197B. Chapter 10 ^ta<^^^ 1. The Inauguration of Kenneth Sanborn Pitzer and Semicentennial Ceremonies at William Marsh Rice University, October 10-13, 1962 (Houston: Rice University, 1963), pp. 23-25. 2. Semicentennial, vertical file, WRC; Inauguration of Pitzer, pas- sim; Man, Science, Learning, and Education, the Semicentennial Lec- tures at Rice University (Houston: Rice University, 1963I, passim. BIBLIOGRAPHY Manuscripts Rice University, Houston, Texas Comptroller's Office, Allen Center Budget file Registrar's Office, Lovett Hall Report to the President from the Registrar, 19 12- 1964 Treasurer's Office, Allen Center Office Correspondence Minutes of the Board of Trustees Undergraduate Dean's Office, Lovett Hall Minutes of the Committee on Examinations and Standing, 1946- 1964 Woodson Research Center, Fondren Library Charter of the Wilham M. Rice Institute for the Advancement of Literature, Science and Art, Houston, Texas [1891) Committee on the Freshman Course file Dean of Students, Hugh S. Cameron file Letters Addressed to Secretary E. Raphael Presidents' Papers: Edgar Odell Lovett Presidents' Papers: William Vermillion Houston Presidents' Papers: Kenneth Sanborn Pitzer Photographic file Vertical file $33 Million Campaign Newsletter Rice Institute Engineering Show Programs William Ward Watkin Papers McCants, John T "Some Information Concerning the Rice Institute" Wilson, Mrs. Harold. "Rambling Reminiscences of Early Days at Rice by a Septuagenarian" Bulbrook, Harry Marshall. "Odyssey of a Freshman — 19 12" Books and Journal Articles Baker, James A., Ir. "Reminiscences of the Founder." Rice Institute Pamphlet 18, no. 3 (July 1931): 127-44. Basketball '78: The 1978 Southwest Conference Roster and Record Book, N.p.: Southwest Conference, 1977- The Book of the Opening of the Rice Institute. 3 vols. Houston: Rice Institute, 191 5. Butler, Nicholas Murray. Across the Busy Years: Recollections and Reflections. 2 vols. New York: C. Scribner's Sons, 1939, 1940. Coon, Horace. Columbia: Colossus on the Hudson. New York: E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc., 1947. Cram, Ralph Adams. My Life in Architecture. Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1936. Cramer, Clarence H. Case Western Reserve: A History of the University, 1826-1976. Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1976. Davies, Debbie. "Rice has been trading knocks with the distinguished Texas A&M University for 63 years and all we've got to show for it are a few bruises — and many memories. That's no joke." Sallyport 32, no. 2 (November is, 1976): 10- 11. Davis, Ellis A. and Grobe, Edwin H., comps. and eds. The New Encyclopedia of Texas. Dallas: Texas Development Bureau, n.d. |ca. 1926]. Earnest, Ernest. Academic Procession: An Informal History of the American College, 1636 to I9';3. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill Co., Inc., 1953. Elliott, Orrin Leslie. Stanford University: The First Twenty-five Years. Stanford, Ca.: Stanford University Press, 1937. Embree, Elisha D. and Eaton, Thomas B. The Flying Owls: Rice Institute from the Air N.p., 1921. Copy in WRC. Football '77; Southwest Conference Roster and Record Book. N.p.: Southwest Conference, 1977. General Announcements. Houston: Rice Institute (University), 1915-1964- Hawkins, Hugh. Pioneer: A History of the fohns Hopkins University, 1874-1889. Ithaca, N. Y.: Cornell University Press, i960. Houston, William V. "Edgar Odell Lovett." Yearbook of the American Philosophical Society (1957): 137-40. Huxley, Julian. Memories. 2 vols. London: George Allen & Unwin, 2T,S Bibliography Publishers, Ltd., 1970, 197V . "Texas and Academe." CornhiU Magazine I iS duly I9i8):53-6s. lourdain, Philip E. B. "A New American University." Rice Institute Pamphlet 5 (October 19181:209-14. Kelley Brooks M. Yale: A History. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1974. Lear, Floyd S. "History and the Humanities in Our Earlier Years." Flyleaf is, no. i (October 1964:2-17; IS, no. 2 ilanuary 19651:1-11. Lovett, Edgar O. "Some Relations of the University." Rice Institute Pamphlet s (October 1918I: 191-94. . "Historical Sketch of Rice Institute, A Gift to Texas Youth." Houston Post Annual Industrial Number, November f, 1920. Morison, Samuel Eliot, ed. The Development of Harvard University Since the Inauguration of President Eliot. 1869-1929. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1950. Muir, Andrew F. "Rice's Future Mapped in Early 1900s." Houston Post. October 7, 1962. . William Marsh Rice and His Institute. Edited by Sylvia Stallings Morris. Rice Universitv Studies s8, no. 2 (Spring 1972 1. Reprint. Houston: Rice University, 1972. Pierson, George Wilson. Yale College: An Educational History. 1871-1921. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 19s 2. . Yale: The University College. 1921-19}-'. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1955. Ramsay, William. "The Functions ot a University." Rice Institute Pamphlet s (October 191S): 22S-:58. The Rice Institute. N.p.: DeVinne Press, n.d. Known as the DeVinne Pamphlet. Copy in WRC. Rudolph, Frederick. The American College and University: A History. New York: Alfred A. Knopt, Inc., 1962. Schmidt, George P. The Liberal Arts College: A Chapter in American Cultural History. New Brunswick, N. I.: Rutgers University Press, 1957. Self-Studv of William .Marsh Rice University. Houston: Rice University, 1964. Southwest Conference 1978 Spring Sports Media Guide. N.p.: Southwest Conference, 1978. Thwing, Charles Franklin. The American Colleges and Universities in the Great War. 1914-1919: A History. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1920. Veysey, Laurence R. The Emergence of the American Universitv. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965. Watkin, William Ward. "Architectural Development of the William M. Rice Institute, Houston, Texas." Southern Architectural Review i (November i9io):iio-i2. Wertenbaker, Thomas Jefferson. Princeton. 1^46-1896. Princeton, N. I.: Princeton University Press, 1946. Newspapers Houston Chronicle Houston Post (also known as Houston Daily Post and Houston Post Dispatch] Houston Press Interviews Allen, Herbert, September 27, 1977 Batier, Helen, August 10, 1976 Battista, loseph L., March 8, 1978 Bourgeois, Andre, November 28, 1977 Bray, Gertrude, January 22, 1976 Bray, Hubert E., fune 18, 1976, September 30, 1976 Brown, George R., July 14, 1977 Bulbrook, Harry M., October 28, 1977 Burka, Paul, September 12, 1978 Camden, Carroll, September 20, 1977 Chapman, Allen, September 30, 1977 Class, Calvin M., January 20, 1978 Collins, Jacquclin, September 9, 1978 Cowan, Finis E., March 16, 1978 Davis, Joe W, February 21, 1978 Dwyer, C. A., luly 26, 1977 Eikenberg, C. Virgil, February 9, 1978 Emison, Sam and Mary Frances, September 21, 1977 Erfurth, August, September 20, 1977 Eubank, Nancy Moore, February 22, 1978 Filson, Martha, February 19, 1976 Fuermann, George, August s, 1977 Fulton, James Street, September 30, 1977 Gallegley, Joseph I.. October 26, 1976 Giles, lames B., September 6, 1978 Hartsook, Arthur J., luly 21, 1977 Heaps, Belle, February 17, 1978 Hobby William P., July 28, 1977 Hudspeth, Chalnrers, July 19, 1978 lameson, Florence McAllister, February 3, 1978 Johnson, Gaylord and Louise, February 20, 1978, March 27, 1978 Johnson, Marguerite, August s, 1977 Kirkland, William A., July 19, 1977 Kotch, Clara Margaret Mohr, February 10, 1978 Lane, Sarah, October 20, 1975, luly I, 1977 Lankford, Raymond L.. lanuary 30, 19-^S Bibliography 239 Lovett, H. Malcolm, May 19, 1976, June 27, 1977, March 29, 1978, July 27, 1981 McBride, Guy T., October 24, 1977 McEnany Michael V., September i, 1977 Masterson, William H., October 11, 1977 Morehead, James C, April 6, 1978 Mosle, Paula Meredith, September 7, 1978 Nealon, Clark, February 2, 1978 Neely Jess C, October 10, 1977 Nunn, Stayton, April 5, 1978 Parish, John, September 28, 1977 Pitzer, Kenneth Sanborn, October 26, 1977 Rayzor, Eugenia, February 8, 1978 Red, Hattie Lei, January 23, 1976, June 28, 1977 Reynolds, Walter M., September 19, 1977 Richtcr, G. Holmes, July 5, i977, March 9, 1978 Sanders, Isaac, July 27, 1976 Shelton, Fred V., September 29, 1977 Shimek, Joe and Evelyn, September 22, 1977 Sims, James R., January 18, 1978 Stancliff, Fred, September 28, 1977 Teague, James U., June 29, 1977 Thomas, J. D., July 13, 1977 Tillett, Henry A., December 23, 1976 Vandiver, Frank E., April 3, 1978, April 25, 1978 Waples, Margaret A., February 24, 1976 Whitmore, William, January 19, 1978 INDEX AAUP. See American Association of University Professors Abercrombic Engineering Laboratory, 153 Abercrombie, James S,, 143 Academic calendar, 102, 1^,4, 13s, 159 Academic freedom, resolution on, 87 Accelerator, 173 Accounting system, 171 Adams, |ohn A. S., 172 Administration, 60, 79, 82, 83, 89, 94, 106, 115, 119, 122, 134, 140, 170-73, 183, 203, 209 Administration Building, 21, 29-36, 65, 66, 88, 99, 144 cornerstone of, 42-43 Admissions, 140, 203 director of, 161, 171, 206 procedures for, 148, 206-7 racial discrimination in, 201 requirements for, 48, 63, 89, 92, 148-49, 189 Adviser to women, 50, 122, 163, 171, 181, 182, 203 Akers, William W., 149 Albaugh, Reuben, 106 Alborn, Ray, 195 Alexander, lay, 80 All- American players, 130, 167 All-Conference players, 130, 16s, i9S Allen, Herbert, 169, 179 Alpha Rho club, 1 15 Altenburg, Edgar, 95, 96, 98, 108, 124 Alumni, 136, 161, 197, 201 magazine of, no See also Association of Rice Alumni; Sallyport American Association of University Professors, 204 American Association of University Women, 1 1 7 Amerman, A. E., 85 Anderson, Clayton & Co., 108, 137, 143 Anderson Hall, 153, 205 Anderson, M. D., 1 5 3 Foundation, 136, 137, 173 Andrews, Forrest Lee, 106 Angel, John, 125 Announcements. General. 69, 72, 115, 149, 161, 171, 206 Arbuckle, Philip H., 45, S3, S7, 103 Archi-Arts, 1 10 Architect, selection of, 2S See also Cram, Goodhue and Ferguson; Cram and Ferguson; Harvin C. Moore; Pierce and Pierce; Staub and Rather; William Ward Watkin Architectural plan, 18 Architectural Society, iio Architecture campus, 25 degree in, 61 department of, 171, 200 program in, 4 s students in, 52, 62 women in, 206 Army, U. S., 70 Arthur, Percy, 1 30 Assistant to the president, position of, 171 Associate professor, rank of, 149 Association of Rice Alumni, 1 17, 136, 138, 140, 144, 150, 162, 17s, 2 1 s , 216 Athletes, 93, 186, 206 Athletic Association, 119, 121, is6 Athletic Department, los, 120, 129 Athletics, 45, 53, 56, 60, 80, 100, 103, 129-32, 203 business manager for, 105-6, 119, 129 director of, 103, 106, 129 expenditures for, 105 recruiting in, 104- s See also names of individual athletic activities Atom bombardment machine, 125 Atomic Energy Commission Fellowships, 170 Auden, fohn H., 172 Auditorium. See Hamman Hall Autry Court, i s6 Autry House, 132, 169 Autry, Mrs. James L., 108, 156 Axson Club, 85 Axson, Stockton, 57, 61, 64, 66, 70, 82, 108, 123 Aycock, Joseph W., 70-71 BVD Co. See Company BVD Baccalaureate ceremonies, 66 Bailey, Karl, 187 Baker, Captain James A. See Baker, James Addison, Jr. Baker College, 183, 187 Baker, James Addison, Jr., 3, 11, 13-14, 19, 42, 60, 77, 81, 82, 8s, 9S, 104, 108, 119, 120, 121, 13s, 136 James A. Baker and Alice Graham Baker Bequest, 136 Baly E. C. C, 99 Band, 52, 128, 157, 203 See also Marching Owl Band Banks Street, apartments on, 181 Baseball, 56 Basketball, 56, 103, 167, i9S 242. Index Battista, Joseph L., 123 Beer-Bikc Race, iSs, 209 Bell, Calvin, 1 31 Bell, H. Le Roy, 80 Bender, Eugene L., 121 Bender Bequest, i s 5 Bequests, 121, 122, 136, 138, 143, 150, 153, IS6, 1^18, 169, 193, 200, 20s Billups, Val T., 201 Biology building, 173 Biology, program in, 46 Biology students, organization of, 52 Blaffer, Robert Lee, 119, 137, 193 Blagg, loe, 1 3 1 Blake, Mrs. Eugene C, 1 10 Blake, Tommy 106 Blanshard, Brand, 213 Blayney, Thomas Lindsey, 4s, 63, ('■14, 70, 96, 1 1 3 "Blue Danube." Sec Harris Gully Bluebonnct Bowl, 194 Board. See Board of Governors; Board of Trustees Board of Governors, 169, 173, 196, 201, 204, 213, 218 Board of Trustees, i, 3, 14, is, 16, 18, 44, 60, 83, 84, 87, 88, 91, 94, 104, 106, IIS, 119, 120, 134, 136, 137, 138, 140-41, 142-43, 146, 153, 168-69, 201, 216, 217 Bonner Nuclear Lab, 123 Bonner, Tom, 123, 173 Bookstore, 17s Boone, Walter, 106 Borel, Emilc, 3, 21s Bourgeois, Andre, 95 Bracey, Claude, 106 Brannon, Buster, 131, 167, 19s Bray Hubert, 31, S9, 122, 123, 160, 204, 21 3 British educational mission, 98 Bronson, Bertrand H., 214 Brotzen, Franz, 172 Brown, George R., 137-3*^, i39, 141, 153, 169, 178, 216 Brown, Herman, 137 Brown &. Root, 137, i s 3 Browne, Charles L., 123 Browne, Frederic W., 123 Brownsville Terminal, i 37 Bryan, Andrew, 172 Brunson, Emmett, 106, 130 Budget, 60, 65, 94, IDS, 119. 120, 122, 140, 168, 198 Bullard, Daniel R., 169 Burchard, [ohn E., iso Burrell, [ohn, 19s Bursar, position of, 83, 171 Business administration, course in, 83 Cabinet, college, 181 Cadet corps, 70 women's, 73 Cafeteria, 175 Cain, Otta L., 71 Caldwell, Robert G., _s8, 64, 83, 8s, 92, 9S, 108, 114, IIS, I Ki, 121, 122 Camden, Carroll, 123, 172 Cameron, Hugh Scott, 146, 149, 162, 170 Camp Funston, 70 Campanile (smokestack), 36, s2, 187 Campanile [yearbook], 52, 80, 121, 183, 187 Carswell, Frank, 131 de Carvalho, Carlos Delgado, 12 s Case, Lynn M., 123 Catalog, official. See Announcements. General Caudill, William, 204 Cawthon, Pete, 103 Cazamian, Louis, 99 Chaille Rice Literary Society, 163 Chancellor, position of, 198 Chandler, Asa C, 9s, 96, 1 1 3 Chapel, 169 See also Rice Memorial Student Center Chapman, Alan ]., 149, 198 Chapman, Richard, 19s Charter, 11, 15-16, 64, 92, 9s, 136, I so, 196, 200, 201 Chatham, Lee, 128 Cheerleaders, 112, 129, 162 Chemistry Building, 88, 144, iso, 200 Chillman, fames H., 204, 21 3 Chitwood, Ben, 106 Choral Club, S2 Chrismann, Harry, 131 Christopher, Bill, 167 Class, Calvin, 172, 183 Clayton, Will L., 108 Cleveland, A. S., 47, 119, 1 36, 1 39, 143 "Cloister courses," so Gloss, Bill, 167 Clubs exclusive, prohibition against, SO-SI, IIS jurisdiction of, 162 See also names of individual organizations Coaches. See names of individual sports or people: Salaries Coates, Thomas L., 71 Coffee, lohn B., 201 Coffman, Harry, 167 Cohen, Agnes, 100 Cohen, George S., 100 Cohen House, 100, 141, 144 Cohen, Robert I., 100 Cohn, Arthur B., 120, 122 Coleman, J. R, 80 College Entrance Examination Board, tests of, 63, 161, 189, 206 College Nights, 181, 186 College system, 178-87, 193, 195, 209 English, los, 178 Colleges. See names of individual colleges Colors, official, 37, 42 Commencement, 66, 70, 9s, 154, 135, 157, 197 Committees Board of Trustees (Governorsl Alumni and Student Activity, 169 Building, 168 Buildings and Grounds, 169 Development, I70, 17S Faculty, Student, and Alumni, 197, 200, 201 Finance, 139, 168, 169 Loans, 139 Oil, 169 Survey, 1 39 Index 2.43 Alumni Executive, 197 Faculty Academic Development, 198, 203, 204 Academic Planning, 202, 207-8, 209 Admissions, 89, 149, 189, 206 Coordination of Freshmen, 160 Course of Study and Schedules, 64 Curriculum, 61, 64 Educationallnquiry, 179, 188, 189, 190 Entrance Examinations, 64, 89, 92 Examinations and Standing, 106, 160, 161, 190, 208 Executive, 146, 147, 171, i73, 188 Faculty Council, 173 Freshman Course, 160, 161, 189 Graduate Instruction, 146, 149 Honors Courses and Advanced Degrees, 106 Library, 64, 65, 146 Library Buildings, 150 Military, 74, 75, 77, 82 Non-Athletic Organizations, 64 Outdoor Sports, 64, 103, 106, 129, 130, 146, 171 Recommendations, 64 Student Activities, 146, 162 Student Advisors, 64 Faculty-Student Student Housing, 17s, i79, 181, 183, 184, 187 Commons, 4, 36, 50, 59, 60, 112, 144, 183 Company BVD, 73 Company B-D. See Company BVD Compton, Karl T., 144 Conklin, Edwin Grant, 99 Cooper Union, 16 Cope, lackson, 172 Cotton Bowl, 130, 132, 167, 194, I9S Cox, |ohn W., 200 Craig, Hardin, Ir., 149, 161 Cram, Ralph Adams, 25. See also Cram, Goodhue and Ferguson; Cram and Ferguson Cram and Ferguson, 108, 150 Cram, Goodhue and Ferguson, 45 Crane, Charles I., 82 Croneis, Carey, 171, 197, 198, 202, 204, 213 Crookston, Robert, 9 s Cullen, Hugh R., 137 Cummins, Bill, 167 Curie, Pierre, 42 Curriculum, 48, 49, 61-62, 63, 102, 124, 135, 140, 147-48, IS 9, 160, 168, 188, 189, 193, 202, 204-s, 208 Curtis, Bobby, 167 Dallas Morning News, 197 Darnell, Percy ]., 45, 46, 56- S7, 64, 96, 124 Darwin, Charles, 42 Davies, loseph Ilott, 58, 123 Davis, loe, 167 Davis, Sam H., 172 Davis, W. R., 137 Dean, Alice Crowell, 65, 98, 150 Dean of the Institute (university), 83, lis, 12.2, 146, 173, 203 of engineering, 173 of graduate studies, 203 of humanities, 173, 190 of student activities, 163 of students, 170, i8s, 186, 203 of women, i8s, 203 DcBremaecker, lean-Claude, 204 Debts, prohibition against, 24, 137, 217 Degrees, ii'7, 139 advanced, 61, 63, 64,' 139, 149, 173. 204 publication requirements for, 63-64 bachelor's, 61, 66, 107, 134, 139, 147, 148, 208 engineering, 61, 62 honorary, 100 Departments chairmen of, 171-72 organization of, 60-61 DePrato, Edwin, 103 Depression. See Great Depression Dessler, Alexander, 204 Devane, William C, 141 Dewey, |ohn, 99 Dial, Buddy, 195 Dickey, lames, 172 Diplomas, 66 Discipline, responsibility for, 180, 184 Dix, Charles H., 123 Dodd, William E., 99 Dodge, H. T, 80 Doherty Robert P., 169 Donoho, Paul, 204 Dormitories. See Residence halls Dowden, Betty Rose, 163, 171, 181 Dramatic Club, no, 128, 193 Drew, Katherme Fischer, 149 DuBndge, Lee A., 141, 144 Dunaway lames K., 149 Dunn, Margaret, 181 DuPont Co., 170 Dwyer, C. A., 122 Dyer, Eddie, 103, 130 EBLS. See Elizabeth Baldwin Literary Society East Hall, 36, 60, 180, 183 athletes in, 105 See also Baker College Easton, Thomas B., 88 Education, higher, experiments in, 62 Edwards, Edgar O., 202, 204 Edwards, Lyford P., 84, 85, 125 Edwards, William F., 45, 223nss Eisenhower, Dwight D., 193, 210, 212 Elizabeth Baldwin Literary Society, SI, IIS Embree, Elisha D., 88 ^ ^^ Endowed chairs, i6g^^ '"' ' Endowment, I4,''l8, 19, 23-24, 60, 88, 90, 95, 108, 119, 122, 136, 137, 201, 203 Engineering, 4s, 57, 92, 139 students in, 62 Engineering laboratory, 143. See also Ryon Laboratory Engineering quadrangle, plans for, 28 Engineering Society, 52, no, 127, 157-58, 164 244 Index Engineers, naval, i u English department ot, 149 program in, 4s English Zero, 102 Enrollment, 139 increase in, 88, 198 limiting, 91, 9^ total, IS9 Entrance examinations. (Sv 90, 149, 189. See aha College Entrance Examination Board Erturth, Augie, 167 Eubank, Nancy Moore, 171 Evans, Griffith C, 4s, S9, C-'i, (>4. '"''S, 70, 96, 108, 123, 198 Evolution, human, 83 Ewing, William Maurice, 21s Faculty meetings of, 64, 146 number of, 1^9, 140, 146, 16S organization of, 22, 61 retirement plan for, 149 salaries of. See salaries, faculty Faculty associates, 180, 185-8(1 Faculty Chamber, 4, 36, 47 Faculty club, 100. See aho Cohen House Failures, student, 48, 62, los, iS9, 160, 161, 191, 192, 203 Falconer, Robert, 12 s Farish, S. P., 137 Parish, Will S., 108, 137 Fendley Francis T., 169 Field House, 88, 102, 120, 12s, i sc^ Finances, 94-95, 120, 135, 139 Fine arts, department of, 200 Finger, Joe, 131 "Fireside of Rice." See Autry House Fisher, Ronnie, 195 Fisk, lames, 141 Fleming, Lamar, Ir., 108, 143, 169 Flying Owh. The. 88, 89, 90 Fondren, Ella F., 143, 150 Fondrcn Library, 28, 121, 153 Fondren, Walter W., 108 Food service, 59, 74, 112-13 See also Commons Football, 48, 53, 82, 88, 103, 106, 129, 130, 142, 187, 194, 21'^ highest score in, s 3 Ford Foundation, i7o, 202, 205 Foust, Art, 195 Fowler, Robert, 1 3 1 Fox, Betty jean, 162 Frankie, lohn, 195 Fraternities, prohibition against, 51. 115, 163, 180 Frazier, loseph, 71, 73, 78 French mission to universities, 98, 125 Freshman class hazing of, 1 14-15 preparation of, 63, 89 size of, 89, 90, 148 Freund, Max, 95 Fulton, Farrell, 164 Fulton, lames Street, 149, 183 Fund raising, 169, 198, 200, 201, 218 Galambos, Louis, 204 Gallegly, loseph, 95 Garden party, first, 66 Garfield, L. E., 169 Geddes, Auckland, 99 Geology endowed chair in, 1 69 department of, 169, 171 laboratory for, 173 Giles, lames B., 149, 171, 206 Girard College, 16 Giroski, Paul, 167 Glascock, Clyde C, 58 Glennan, Keith, 215, 216 Godwin Lectureship on Public Affairs, 99 Goethe Verein, 52 Golden Years, 216 Goldston, Walter L., 169 Golf team, 106 Goode, William losiah, 129 Grading system, 62 Graduate Record Examination, 149 Graduate school, 198 Graduate studies, 25, 142, 146, 195, 198, 208 Graduation, requirements for, 1 34 Graham, Ruth McLain, 216 Graham, Shad, 216 Graham Baker Student, 81 Grand Ballroom, 175 Grants, 170, 202 Graustein, William C, 58, 64, 74, 77-78 Great Depression, 95, 119, 195, 2i7 Great War. See World War I Greenwood, loe, 106 Greer, Nelson, 106 Griffis, LeVan, 173, 197 Grob, Alan, 204 Guerard, Albert L., 57, 61, 64, 66, 67, 96, 113 Guernsey, Frank, 131 "Guidance." See Hazing Gymnasium, 29, 156, 168. See also Autry Court Hadamard, lacques, 99 Hall Committee, 50, 53, 115, 121, 184 Haltom, Lee, 71 Hamman Foundation, 173 Hamman Hall, 173, 209 Hansen, Fred, 195 Hanszen College, 183, 187. See also West Hall Hanszen, Harry Clay, 137, 139, i4V 168, 169 Hargrove, Iim, 157 Hargrove, Marion, 157 Hams, Chick, 167 Harris Gully 27, 127, i53 Harry Clay Hanszen College. See Hanszen College Hartsook, Arthur ]., 95, 217 Hawes, Raymond P., 82 Hawley I. W., 85, 87 Hazing, 53, II 3- 1 5, 116, 126, 127, 159, 164, 187 Health and physical education, department of, 206. See also Physical education, department of Heaps, Claude, 48, 58, 59, n^, 124, 150, 160 Heisman, lohn W., 104-6, 112, 116, 123, 129 Hell Week, 164-65, 187 Hemphill, Rosalie, no Henry, Bill, 167 Hermann, George W., 26 Hermann Park, SS, 114 Herting, E. W., Ir., los Index 245 Hess, Jake, 121, 131 Hess, Wilbur, i ji Hewitt, Bowe Davis, 127 Higginbotham, Sanford, 186, 203, 204 Hill, Albert Ross, 17, 18 Hill, King, 19s Hinckley, Bert, 103 History, endowed chair in, 169 Hjertberg, Ernie, 129 Hodges, John E., 149 Hofheinz, Roy, i 37 Hogg, Will, 9S Hohenthal, Lionel, 81 Hohcnthal Scholar, 81 Hole, Frank, 204 Holt, Orren, 12, 13 Homecoming, 102, 153, 193, 216 Honor Code, 129 Honor Council, so, 81, 121, 128 Honor societies, national, 127. See also Phi Beta Kappa Honor system, so Honors course, 61-62 Houston Chronicle. 49, 83, 86, 98, 127 Houston, city of, i, 2, 29, 218 Houston Endowment, Inc., 182 Houston Ministers' Alliance, 83-84 Houston Philosophical Society, loo Houston Post, 18, S3, 8s, 86, 9s Houston Press, 12s, 194 Houston, William Vermillion, 142, 143, 144-46, 149, 161, 163, 170, 171, 173, 174, 179, 183, 184, 193, 197, 198, 203, 204, 213, 216, 218 Howton, Bill, 19s Hudson, John, 195 Hughes, Arthur L., S7, S9, 70, 94 Humanities, 61, 173, 190, 204, 207, 218 Humble Oil & Refining Co., stock in, 143 Humble, Weldon, 167 Humphrey, Herbert K., s8 Huxley, Julian S., 4, 46, s7, S9, 61, 70, 83, 99, 124, I2S Memories, 63 Illig, Carl, 106 Inauguration ceremonies, 143, 21s Indenture, deed of, 11, 201 Inflation, 94 "Institute" (term), 18, 24, 196, 197, 218. See also Rice Institute Inter-College Council, 183, i8s Intramural sports, 102, 13s Investments, 119, 137, 140, 169, 218 Isle, Walter, 204 Ivy, lohn, 169 lames A. Baker College. See Baker College lohn. Marguerite, 80 lohnson, Francis E., 4 s Johnson, Gaylord, ios-6, 129, 130, 131 Johnson, Kosse, 195 von Johnson, Kurt, 133 Johnston, Robert, 19 s Jones, Charles, 13-14 Jones College, 182 Jones, Henry, 99 Jones, Jesse H., 108, 144 Jones, Mrs. Jesse H. See Mary Gibbs Jones Jones, Mary Gibbs, 182-83 Jordan, David Starr, 66 Journal of Southern History, 172 Journals, 6 s See also Journal of Southern History-, Rice Institute Pamphlet: Rice University Studies: Studies in English Literature Jungman, Frank, 80 Kalb, Hildegarde Elizabeth, si, S2 Kalb, Ervin F., 52, 117 Keith-Wiess Geological Laboratories, 173 Kelley, Allie Autry, is6 Kennedy, John F., 212 Kilpatrick, John, 149 King, Boyd, 19s King, Rufus, 19s Kinney, Bob, 131, 167 Kirby John H., 108 Kirkland, William A., 143 Kittredge, George Lyman, 12 s Kitts, Jimmy, 129, 132 Knapp, Carl M., 136, 138, 144 Kobayashi, Riki, 172 Kolenda, Konstantin, 172 Kotch, Clara Margaret Mohr, 171, 180 Lady Geddes Prize, 99 Lance, Don, 19s Landre, Louis, 214 Lane, Sarah, 65, 73, 122, 171, 182 Lankford, Raymond, 164 Lassig, Oswald, 42 Lear, Floyd Seyward, 83, 9s, 217 Lecturers, visiting, 98, 125 Lectures, public, 57, 96. See also University Extension Lectures Lectureships, 81, 169 Lee's Owls, 129 Leifeste, A. A., Jr., 149 Leland, Thomas W, 202 Leon Springs, 70, 72 Leray, Jean, 2 1 s Les Hiboux, s2 de Lesseps, Ferdinand, 42 Letscher, Ed, i 31 Levi-Civita, T., 12s Lewis, Edward S., 149 Liberal arts. See Humanities "Librarian" (title), iso Library, is, 31, 64-6S, 68, 121, 140, 141, 143, ISO, 168, 173, 203 budget for, 6s, 120, 200 director of, i so expansion of, 200, 202 location of, 6 s Lillard, Roy E., 71 Lindsey, Marion, 103 Lingle, Roy P., s7 Link, J. W, 108 Literary Council, 163 Literary societies, 51, ns, 129, 159, 163, 182, 193, 209. See also names of nidividual organizations Lombardi, Cesar M., 11, 14- is, 119 Lovett, Adelaide, 4s Lovett, Edgar Odell, i, 17-23, 2S, 44, 48, 49, 50, 58, 60, 66, 70, 78, 82, 83, 87, 94, 100, 1 10, 1 18, 1 19, 120, 122, 123, 124, 125, 129, 130, 134, 136, 139, 141, 143, 144, 14.S, 159, 167, 171, 178, 19s, 196, 197, 203, 217, 218 246 Index Lovett, Mrs. Edgar Odcll. Sec Mary Ellen Lovett Lovett Hall, 146, iso, iy6, 216. .St-t- also Administration Building Lovett, Henry Malcolm, 4v 197, 2M Lovett, Laurence Alexander, 4 s Lovett, Mary Ellen, 21, 22, 4s, sy Loewenheim, Francis, 204 Lowe, Alma L., 205 Lummis, Frederick R., M. D., 14 v 169 McAshan, lames E., 11, is, i'\ 44, 119 McBride, Guy T., 149, 170, itS, 179, 182, 187 McCann, Samuel G., s8, S^j, 92, 129, 14s, 161, 171, 189, 197, 217 McCants, lohn T., 4, 4s, S7, 60, 74, 76, 82, 83, 108, 112, 119, 121, 129, 131, 14s, 171, 217 McCauley, lohn, 1 30 McClenahan, Howard, 17-18 McEnany, Michael, 171 Mackenzie, Donald, 198, 204, 208 Mackey, Louis, 202 McKillop, Alan D., 9s, 12s, 141. i4''\ 197, 204, 213, 217 MacLane, Gerald R., 149 McNeely, Holmes, 193 McVey, William M., 153 Maegle, Dicky, 19 s Maeterlinck, Maurice, 99 Magee, I. W., 167 Malmberg, Charles, 16 s Manaker, Fred R, 71 Mandelbrojt, Szolem, 99, 149 Mann, Leslie, 103 Marching Owl Band, 19 v See also Band Markham, lames R, 52 Marsh, Thad, i7i, 172 Martino, Tony, 60, 129, 1^9 Mary Ellen Lovett Literary Society, 163 Mary Gibbs lones College for Women. See Jones College Masters, college, 180, 182, 183, i8s Masterson, Harris, Ir., 108 endowed chair in memory of, 169 Masterson, William H., 149, 171, 173, 1*^3, 1S4, 197 Math 100, 48, so, 90, 102, 108, 147, 160, 189, 193, 20s, 208 Mathematics department of, 45, 102, 149 graduate programs in, 200 majors in, 148 Matriculation, 47 Matriculation address, 47-48 May Fete, iio, 127, is 7, 162 Mead, Margaret, 21s Meagher, lack, 106, 129 Mechanical Laboratory, 36, 58 Memories. See Huxley, lulian Menorah Society, si, 84 Merwin, lohn, 172 Meyer, Henrich K. E. M., 12s, 13s Military, routine of, 1 3 s Miller, I. R, 127 Miller, Ralph, 130 Mills, Maurine, 80 Monsanto, grants from, 170 Moore, Harvin C, 136, 174 Moraud, Marcel, 9s, 108 Morehead, lames, Ir., 149, i7i Monson, Samuel Eliot, 125 Morris, Dick, 131 Morrow, Clara, 181 Morse, Philip M., 141 Moseley, Dale, 19s Mosle, Paula Meredith, 171, 180, 181 Muir, Andrew Forest, 36, 129, 172 Mailer, Hermann ]., s8 Murphy Ralph, 167 Music, school of, 169. 5ee also Shepherd School of Music NASA. See National Aeronautics and Space Administration NROTC. See Naval Reserve Officers' Training Corps Nathan, William Max, 52 National Aeronautics and Space Administration, 200 National Collegiate Athletic Association, 104, los Naval Reserve Officers' Training Corps, 127, 134, 13s, 203 Navy, U. S., 13s, 146, 161, i6s Neely, less Claiborne, 132, 142, is 6, i6s, 167, 194 Nelson, William, 172 Nevins, Allan, 214 Nicholas, Henry O., 9s, 129, 130 Nielsen, Niels, 172 Nonsectanamsm, is, 27, 84, 174 Norbeck, Edward. 204 Nunn, Stayton, 12^ OWLS. See Owen Wister Literary Society Olga Keith Literary Society, 163 Oliver, Henry, 136 Opening ceremonies, i-io, 21, 23, 43, 212, 21 s Orange Bowl, 167 Orientation, freshman, 187, 190 Orphans' institute, 11 Owen, Mrs. Kenneth Dale, 193 Owen Wister Literary Society, s i, 116 Owl Literary Society [Debating Club), SI, IIS Owl, the (store), 108 Owls, the (team name), S3 PALS. See Pallas Athene Literary Society Pallas Athene Literary Society, si, IIS Palmer Memorial Church, no Pamphlet. Rice Institute. See Rice Institute Pamphlet Parish, lohn, i7i Parker, |im, 19s Parsons, David, 172, 173 Pat Quinn's Rice Owls Orchestra, 129 Patrick, Albert T, 13-14 Patterson, Charles H., 71 Pattie, Frank A., jr., 9s, 124-2S Peden, Edward A., 119 Perkins, Sallie Shepherd, 169 Pershing, K'hn |., 98-99 Peyre, Henri M., 21 s Pfeifter, Paul E., 149 Phi Beta Kappa, 118, 127 Phi Lambda Upsilon, 117, 127 Phillips, Gerald C, 149, 198 Index 247 Philosophy and rehgious thought, endowed chair in, 169 Physical education program in, 106 degree in, 107, 124 department of, 102, 106, 124, is6 majors in, 148 See also Health and physical education, department of Physics amphitheater, 60, 124, 173 Physics Building, 60, 146, 150 Physics, department of, 96 Pi Delta Phi, 127 Pickard, |ohn B., 172 Pierce, George R, |r., 173 Pierce and Pierce, 173 Pitzer, Kenneth Sanborn, 185, 192, 197-200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 208, 209, 215, 216, 218 Plan, architectural, 28 Poem, inaugural, 5 Pollard, William G., 215 Potter, David M., 123 Pound, Joseph H., s8, 112 Powell, |ohn, 99 Pratt Institute, 16 Prclog, Vladimir, 214 Premedical studies, 148 President, 16-20, 21, 119, 141, 146, 197 house of, 29, 140, 142, 153, 168 See also Edgar Odell Lovett; William Vermillion Houston; Kenneth Sanborn Pitzer Princeton University, 21, so, 178 Professional schools, 200 Promotions, faculty, 61, 96, 122, 139 Provost, 171 Psychology classes in, 124-25 department of, 95 Publications, student, 121, 17s, 193 See also Campanile: The Rice Owl: Thresher. R Association, 131, 136 RI, 162 ROTC. See Reserve Officers' Training Corps Rabson, Thomas, 204 Racial discrimination, 15, 201, 202 Rally Club, 112, 163 Raphael, Emanuel, 11, 14, 16, 19, 119 Rath, R. lohn, 204 Rather, J. T, Ir., 177 Ravel, Maurice, 100 Ray Robert H., 169 Rayzor Hall, 205, 216 Rayzor, J. Newton, 136, 169, 170, 173, 175, 179, 180, 197, 200, 204, 205 Read, Clark P., 149, 202 Reagan, Taylor M., 74, 7S, 79 Red, Ed, 19 s Red, George, 197 Red, Hattie Lei, 49 "Red scare," the, 84 Reed Roller Bit Company, stock in, 122 Registrar, 83, 171 Reid, John I., 214 Reid, Kit, 129, 157 Reid's Night (Knight) Owls, 129 Reinke, Edwm E., 58 Religion, place of in university, 84 See also Nonsectarianism Research Days, 170 Research Sponsors, 170 Reserve Officers' Training Corps, 71, 74, 78, 81, 82, 134, 135, 165 Residence halls, 28-29, 36, 50, S3, 72, 115, 121, 135, 140, 153, 173/ 178, 200 women's, 28, 181-82 See also Colleges and names of individual residence halls and colleges Reynolds, F. Fisher, 136 Rice Alumni News. 129 Rice Associates, 215, 216. See also Rice Institute Associates Rice, Benjamin Botts, 15, 119, 125, 139, 141, 143 Rice, Elizabeth Baldwin, 11, 12 Rice Engineering Show, no- 1 1 Rice Engineophyte Society, 127 Rice, Frederick Allyn, 11, is, 60 Rice Institute Associates, 170 Rice Institute (name), 69. See also "Institute" Rice Institute Pamphlet, 5, 66, 69, 102. See also Rice University Studies Rice Institute Research Sponsors, 170 Rice, Margaret Bremond, 1 1 Rice Memorial Student Center, 174-77, 209, 216 "Rice myth," the, 207-8 Rice Owl. The, no, 129 Rice Progressive Party, 133 Rice Stadium, 156. See also Stadium Rice, William Marsh, 5, n, 12-14, 15, 22, 125, 136, 201 monument to, 216 ii-*' ~ •^ ' Rice, William MarshTlr., is, 16, 19, 1 19, 122, 125, 136, 138 Rice University (name), 69, 197 Rice University Chorus, 216 Rice University Studies, 66 Riceoman Literary and Debating Society, SI, 115 "Rice's Honor" (song), no, 210 Richards, Charles R., 17, 18 Richardson, Alfred S., n, is Richter, George Holmes, 123, 13s, 141, 146, 170, 173, 191, 196, 203 Rimlinger, Gaston, 204 Rincon oil field, 137, 140, 143, is3, 200 Rincon Pipe Line Company, 137 Risser, J. R., 149 Rockwell, lames W., 12s Rockwell lectureship, 125 Rodgers, lack, 167 Roe, Herbert N., 70 Rohrschach, Harold, 172 Rondelet, 162, 185, 209 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 122 la Rose, Pierre de Chaignon, 37 Rote, Tobin, 167, 195 Rothgeb, Claude, 106 Russ, Carl, 167 Russell, Henry N., 99 Russian civil war, 84 Ryan, Frank, 19s Ryon Laboratory, 205 Ryon, Lewis B., 141, 146, 205 248 Index 9^. V" Saints, patron, ^7, 42 Sakowitz, Simon, loS Salaries deans', 85 faculty, 4S, 94, yi, 104, io«, 120, 122, 124, 1^1, Mg, 140, 168, 202, 203 ■ football coach's, los presidents', 17, 19, 4S, 142 Sallyport, 28, 51, 88, 177 Sallyport (magazine), 196, iy7 "Sallyport 100," 50 Sammy the Owl, S3, S^i, 112, 158, 187 Sammy's (snack bar), 17s Sanders, I'aul, 1 3 1 Sarah Lane Literary Society, 163 Sass, Ronald, 172 Savage, Catherine Hill, 203 Scholarships, 81, 105, iis, n^\ 140, 146, 168, 170, 173, 191, 201 Schuhmacher, lohn, 156 Schunck, Fritz, 195 Schwinger, Gene, 19 s Science emphasis on, 18, 23, 2S, fn, 218 graduate programs in, 200 majors in, 148 Science-engineering, 147, 148, I'^o women in, 206 Scott, Harry Alexander, 108 Scott, James H., 127 Scott, limmie, 129 Scott, John T., 8s, 119, M>^, n9, 141, Seaborg, Glenn T, 215 Seaman, Ed, 1 31 Scars, Peter Gray, 66, no Self -Study. 206, 208 Semicentennial, 212-18 Senior Dance, 209 Senior Follies, 162 Shannon, Claude E., 21s Shannon, loscph R., in, Sharp, Estellc B., 81 Sharp Lectureship in Civics and Philanthrophy 81, 9s, 99 Sharrar, Lee M., 122 Shell Oil, 170 Shclton, Fred, 9 s Shepherd School ot Music, 173 Shield, otfieial, -^7 Shipley, Arthur, yg Sidis, William ]., s« Simpson, John 1^., 21 3 Sims, lames R., 149, 171, 184, iot, Site, selection of, 18, 26 Slater, lean Miriam, 128 Slater, |ohn C, 141 Slaughter, |ohn W., gs, 124 Slime Ball, 116 Slime Parade, 116, 127, iS9, 164, 187 "Slimes" (name), sv Sec also Hazing Smiley, William, 106 Smith, Dan, |r., 106 Social sciences, 204 Song Fcst, 1 8 s Song, official, iio, 210 Sophomore Ball, 1 16 Sororities, prohibition against, si, IIS, 163 South Hall, 180. See also Residence halls; Will Rice College South, Ira, 71 Southern Association of Colleges and Secondary Schools, admission into, 67 Southwest Conference, 103, los, 106, 107, 130, 1 6s, igs, 202, 206 Space sciences, department of, 204 Spence, Dale, 19 s Sports. See Athletics and names of individual athletic activities Squire, Charles F., 149 Stadium, 29, 12s, 131-U, iS3, 167. See also Rice Stadium Stancliff, Fred, 106 Standish, William M., S2 Stanford University, gs Staub and Rather, 141, iS3 Steen, Frank, 130 Stein, Gertrude, statue of, 193 Stratford, Sara, so, 60, 122 Student advisory system, 203 Student Association, 77, 80, 1 14, US, 121, 164, 184, 187 Student center, 173. See also Rice Memorial Student Center Student Council, 82, iis, 116, 164, 179, 183, 186 Student Senate, 184 Students cynicism of, iyo-93 graduate, 93, 159, 160, 200 home towns of, 48 honors, 61-62 number of, 121 out-of-state, 92, 207 out-of-town, 121, 189 Texas resident, 92 transfer, 90, 93 Students' Army Training Corps, 81-82, 83 Studies in English Literature. 172 Stussi, Fritz, 214 Sugar Bowl, 194 Suman, Don, 19 s Superior Oil, 170 Sylvester, Leche, i 30 Szent-Gyorgyi, Albert, 214 Taft, William Howard, 99 Talmage, Roy B., 149, 183, 197 Tape. 7S-77, 82, 83 Tau Beta Pi, 127 Taylor, Henry Osborn, 118 Technical school, idea of, 24 Ten Year Plan, 203 Tennis Club, S2 Tennis, varsity, 167 Tenure policy 61, 123-24, 203, 204 Texas Department of Education, 67 Thomas, I. D., 171, 123 Thomson, Sir George P., 214 Thresher. 32, 74, 7 S. 77, 80, 82, 98, 104, los, no, 112, IIS, 11'^. 121, 126, 129, 132, 134, IS7, is8, 161, 163, 164, i8s, 186, 197, 207, 208 Thucydides, 42 Tidden, lohn Clark, 96 Tillett, Henry A., no, in Todd, Anderson, 172 "Toonerville trolley," 49 Torrens, Mary lane, 122 Town and Country Apartments, 181 Toynbec, Arnold, 213, 216 Track, varsity, 36, 106, 167 Traditions, student, 108, 116, IS7 Traffic, regulation of, ni-12, 177 Trustee Distinguished Professor, position of, 204 Index 249 Trustee emeritus, position of, 143 Trustees. Set' Board of Trustees Tsanoff, Radoslav Andrea, 58, 96, 98, 108, 125, 204, 213, 217 Tuition, 92, 95, 121, 122, 135, 191, 200, 201, 202 Turner, Richard B., 172 Turpin, lack, 167 Uhrig, L. v., 124 Ulricfi, Floyd E., 123 "Uncle [upe," i s 3 Underwood, |ohn, 103 Union Carbide, 170 Universe (sculpturel, 173 "University" (term), 19s, 196, 218 See also Rice University University Extension Lectures, 65-66, 83 University, idea of, 18, 24-25. See also "University" V-12 students, 134, 13s, 165 Valley Pipe Line Company, 137 Van Dyke, Henry, 5,22 Van de Graaff accelerator. See Accelerator Vandiver, Frank, 172 Varsity sports. See Athletics and names of individual athletic activities Veterans of Future Wars, 132 Viner, lacob, 214 Virginia Cleveland Literary Society 163 Walker, Malcolm, 195 Wallace, Bill, 130 Wann, Trenton, 161 Watkin, William Ward, 45, 64, 100, 103, 105, 106, 108, 132, 141, 145, 171, 217 Watson, Joe, 167 Watts, Grace Leake, 216 Weber, Charles F., 26 Wecter, Dixon, 144 Weems, F. Carrington, 22 Weiser, Harry B., 58, 96, 122, 124, 127, 129, 132, 145, 170, 2X7 West Hall, 36, 60, 180, 183. See also Hanszen College Whiting, George, 95 Whittington, Harmon, 169, 170 Wierum, Frederic, 204 Wiess College, 183, 187. See also Wiess Hall Wiess Hall, 153, 178, 180. See also Wiess College Wiess, Harry C, 108, 137, 138, 139, 140, 142, 143, 144, I S3, 168, 169, 173 endowed chair in memory of, 171 Wiess, Mrs. Harry C. See Olga Keith Wiess Wiess, Olga Keith, 169, 171 Wilford, I.M., 136 Wilhoit, lames, 172, 204 Will, forged, 13 Will Rice College, 183, 187. See also Residence halls; South Hall Williams, George G., 95, 161 Williams, lames "Froggy," 167 Williams, Robert P., no Wilson, Harold A., 44, 48, S7, 61, 64, 70, 94, 96, 98, 104, 108, 113, 120, 123, ISO, 213, 217 Wilson, Woodrow, 17, 18, 19, 22, S7, 70, 178 Wischmeyer, Carl R., 123, 183 Wolcott, Fred, 131, 1A7 Women number of, 90, i 39 position of, 47, 49-50,^v n^ out-of-town, 206-7 Women's Hall Committee, 179 Women's Council, 81, 127, 163 Woods, Roberta, 127 World War I, 69, 70, 82, 83 World War II, 127, 132, 134, 141, iS7, IS 9, 19s, 218 Wortham, Gus S., 143, 169 Wyatt, Edwin, 161 Yagi, Sakae, 213 Yankee Stadium, 200 Yell leaders. See Cheerleaders Yerges, Howard F., 103 Young Men's Christian Association, SI, 84, IIS Young Women's Christian Association, 51, 84, iis Zindler, Marvin, 194