“The world is ours!” Those words which adorn thetelegram which arrived in Stevens Point aroundmidnight on July 21, 1893, signaled to those whohad led the effort to obtain a normal school campusfor the city that victory had come. Cooperativeefforts by the city and county, and by educationalleaders seeking a school for the city, led to the suc-cess of the venture, a success made p05sible by theclose working relationship between those from“town” and those representing “gown.” A close rela-tionship between city and campus was thusestaHished at the very beginning, and 100 yearslater, that relationship continues. Town and gownhave related well in Stevens Point, and all of theevidence suggests that the positive relationship willcontinue as the campus enters its second century.

What follows is an attempt to articulate the historyof the campus established in Stevens Point in 1894by the action of the Normal School Board ofRegents. From rather humble beginnings as a nor-mal school, to degreegranting status as a state teach-ers college, to the ability to educate other thanteachers as a state college and state university, andfinally becoming part of the University ofWisconsin System, that history is discussed. As inall such efforts, not everything nor everyone can beincluded, but an effort has been made to make cer-tain that mo’st of the significant highlights of thefirst 100 years of the campus have been incorporat-ed.

This book follows a basic chronological formatgrouped around the periods in which presidentsserved (they were called “chancellors” following themerger with the University of Wisconsin in the early1970s), an arrangement which I believe to be themost logical. Although colleges and universities inthe 1990s place a great deal of emphasis upon theconcept of shared or faculty governance, the man-agement of the campus with input from administra-tion, faculty/staff (including classified staff since theearly 1990s), and students, it was not always thatway. In fact, for about the first 80 years of the exis-tence of the school, governance was essentially bypresidents/chancellors subject only to the supervi-sion of the Board of Regents. A benevolent presi-dent would share some of his (they were all male)

authority. Others would not. So, to understand fullythe rationale for organizing such a study aroundpresidents, the reader must be aware of the greatpower that once was wielded by those presidents.

Merle Curti and Vernon Carstensen, in their two-volume history of the University of Wisconsin-Madison from 1848 to 1925, have stated clearly thecase for strong presidents in university settings. “Inour American state universities [include normalschools and teachers colleges) leadership must comefrom or through the president. Although it is proba-bly true that no president by himself ever succeededin making a university great, it is doubtful whetherany state university became great without a greatpresident, and many an institution has been reducedto second place or lower through the efforts or mis-takes of a president. The office is one in which deci-sions of high importance are made or avoided; andthe decision of the presidents, like the sins of thefathers, may be visited unto the third and fourthgenerations.”

This policy of giving all power to the presidentscarried over into the establishment of the normalschools in Wisconsin. In a doctoral dissertationcompleted in 1953, William H. Herrmann noted thatadministration of the Wisconsin normal schools wasplaced in the hands of the presidents. For the mostpart, faculty played a small role except where theymight be able to influence the president. He con-cluded that this powerful role often led to “undemo-cratic” leadership.

The president was the dominant force on the cam-pus. Until the situation began to change during the1960s, it was assumed that the authority of the pres-ident to create a college, to change the curriculum,or to discipline a student or faculty member was agiven. As late as the 1950s when William C. Hansensimply created a junior college and a dean, throughLee Dreyfus’s almost singlehanded creation of newcolleges in the early 1970s, presidents did prettymuch as they pleased on the campus, subject only toreview by the Board of Regents. The concept ofshared governance, so often invoked in the past 30years, essentially did not exist for the first three-quarters of the history of the campus at StevensPoint, or existed only to the extent that the presi-

Prologue and Acknowledgments

dents allowed. And, this was true at most other edu-cational institutions as well.

This book attempts to trace the history of the cam-pus at Stevens Point from its creation in 1894through its first 100 years. It is issued in the centen-nial year to commemorate the many achievementsof the students, faculty, and staff that have servedthe campus over that first century. As a result of theorganization of the book, it may appear that only thepresidents or the Boards of Regents made thingshappen. In fact, despite the previously mentionedgovernance limitations, it is the work of faculty andstaff and the actions of the university’s students thatare remembered.

Many persons helped make this work p05sible.Elizabeth Vehlow researched the basic materials forthe period from 1894 to 1940. The paper she pre-sented as part of a project in a graduate course inhistory formed the basis for much of the material inchapters two through six. History professor emeritusCarol Marion provided the basic research for thechapter on the Albertson era, while UWSP’sarchivist William Paul did the same for the Dreyfusera. Ellen Gordon, a member of UWSP’s PoliticalScience Department, did a significant amount of theresearch on the Marshall years. Their efforts areacknowledged with appreciation. Others also con-tributed by their advice, suggestions for sources andother leads. A member of the 97th College TrainingDetachment during World War II, Albert LaMere,shared his personal reminiscences of that program’sexperiences in the community and on the campus.These, along with many others who offered advice,information, photos, or other materials, all helped in

reaching the conclusion of this project. Withoutthem, this book would be significantly different andprobably less informative. Errors-should there beanyare my responsibility, as I edited and rewrote allof the information presented to me, as well asresearching and writing the chapters to which noone else was assigned.

Marilyn Thompson, Mary Sipiorski and VirginiaCrandell of the UWSP News and Publications officealso aided significantly in the latter stages of theproject. Finally, the generosity of Charles Nason andWorzalla Publishing Company of Stevens Point inproviding for the printing and binding of this bookis acknowledged with gratitude.

In any such undertaking, many significant playersmust be omitted. To all of you who helped make thefirst 100 years of UWSP what they were, thank you.To faculty members in the College of Letters andScience who may have wondered why I was not sit-ting at my desk when they needed something thispast year or so, I hope this book will reassure youthat I was not “gone fishing.”

To those who read chapters along the way, includ-ing Robert Knowlton, John Anderson, and my wife,Barbara, and my son, Jay, thanks also.

This book is dedicated to all of the women andmen who have contributed to the past 100 years ofthe history of UWSP. Thank you, all of you formaking this book possible.

Justus F. PaulProfessor of History and Dean College of Letters and Science

June, 1994

“The State will not have discharged its duty to theUniversity, nor the University fulfilled its mission tothe people until adequate means have been furnishedto every young man and woman in the state toacquire an education at home in every department oflearning.” These words, originally declared in a state-ment by the Board of Regents of the University ofWisconsin, and repeated in Governor Robert M.LaFollette’s first message to the legislature in 1901,addressed Wisconsin’s long tradition of making high-er educational opportunities available and affordableto the citizens of the state. Although aimed at a popu-lace served by a single state university and seven nor-mal schools in 1901, the message was consistent withthe theme of equal educational opportunity which hasbeen one of the major parts of the state’s long andproud history. The idea of educational opportunityhas been discussed and debated, and has been trans-lated into a continuing effort to enlarge and expandthe state’s system of higher education. The processreached its zenith with the merger of the Universityof Wisconsin and the Wisconsin State Universities, anaction passed by the legislature in 1971 which culmi-nated in full merger of the two previous systems in1974. The normal school which opened in StevensPoint in 1894 became a part of the University ofWisconsin System with the actions of the legislaturein the early 1970s. It is the intent of this book to tracethe history of the campus at Stevens Point, created asa normal school in 1893, opening in 1894, andbecoming part of the educational history of the stateof Wisconsin.

Before recounting the story of the founding of theStevens Point Normal School, it is appropriate toreview briefly the history of the development of

public higher education in Wisconsin. The history ofthe University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point, from itsorigins as a normal school, through development asa state teachers college, state college, and state uni-versity parallels the ongoing themes which led ulti-mately to the merged University of Wisconsin System.

Wisconsin’s founding fathers, meeting in constitu-tional convention in 1846, were aware of the neces-sity to support public education and they recognizedthe need to prepare teachers to provide that publiceducation. The constitution drafted in 1846 providedfor a tax-supported school system, and called uponthe legislature to provide a normal school for thetraining of teachers for the state’s schools. Althoughthat constitution was not adopted, the tone was setfor the one which was adopted two years later, whena clear reference to teacher training was included inthe state’s constitution adopted in 1848. Ironically,Henry Barnard, later president of the university inMadison which was often accused of seeking tothwart the development of normal school educationin the state, made several addresses in the state in1846 urging the constitution makers to establish nor-mal schools for the training of teachers.Unfortunately, the inability or unwillingness to pro-vide the necessary funding for normal educationprevented any significant, early development of nor-mal schools or teacher training in the state.

The constitution had specified the creation of astate university and had called for the establishmentof a Normal Department in that university to providefor teacher training, but it took direct action by thelegislature in July, 1848 to establish a state universityand to direct it to create four departments including adepartment which would teach the theory and prac-

Chapter 1

From Normal School to UWSP:The First 100 Years

tice of elementary teaching. Such a department wasstarted in 1856 but with such limited financial sup-port ($800) that little progress was made.

Further legislative action in 1857 directed that 25percent of the income from the Swamp Land Fund,a fund established from sales of land under the fed-eral law of 1850, be used to support normal trainingand until the state began direct support in 1885, theusually insufficient income from this fund was all ofthe support provided by the state. The act of 1857also established a Normal School Board of Regentswith the authority to “apportion the fund to colleges,universities, and academies in the state that hadestablished teacher training departments.” Althoughthe university in Madison was explicitly excludedfrom obtaining any of these funds, the state’s privatecolleges were eligible to seek funding from thissource which proved to be so unsatisfactory overtime that major parts of the act were later repealed.The regents were required to meet twice each yearand to make a biennial report to the governor and anannual report to the state superintendent of publicinstruction. The nine-member board held its firstofficial meeting on July 15, 1857.

During the Civil War years of the 1860s, wartimeexigencies resulted in an increased interest in nor-mal education at the university. The NormalDepartment, which had been separated from the uni-versity in 1860, was restored as part of it in 1863.Enrollment declines brought about by the Civil War,rather than any sudden determination to fulfill theirconstitutional obligation to prepare teachers, waslikely the main reason for this changed attitudetoward teacher training at the state’s university. Theaction did open the university’s doors to women, afactor viewed with “mixed feelings” by some of thefaculty members. The first 73 women studentsenrolled at the Madison campus for the first term in1863. After the war, the Normal Department’s popu-larity declined and its work was combined with thatof the Preparatory Department. Although some fac-ulty objected to the presence of women on the cam-pus, in 1866 the legislature directed the university toopen all departments to women. Further action mod-ified this requirement, at least in part because of theobjections of the newly-named university president,Paul A. Chadbourne, but full coeducation finallywas approved by the legislature in 1874.

When the university dropped its NormalDepartment in 1868, the private colleges, with theexception of Carroll and Milton, found the state’slimited financial assistance in teacher training inade-quate to induce them to shift enough of their effortsinto teacher training. Consequently, according toWalker Wyman, historian of the Wisconsin StateUniversity System, a void existed and a bettermeans of ensuring an adequate supply of teachersfor the state was sought.

It is possible that the university might have metthe requirements of the constitution and preventedthe establishment of a system of competing normalschools had it chosen to take teacher training seri-ously. But, the university chose not to do so, leadingsome historians to note that they treated the teachingof teachers as “something slightly improper,” andthat while “teaching farmers or even artisans mightbe institutionally respectable, the same was notwholly true of teaching teachers.” Between 1866and 1916, the Normal School Board of Regents tookaction to rectify this shortcoming and created ninenormal schools around the state. One of these,which was approved in 1893 and opened to studentsin 1894, would later become the University ofWisconsin-Stevens Point. Originally, the normalboard intended to establish one such institution ineach of the state’s congressional districts. The boardwas astonished by the interest in obtaining a normalschool shown by many communities.

The normal schools were established in partbecause of the constitutional mandate and partly asa result of the growth of the state’s public schools.The state superintendents of public instruction con-tinued to push for state supported teacher trainingmodeled after the normal schools already in exis-tence in several eastern states. Defined as schoolsin which students were to be educated “with espe-cial reference to fitting them for teaching in ourpublic schools,” the first normals were authorizedby the board in February of 1866 to be located inPlatteville and in Whitewater. Additional normalschool campuses were authorized between thatyear and 1885 for Oshkosh, River Falls, andMilwaukee, and in 1891, the legislature authorizedthe normal regents to establish a sixth normal inthe northern part of the state, an action whichresulted in the selection of Stevens Point as the site

of the state’s sixth normal school. The intriguingstory of the selection of Stevens Point will berecounted in chapter two.

Conflicts between the university and the normalschools began with the creation of the normals.From the beginning, despite a rather strictly pre-scribed curriculum, the normals reached beyondteacher training, and in so doing, raised the specterof direct competition with the university and withthe state’s small private colleges. Discussions of thenature of the normal school program were regularand heated. Should they increase the academic con-tent of their curricula or should they remain satisfiedwith providing a narrow base of pedagogy forprospective and ongoing teachers? Opponents of thegrowth and enlargement of the role of the normalschools, including the university and the state’s pri-vate colleges, stressed the limited role provided forthe normals by the constitutional and legislativemandates. The continuing hostility toward increas-ing the academic role of the normals was referred toas “the long guerrilla war” by historian WalkerWyman. The position of the university vis-a-vis thenormals remained firm. Wyman noted that the uni-versity viewed the normals as constant competitorsfor the limited state funding, and, as the turn of thecentury neared, they “discussed whether to seek the

destruction of the normals or to allow them to existas preparatory schools for the University.”

The conflict over institutional mission, thoughterms like “mission” and “vision” had not yet beenapplied to higher education, began early. Some, likeState Superintendent of Public Instruction John G.McMynn who had been one of the main proponentsof building normal schools, worried as early as 1866that the teacher training institutions under develop-ment might put too much effort into education otherthan teacher training. This, said McMynn, mightlead to a disastrous result “not only to these schools,but to our whole educational system.”

The university also watched the growth of the nor-mals with apprehension. The argument for a strongliberal arts based education was made early inWisconsin as it had been in several other states.Advocates of growth in the academic areas on thenormal school campuses argued that it was goodteacher training to provide a broad base of knowledgefor the state’s public school teachers. They noted thatthe original curriculum was almost completely aca-demic in nature because it was prepared by academi-cians and because it was deemed necessary due to thelimited academic preparation of those entering theinstitutions. This argument over the nature of theacademic program of the normal schools continued

Architect’s drawing of Stevens Point Normal

throughout the history of the institutions, and, withsome later modifications, might be said to have beena factor in the merger of the 1970s.

From the beginning days of the normal schoolsuntil 1897, admission was based on an examination.After 1897, graduation from a high school or trans-fer from the university or another college wasaccepted in lieu of the exam. Failure to achieve ascore of 70 percent on the exam or to qualify foradmission in other ways, required admission into thepreparatory class of the normal schools.

The earliest courses of study offered by the nor-mal schools included six-week institutes designedfor teachers needing further professional training,two-year courses to prepare elementary teachers,and a three-year course to train teachers for thehigher grades. Some significant revisions were madein the curriculum in the 1890s which led to moreacademic specialization and “a victory for the advo-cates of a subject matter centered curriculum.” Bythis time, the normal schools had begun preparingstudents for transfer to the university or other col-leges, even though each normal school’s catalog

emphasized the teacher training focus and noted thattuition would be charged to those who were notintending to teach.

By the turn of the century, the normal schoolsbegan to seriously review their mission. InDecember, 1905 a five-day conference of normalschool faculty from all of the campuses was held atOshkosh. The task of those in attendance was toreview the curricula and to compare the methodsand goals of each of the normal schools’ faculties.Although the meeting did not succeed in bringingabout closer uniformity, it did create a renewedsense of professional enthusiasm among the facultyin attendance.

As the normals pressed for the right to offer four-year programs and to grant degrees, the strugglewith the university became more public and moreheated. Legislative attempts in 1907 and 1909 topass bills giving the normal schools the right togrant degrees were opposed strongly and successful-ly by the president of the university, Charles R. VanHise. Van Hise represented those who felt that itwas the university’s prerogative to approve the

Stevens Point Normal faculty under President Sims (standing in back row).

state’s high schools and to train their teachers.Despite this belief, it was clear that the universitywas not doing a very good job of providing suffi-cient teachers, particularly for the numerous newhigh schools opening in many of the state’s smallercommunities. The subsequent attempts by the nor-mal schools to meet this continually growing needbrought them into competition and conflict with theuniversity. That competition remained a part of therelationship well into the later merger of the normalschools (which were, by then, state universities) andthe university.

The advocates of degree-granting status for thenormal schools argued that their geographical prox-imity to students was of major importance. Smallerclasses and individual attention provided in the nor-mal school setting were also mentioned, as was theability of parents to provide closer supervision oftheir children if they were able to attend a collegecloser to home. (The “in loco parentis” concept wasalive and well!)

President Van Hise and his allies from the privatecolleges were unable to block passage of a bill in1911 which gave the normals the right to providetwo-year liberal arts courses, but they did get lan-guage written into the bill which was intended toprevent the normals from going beyond this statuswithout the approval of the legislature. Servingessentially as junior colleges, the schools wereauthorized to provide the first two years toward afour-year degree. Transfer from a normal school tothe university was supposed to be relatively easy,but was, in fact, difficult to control, as relationsremained strained between them. When the legisla-ture again debated giving degree-granting status tothe normal schools in 1913, Van Hise and his pri-vate school friends once more succeeded in killingthe effort made by the normal schools.

Attempts to bring the university and the normalschools closer together were made by the legislaturein 1909 and again in 1911. A Board of PublicAffairs was created with a directive to examine the“wisdom of creating a central board of educationalcontrol....” Although that Board of Public Affairs’review found that the idea was not acceptable toeither the normal regents or the university’s regents,and that there was really no widespread public sup-port for such a statewide board, conservative

Governor Emmanuel L. Philipp continued to urgethe creation of a single board of education. In 1915,a State Board of Education was created, but bothBoards of Regents were left intact and the powers ofthe central board were deliberately and carefullylimited. Left with essentially no authority over high-er education, the State Board of Education proved tobe ineffective and was ignored by those it sought toinfluence. The short-lived board was eliminated bylegislative action in 1923, and this first, limitedattempt at statewide coordination of higher educa-tion thus failed, primarily because neither of thepublic educational institutions nor the public at largehad any real interest in closer coordination.

With the charge from the legislature to determinewhat to do with the normal schools, the State Boardof Public Affairs hiredA. N. Farmer, a member of the New York TrainingSchool for Public Service, to conduct a cooperativesurvey of the operations of the schools. Farmer’sreport, published nearly two years later, in 1914,criticized the schools’ emphasis upon academiccourses at the expense of pedagogy. The surveybrought out the strengths of the normal schools butfound many weaknesses and shortcomings as well.Farmer suggested that the emphasis placed on meet-ing the needs of students who wished to attend theuniversity would weaken the efforts of the schoolsin teacher training. He urged strengthening of theprograms for rural teachers, coordination of effortsbetween the campuses and elimination of someoverlapping programs. Sounding a theme whichwould recur repeatedly during much of the twentiethcentury, he called for improvement of salaries as amove toward the improvement of the respective fac-ulties. He suggested increasing admission standardsby including a requirement for graduation from highschool, and he concluded that the schools would bemore effectively managed if the presidents wererelieved from doing so much “clerical work.”

A number of changes in the normal schools fol-lowed, including many which were directly relatedto Farmer’s recommendations. For example, inMay, 1914, the regents made it a requirement atleast whenever possible, that new faculty membersteaching academic subjects have at least a mas-ter’s degree, and that to teach in the trainingschools one be required to have a bachelor’s

degree and a minimum of two years of teachingexperience. A “Normal School Bulletin” wasissued in 1914, the first such effort to publicizecooperatively the work of the schools. A resolu-tion was passed in 1916 providing for four-yearcourses of instruction for the preparation of highschool teachers, and a recommendation for arequirement of high school graduation as a basisfor admission followed shortly. Farmer recom-mended that the power of the presidents, alreadysubstantial, be increased so that they might begiven a free hand in the selection and retention offaculty members; that they be allowed to deter-mine all salary increases; and, that they be giventhe authority to “determine all matters pertainingto courses of study for the training of teachers andthe subject matter to be included....” Farmer fur-ther urged that presidents be allowed to determinethe textbooks and select all supplies and equip-ment to be used. Not until the 1950s and 1960swould faculty begin to gain control over many ofthese matters. Always important in the Universityof Wisconsin, the principle of shared governancewas virtually unknown during the early history ofthe state’s normal schools.

The debate over the nature of the academic programs in the normal schools took a differentturn in the 1920s. With pressure from students andfaculty, and with the strong endorsement of StateSuperintendent Charles P. Gary, momentum grewfor degree-granting status for the schools. Despitethe opposition of President Van Hise, the NormalSchool Board of Regents approved a resolution in1916 providing for a four-year course for highschool teachers. The effort, however, did not real-ly move forward until five years later, nearly threeyears after the death of Van Hise, the most vocalopponent of such action.

After passage in 1911 of the authorization forthe schools to provide the first two years of uni-versity general education courses, the refusal ofthe university to provide blanket acceptance of thestudents as juniors in full standing inflamed thehostilities. Fed by the 6pposition of President VanHise on one side and State Superintendent Garyand other supporters of the normals on the other,the debate over the purpose of the normals contin-ued into the decade’s third century.

With a rapid growth in enrollment after World WarI, the normals were forced to make decisions con-cerning their size and academic status. Expandedinterest in higher education after World War I, and anattempt to find alternative careers as the nation’s agri-cultural depression set in during the early years of the1920s, were among the major factors in the growth ofenrollment at the normal schools during the periodfrom 1919-1923. Seeking to further clarify the mis-sion of the schools, and reacting to the unexpectedlylarge increase in enrollments, the normal schoolboard made several decisions which directly affectedboth mission and enrollments. The college coursewas dropped at Milwaukee in 1919, an action whichled to the resignation of that school’s president. OnJuly 27, 1922, the board extended this limitation tothe other normals when it passed a resolution statingthat as of July 1, 1923 “all subjects not primarily, def-initely, and exclusively a part of a course for thepreparation of teachers shall be discontinued. . . .” Inshort, after July 1, 1923, all of the college coursesauthorized by the legislature in 1911 were to bedropped. Legislative efforts during the next year toreverse this decision were unsuccessful, although thenormal schools never totally complied with this deci-sion. In an attempt to send a clear message toprospective students, the regents passed a resolutionrequiring students to pay tuition if they were unwill-ing or unable to sign a declaration that they wereplanning to teach.

In an attempt to strengthen the preparation ofteachers, the board, in a series of meetings, alsoreached decisions to authorize the schools to pre-pare four-year courses for teachers in English, his-tory, social sciences, mathematics, foreign lan-guages, and sciences, and to seek legislative author-ization to grant the bachelor’s degree in education.Finally, the board made the decision to begin thetransition from normal schools to teachers colleges.Gaining the necessary legislative approvals, thesechanges were implemented, and Whitewater offi-cially became the first State Teachers College, withthe authorization to offer a four-year degree in edu-cation, in the spring of 1926. Others followedquickly, and by the summer of that year, each cam-pus had received such authorization in its particularfields of specialty. For Stevens Point, those fieldswere home economics education and rural educa-

tion. The offering of degree programs was to belimited, but the limits were difficult to enforce andwere soon all but forgotten.

With the name change to State Teachers Collegeseffective on September 1, 1927, the argument aboutthe mission of the normal schools was essentiallyover. Who won? Although the university and itssupporters might feel vindicated, in a real sense, theformer normal schools had won. Efforts of the uni-versity to limit the role of the normals forced thenormal school leaders to upgrade their faculties andprograms to prove their value to the state. Strivingto prevent the university from obtaining and main-taining full control over the training of high schoolteachers, the normal schools reacted successfully. Inessence, the obstructionist tactics employed by theuniversity provided the impetus needed for the nor-mals to determine their future and to make thechange to teachers colleges with degree-grantingstatus, and the argument over keeping the formernormals down was henceforth moot. With the nor-mal board’s action in July of 1922 directing theschools to concentrate solely on teacher training,that became the focus for most of the next twodecades, and the argument over professional versusacademic missions all but disappeared until afterWorld War II. With the authority to grant degrees,and with the continued availability of liberal artscourses, the situation was set for a renewal of thequarrel. After the Great Depression and World WarII, with thousands of new students seeking a collegeeducation, the issue would reemerge. The enroll-ment pressures would combine with continued cam-pus desires to offer liberal arts degrees and thistime, the former normal schools/teacher collegeswould win a clear and decisive victory.

Along with the decision by the regents that theemphasis of the state teachers colleges would,indeed, be teacher training, events outside the con-trol of either of the protagonists prevented any fur-ther serious debate during the decade of the 1930sand well into that of the 1940s. External factors likethe Great Depression and World War II pushed high-er education into the background insofar as the pressand the public were concerned. Dealing with theproblems related to those two events also kept theregents, faculty, and administrators of the teacherscolleges busy. Although interest in further develop-

ment of academic programs continued, the opposi-tion of influential regents and world events helpedrestrain developments in that direction during the1930s and 1940s.

Enrollments during the teachers college era fluctu-ated with the course of events. The post World War Iincrease reached its peak in 1922, but a sharpdecline set in over the next four years, probablyattributable at least in part to the regents’ resolutionending the academic programs which were notdirectly related to teacher training. Enrollmentgrowth during the 1930s reflected the inability ofstudents of college age to find work during theGreat Depression, but with the onset of World WarII, enrollments declined sharply. Across the state,enrollment in the teachers colleges plunged from8,100 in 1942 to 2,800 in 1943.

Even during the depression and war, the idea ofexpanding the role of the teachers colleges was keptalive. In 1937, the regents had authorized the granti-ng of the Bachelor of Science degree in addition tothe Bachelor of Education, but external eventshelped limit growth in this area. With the post-warenrollment boom, pressure again mounted to offer abroadly based liberal arts education. Graduate work,on a limited basis, had begun unofficially in 1941 atthe teachers college in Milwaukee, and althoughsuch efforts were opposed by the university inMadison, the normal regents officially authorizedgraduate work at Milwaukee in 1945 and atSuperior in 1948.

Until 1945, efforts to provide non-teaching, liberalarts degrees had not been successful, although stu-dents not seeking teacher training were allowed toenroll as they could be accommodated. The resultwas a rapid rate of increase in the enrollment of stu-dents not planning on careers in teaching. Theimplications of this “non-traditional” enrollment onthe educational developments in the post-war periodwere clear. The demands on the teachers colleges tooffer more than teacher training courses were strongand probably irreversible.

Legislative action in 1945 allowed the establish-ment of a four-year liberal arts program at anyteachers college not within a 275 mile radius of anyother public institution of higher education inWisconsin. Not surprisingly, only Superior quali-fied! Board action made two-year liberal arts cours-

es legal again in 1946, and in 1947 Superior wasgranted the right to offer a full, four-year liberal artsdegree. In 1949, the legislature authorized the samedegree-granting right to the rest of the teachers col-leges and the regents added their approval in 1951.A name change followed, changing the former stateteachers colleges into the Wisconsin State Colleges.Although the legislation providing these changeswas approved in 1949, Governor OscarRennebohm’s approval was contingent upon a delayin making the changes official until 1951 when, hehoped, it would be accompanied by the financialsupport that such a change would require.

In addition to opening the teachers colleges tostudents seeking non-teaching degrees, renewedefforts were made to merge parts of the state’shigher education system. Merger attempts were notnew in the 1940s or 1950s, as legislation aimed insome way at collaboration, integration or mergerhad been introduced at nearly every legislative ses-sion since 1897. Most of these efforts had faileddue to lack of interest by the university, the teach-ers colleges, or the public. A proposal to merge allof the state teachers colleges and Stout Institutewith the university in 1949 failed because it wasstrongly opposed by the university and by theteachers colleges. A more limited proposal in 1951to merge the state college at Milwaukee with theuniversity was opposed by the university on thesomewhat disingenuous grounds that it would seri-ously harm the state teachers college system.Legislation to begin to integrate the systems failedonce again in the 1953 legislative session.

Governor Walter Kohler proposed the establish-ment of a single state board of higher educationonce more in 1955, but continued opposition forcedconcessions and compromise. The resultant changesprovided for the creation of a CoordinatingCommittee for Higher Education (hereafter CCHE)and the merger of the state college in Milwaukeewith the university. Stout Institute was brought intothe state college system as part of the same agree-ment and subsequent legislative actions.

Because of the necessity to compromise in orderto pass the legislation, the membership of theCCHE was dominated by members of the regentsof the two higher education systems and wouldbecome essentially an advocate for higher educa-

tion. A staff member of the agency, writing laterabout the efforts of the CCHE to address the issuesin higher education, noted that because of this dom-inance by members of the two systems, the CCHEwas essentially a “captive” of the systems during itsearly years from 1955-59.

While the CCHE was struggling in its attempts tocoordinate the state’s higher education systems, bothof those systems continued to grow and develop.Programs expanded and increased for teachers aswell as for those not seeking teaching careers.Graduate programs, at first cooperative withMadison, continued to expand as well, and as aresult, the regents again changed the name of theinstitutions in 1964: this time, from Wisconsin StateColleges to Wisconsin State Universities.

Two-year branch campuses, first started by theUniversity of Wisconsin, were also established bythe State University System during the 1960s, as theWSU system opened two-year centers in Medford,Fond du Lac, Richland Center, and Rice Lake. TheUniversity of Wisconsin, in the meantime, continuedits expansion into various other cities, establishingseveral additional two-year centers and four-yearcampuses at Green Bay and Kenosha (Parkside).

The CCHE, founded at least in part to attempt tocontrol such developments, found its hands tied andwas unsuccessful in its efforts to restrain the compe-tition between the two systems or to limit thegrowth and development of higher education in thestate. A lack of staff and staff expertise, as well asinadequate funding for the agency hampered itsefforts. The CCHE also suffered from a lack ofdirection and support from the executive and leg-islative branches of the state’s government, furtherreducing its ability to respond to day4o-day issues.While the university and the state university systemretained legislative support, the same was not true ofthe coordinating body. The resultant indecisivenessand the failure of agency members to grasp fully thepolitical nature of the CCHE’s existence combinedto almost guarantee the ultimate demise of thatagency. Although several efforts were made tostrengthen it, including changes in name(Coordinating COUNCIL instead of Committee),and membership (reducing the influence of the twoboards of regents), the agency’s role continued todiminish until it was given a mercy killing by

Governor Patrick Lucey and the legislature in 1971.The decision by Governor Lucey to eliminate the

budget for the CCHE was predicated upon his planto merge the two university systems. Two years ear-lier, Lucey’s Republican predecessor, Warren P.Knowles, had created a special commission toreview the state’s educational system. The commis-sion, headed by Neenah industrialist WilliamKellett, was given the charge to review educationalneeds and problems in the state. It was directed toreview elementary and secondary as well as voca-tional and higher educational programs throughoutthe state. More than 600 persons were involved inthe process as the commission sought informationfrom a broad base of public opinion.

The recommendations of the Kellett Commissionincluded a call for “creation of a State EducationBoard.” It urged changes in the boards of regents ofthe two university systems primarily by broadeningthe base of the WSU board. The practice of select-

ing “local” regents for the WSU board was ques-tioned and the commission recommended that thispractice be changed. Furthermore, the commissionsuggested that the proposed new State EducationBoard “make it a first order of business to considerthe merger of these two systems under a single uni-versity board of regents.”

As the commission appointed by a Republicangovernor was finishing its work, a Democrat waselected to fill the governor’s office. From early on,the new governor, Patrick Lucey, made it knownthat he would not support the recommendation fromthe Kellett Commission that called for establishmentof a State Board of Education. The Kellett report,which had “attacked every educational establish-ment in the state,” had succeeded in making all ofthem unhappy and uncomfortable. Democrat Lucey,not wanting to enshrine this work of his predeces-sor, and seeking to satisfy his own political support-ers within the educational establishments, quicklydecided against acceptance of the report. Instead,sometime between the campaign in 1970 and hisinauguration early the next year, Lucey decided tosupport the merger of the two systems as the prefer-able alternative to another attempt at controlling thegrowth of higher education through a body like theCCHE or the State Board of Education which alsohad failed. In essence, he was accepting a basicpremise of the Kellett Commission report whilepublicly refusing to support the steps to attain theresult upon which that premise (a merger of the twosystems of higher education) was based.

Merger of the state’s two university systems wasnot a new idea when championed by GovernorLucey in 1970 and after. In a study of the mergerwritten as a doctor of education thesis at IndianaUniversity in 1974, Otto M. Carothers, Jr. noted thatattempts at merger or integration had been attempt-ed in 23 of the 38 legislative sessions between 1897and 1969. Most of the efforts made little progressand quickly disappeared. However, those made dur-ing the period from 1909-1923, resulting in creationof a State Board of Education in 1915, and thosemade from 19481955, from which the ill-fatedCoordinating Committee for Higher Educationresulted, did present the appearance of progressbeing made by those who sought closer supervisionand oversight of the higher educational units. Yet,Governor Patrick Lucey and UWSP Chancellor

Lee Sherman Dreyfus

neither effort had much real impact upon highereducation in th6 state. Consequently, once again in1970-71, those who opposed such efforts saw littlereason to be concerned, and let the movement gainmomentum without paying much attention to it.That lack of concern would later prove to be a fatalmistake by those opposed to the idea of merger.

Candidate Lucey called for merger of the systemsin a campaign statement on June 12, 1970. Sincesuch proposals had been made so regularly, very lit-tle response came immediately. The prospects forthe success of such a proposal this time received amajor boost in October, 1970, when the assistantmajority leader of the Senate, Republican RaymondC. Johnson, also called for merger of the two boardsof regents. The issue was thrust into the public spot-light with the testimony of President Lee ShermanDreyfus of Wisconsin State University-StevensPoint, at a budget hearing held on December 8,1970. Dreyfus, a gifted public speaker, effectivelynoted that the budgetary and other distinctionsbetween the two educational systems were probablyappropriate when the WSU campuses were primari-ly teacher training institutions, but he asserted thatwith the changes implemented during the 1950s and1960s, that situation simply was no longer appropri-ate. His strongest and most persuasive argumentswere made by comparing the operational and othercosts associated with two institutions, Green Bay, anewcomer to the university system, and StevensPoint of the state university system. Comparing thepublic funding support for the two as providing aCadillac and a Chevrolet, Dreyfus skillfully con-vinced many that it was time for greater paritybetween the campuses and the two university sys-tems. His most telling argument suggested that thesons and daughters of taxpayers deserved equaltreatment regardless of which state institution ofhigher education they chose to attend, or were forcedto attend because of financial or other limitations ontheir ability to travel to a more distant campus.

Despite the strong support of Dreyfus and theindication that some Republicans would supportsuch a proposal made by a Democratic governor, thepublic remained essentially and strangely disinter-ested. Perhaps the subject had been discussed toomany times previously, but for whatever reason,even those who would be most affected by the pro-

posed merger failed to sense the seriousness of theeffort, and when Governor Lucey included it in hisbudget message on February 25, 1971, many werecaught by surprise.

Lucey, in presenting his proposal for merger,showed evidence of being a skillful political opera-tor. He removed funding for the CCHE from thebudget, effectively eliminating the argument that theagency should be revised and strengthened. And, heshowed that he had done his homework carefully,when he announced that a savings of $4 million inthe current biennium alone would be gained bymerging the two university systems and ending therivalry between them that had resulted in the cre-ation of several small, two-year centers. He arguedthat within a merged system, a single board of regentscould control the growth of graduate programs, reduceprogram duplication, end the expensive competitionbetween the systems for new campus sites, andmake more effective use of the state’s resources.

Many factors favored merger in 1971. The leader-ship of the two systems was in flux. John Weaverhad recently been appointed president of theUniversity of Wisconsin, while the longtimeExecutive Director of the Wisconsin StateUniversity System, Eugene R. McPhee, hadannounced his plans to retire. Although the governorknew the university would oppose the proposal formerger, he let it be known that his intent was to askPresident Weaver to assume the presidency of anewly merged university system. One of those mostknowledgeable about the merger process suggeststhat Lucey had attempted “to co-op [sic] Weaver”by this announcement.

Other factors favoring the proposal in 1971 includ-ed the issue of campus control, an issue revitalized bycampus protests and demonstrations against the warin Vietnam. Lucey, ever willing to strengthen his ownpolitical position, saw merger as perhaps the onlyway to get any semblance of his own influence overthe very conservative WSU Board of Regents. It haseven been suggested that Lucey saw merger as theissue which would “put him in the history books,”and as a way in which he might help “revitalize theDemocratic Party in Wisconsin.

Interest in merger proved to be bipartisan in natureand often reflected the presence of a campus in thedistrict served by the representative or senator.

Republican Senator Raymond Heinzen ofMarshfleld introduced Senate Bill 213 on February24, 1971, which called for the merger of the twouniversity systems. This action set off the expectedresponses from those most affected by the proposedlegislation. Somewhat complacent until the gover-nor’s budget proposal and the actual introduction ofenabling legislation, those persons and groups nowvoiced their support or opposition quickly.

Unwavering opposition came from the Universityof Wisconsin Board of Regents, and althoughPresident Weaver urged the board to examine theproposal closely, his own position was, at best,somewhat ambiguous. If Lucey’s action in naminghim to the presidency had not co-opted him, it cer-tainly did at least require that his actions be circum-spect. Opinions on Weaver’s actual viewpoint vary.Some historians and writers argued that Weaver cau-tiously supported merger, while others saw his posi-tion more in line with that of his board, althoughsuggesting that as the process moved ahead, hisefforts did shift toward a position of attempting toprevent too much damage to Madison and its alliesif the legislation were to succeed.

University campus chancellors at Madison andMilwaukee, H. Edwin Young and J. Martin Klotsche,both opposed merger in principle, although neithertook a leadership role in opposition to the proposal.In his memoirs written years later, Klotsche suggest-ed that he could have supported merger if a guaran-tee of Milwaukee’s status as a major urban universitywith doctoral programs had been given.

The Wisconsin State University Board of Regentswas split, though more were opposed than in favorof the proposal. The two regents appointed byGovernor Lucey came out in favor of the proposaland Regent Mary Williams of Stevens Point, aRepublican appointee to the board, also announcedher support for the bill. When the board memberswere forced to take a stand, they voted 9-3 tooppose the merger proposal. The Council ofPresidents of the WSU system officially opposed thelegislation as well, but some in their midst, includ-ing Stevens Point’s Dreyfus, continued to work insupport of merger.

The position of the various faculties was more dif-ficult to determine accurately. The Madison faculty,“stunned, angry, or disappointed,” voiced strong,

continuing, and inflexible opposition. Faculties atParkside and Green Bay also opposed merger, whilethe University Committee at Milwaukee gave theproposal a “conditional” vote of support. On theWisconsin State University campuses, many favoredthe legislation and others did not, but the statewidevoice of those faculties, the Association ofWisconsin State University Faculties (AWSUF -later, TAUWP), backed the plan “with a great dealof force.” In fact, at least one authority (Rost) cred-its AWSUF with a major role in the ultimate successof the proposal in the legislature because of its abili-ty to gain the support of so many regional lawmak-ers, including some Republicans whose votes wereneeded desperately if the issue were to be approvedby the state’s Senate. To test the accuracy of thisassumption one should note that four of the sixRepublican senators who ultimately supported thelegislation came from districts having a WSU cam-pus within their boundaries. Their role was criticalas the bill passed the Republican-controlled Senateby just one vote, 17-16.

Student opinion, also difficult to assess, appearssomewhat different from that of the faculty at theUniversity of Wisconsin campuses, where at all butParkside, students supported the proposal but didnot appear to take much interest in working for oragainst it. The official arm of the Wisconsin StateUniversity students, the United Council, favoredmerger and aided the efforts to pass the proposalwith extensive lobbying.

Interestingly, although the issue was a major leg-islative topic during most of the 1971 session, andcertainly the hottest topic of conversation on theuniversity campuses, it appears that the public’sgeneral disinterest continued. It is difficult to dis-agree with Rost who has suggested that “the citizensof Wisconsin neither supported nor opposed themerger proposal.”

Newspapers, on the other hand, freely voiced theireditorial opinions. Of the major statewide newspa-pers, only the Madisonbased Wisconsin StateJournal came out in opposition to the merger legisla-tion. Newspapers in campus communities generallysupported the idea of a merged system.

Opposition to portions of the bill threatened itssuccess and Lucey and his supporters worked fever-ishly to “fix” the bill in order to save it. On April 8,

1971, the Council of WSU Presidents met at therequest of President Lee Dreyfus, a supporter ofmerger, but instead of moving closer to acceptanceof merger as proposed, they set 20 conditions fortheir support for the merger legislation. AWSUFendorsed most of these conditions as well. At leastone authority on this subject called the conditions“ludicrous” and suggested that the statement of thepresidents was viewed as “a standing joke in thelegislative halls.”

Faced with mounting pressures and concerns,Senator Heinzen introduced Substitute Amendment1 to SB 213 on May 19. This modification, whichreplaced the original piece of legislation, called for amerged system and a Merger Implementation StudyCommittee of nine regents and nine legislators towork out the details of combining Chapters 36 and37 of the state statutes, the two chapters whichdefined the roles of the University of Wisconsin(Chapter 36) and of the Wisconsin State Universities(Chapter 37) into one new Chapter 36.

The credit for much of the effort to save the legis-lation should go to Senator Raymond Heinzen andto Regent Mary Williams. Regent Williams arguedwith her colleagues on the WSU Board of Regentsand urged them not to reject the idea of mergercompletely. She endorsed the idea suggested byDirector Eugene McPhee that a “wrinkle” commit-tee should be created to attempt to iron out the dif-ferences and difficulties between the legislation pro-posed by the governor and the original bill intro-duced by Senator Heinzen. The governor’s staff alsoquickly accepted the suggestion as they, too, wantedto save the legislation. President Weaver selectedDonald Percy and Chancellor H. Edwin Young torepresent the UW on the committee and DirectorMcPhee named Presidents George Field of RiverFalls and Leonard Haas of Eau Claire for theWisconsin State University side. The group quickly“ironed out” some of the major difficulties that hadsurfaced: they promptly accepted amendments deal-ing with tenure in the WSU system where tenurehad been granted system-wide, and they agreedquickly on titles for campus and system administra-tors, and for the method of appointments for thesame, items on which there had been vocal, publicdisagreements. On the other points of contention,they agreed to continue to disagree.

It is not the intent of this study to follow the merg-er discussion from start to finish or to take theresults of merger past their initial success in the leg-islative arena. Those’ are subjects for other works.For now, suffice it to say that with these efforts tocompromise and to make merger go, success fol-lowed. Why did merger succeed in 1971 when simi-lar efforts had failed so many times before? A num-ber of reasons may be offered. The merger of theuniversity in Madison with the Milwaukee campusin 1956 had already set the precedent of a multi-campus University of Wisconsin. Opening of addi-tional two-year centers and new four-year campusesat Green Bay and Parkside (Kenosha) in the late1960s further aided the concept of a multiversity.Public concern with keeping higher education undercontrol certainly played a role, as did the timing ofGovernor Patrick Lucey’s proposal. The failure ofthe CCHE to do its job effectively opened the doorto alternative proposals for controlling and coordi-nating higher education in the state. The KellettCommission’s proposals put the problems of thestate’s educational system into clearer focus and intothe center of the political arena. Politics, as alwayswhere state agencies are concerned, would play acentral role in this issue. Governor Lucey under-stood that this was his best chance to assert hisinfluence over the higher educational systems of thestate and to strengthen his party as a result. (And,perhaps he did see the effort as his chance to getinto the history books.) Finally, merger succeededthis time because there were fewer reasons for it not

Regent Mary Williams

to succeed. The many improvements made withinthe Wisconsin State University System during thedecade of the 1960s made it more worthy of mergerin 1971 than it had been at the times of previousattempts, and blurred the distinctions between thetwo former competitors.

The law providing for merger was passed by thelegislature and went into effect on October 1, 1971.The issue was decided in the Republican controlledSenate on a vote of 17-16, with 6 Republicans and11 Democrats voting in favor of the bill. TheAssembly, controlled by Democrats, passed the billby a vote of 56-43. A merger implementation studycommittee was charged with making recommenda-tions concerning the combining of Chapters 36(UW) and 37 (WSU) of the state statutes by Januaryof 1973. The study committee made its final reportin January of 1973 and a revised Chapter 36 wassigned into law on July 3, 1974. The new systemwent into effect officially after those steps werecompleted.

Though the final steps completing the merger ofthe two systems into one were taken in 1974, thefull impact of these changes would not be known orclearly understood for many years. Resistance byUW-Madison to full acceptance of the new addi-tions to the university system slowed the pace ofprogress, as did uncertainty by many of those newcampuses about the nature of their roles within thenew system. Campus names changed quickly, as didthe titles for administrators, but other matters tookmore time. Twenty years after merger, there remainssome uncertainty over the exact direction that indi-

vidual campuses of the university system areexpected to take. Several system initiatives havebeen undertaken, for cultural diversity, and forreform of undergraduate education, for example, andSuccess has been limited at best. More time is need-ed for the state to realize the full benefits from thishistoric change, but it is clear as a recent historianof the state has indicated, that merger was “moresuccessful and beneficial to both prior systems thanits critics would concede.” Yet, as also noted, merg-er remained a controversial topic for discussion formany years after its passage.

These changes in the state’s system of higher edu-cation all played a part in the development of thecampus created by the Normal School Board ofRegents in 1893. Known first as Stevens PointNormal School, and later as a state teachers college,a state college, a state university, and, finally, as theUniversity of Wisconsin-Stevens Point, the campusdeveloped and matured throughout each of thesephases of its history. Born out of the effort to meetthe state’s constitutional requirement to providetraining for teachers, Stevens Point Normal Schoolwas established in 1893 and opened its doors for thefirst time for the fall semester of 1894. From thatbeginning to the present, almost constant and cer-tainly significant changes have occurred which haveinfluenced the development of the campus begun incentral Wisconsin in 1894. In many of thosemomentous changes, the Stevens Point campusand/or its leaders played visible and essential roles.We turn now to the history of that institution duringits first 100 years.

“The world is ours.” These words, flashed over tele-graph wires in 1893, announced the selection ofStevens Point as the site of Wisconsin’s newest nor-mal school. The creation of Stevens Point NormalSchool resulted from the state’s commitment to mak-ing quality higher education available to its citizenry,and a decision by the legislature to build a sixth nor-mal school in the northern part of the state. It was alsothe result of a concerted effort by leading citizens of

the 8tevens Point community who believed that theestablishment of a normal school would enhance sig-nificantly the life of their community. One hundredyears later, Stevens Point Normal School has evolved,through several states, into the University ofWisconsin Stevens Point, an institution which contin-ues to enhance the community and which remainscommitted to the education of the people of the cen-tral and northern parts of the state of Wisconsin.

Chapter 2

“The World is Ours”- The Creation of a Normal School

Stevens Point Normal in 1898.

As indicated in chapter one, because of the ever-growing need for teachers to meet the demands of agrowing state population and an increasing number ofpublic schools, Wisconsin took the concept of normalschools previously developed in the eastern UnitedStates, and began the establishment of a normalschool system in the state in 1866. The stated purposefor the normals was made clear in the constitutionalmandate that the state provide free public educationand the training of the teachers to deliver that educa-tion. The normal schools were to provide “the instruc-tion and training of persons, both male and female, inthe history and art of teaching... in all the variousbranches that pertain to a good common school edu-cation... in all subjects needed to qualify for teachingin the public schools; also to give instruction in thefundamental laws of the United States and of thisstate in what regards the rights and duties of citizens.”

As Wisconsin grew in population, the need forteachers increased correspondingly. The five normalschools created between 1866 and 1890 were alllocated in the southern half of the state and couldnot meet the ever-increasing demand for teachers,particularly in the northern half of the state. Becauseof the shortfall and the pressures from the northernareas of the state, in 1891, the legislature authorizedthe Board of Regents of the Normal Schools toestablish a sixth school, to be located in the northernhalf of the state. With one4hird of the state’s popu-lation, the area was essentially unserved by institu-tions of higher education, with the closest teachertraining institution located at Oshkosh. With one-third of the state’s railroad mileage and one-sixth ofthe assessed valuation of the state, the area appearedto be unfairly treated. The legislature’s conclusionwas that “the long distance from home and theexpense entailed, cut off many from their onlychance for higher education,” and members of thelegislature determined to locate a school closer tothose potential students. In determining the locationfor a sixth normal school, the legislature directedthe Board of Regents to consider factors such as‘’nearness’’ and ‘’the ease with which it can bereached” by potential students.

John Phillips, the first member of the NormalBoard of Regents from Stevens Point, who served inthat role from 1876 to 1891, had long sought toobtain a normal school for his city. With the legisla-tive authorization in 1891, he promptly moved tohave the school located in Stevens Point. It wouldnot, however, prove to be that simple, and wouldnot, in fact, occur until after Phillips had left theregent position. The bill which provided the authori-zation for the new school had been introduced intothe legislature by Neal Brown of Wausau in 1891,and the legislation required that the new schoolmust be located north of the twenty fourth township.This clause eliminated Stevens Point from con-tention since the city lay to the south of that line.The Stevens Point Journal declared the move aninjustice to those places south of the line, and calledthe action a move dictated by an interested memberof the legislature from “a small clearing on theWisconsin River, at a point formerly known as BigBull Falls [Wausau], that may have some preten-sions in the same direction.”Regent John Williams

A committee of representative citizens fromStevens Point appeared before the legislature toprotest against the apparent exclusion of StevensPoint. After extended deliberation by the legislature,Representative Brown proposed an amended billwhich eliminated the disputed boundary clause andwhich further provided for the establishment of twonormal schools in the northern part of the state. Athird part of the bill was a provision requiring a“donation to the state [of] a suitable site togetherwith the sum of at least $15,000” before a schoolcould be established.

Competition for the sites was strong. Many citiesentered the race for the coveted prizes, includingFort Howard, De Pere, West De Pere, Grand Rapids,Centralia, Marshfleld, Merrill, Neillsvilie, ChippewaFalls, Eau Claire, La Crosse, Sparta, Tomah,Ashland, Washburn, Bayfield, and Superior. In addi-tion to those cities, Stevens Point and Wausau bothsought the site, and the ultimate contest over thelocation in the central part of the state came down tothose two cities.

Wausau and Stevens Point had long been engagedin an undeclared but spirited contest for dominanceof the central part of the state. Since the late 1870s,verbal jousting had occurred, and it increased as itbecame more evident that the state needed morenormal schools, one perhaps to serve the northernpart of the state and another to serve the central sec-tion. The Wausau Pilot Review reported on May 12,1891, that Wausau had made a bid for the school,and, according to the paper, “if any other city want-ed the school, it would have to ‘hustle’ to get it, asWausau was playing hard for first place.” Wausau,said the newspaper, believed that the other townshad “better keep a watchful eye on the city ofWausau” because it “clearly outranks many of themin natural beauty of location, and in ... advancedmunicipal improvements.”

Equally determined, Stevens Point began its owncampaign to secure the site. Like many towns alongthe Wisconsin River, Stevens Point had been mainlya lumber mill town but, by the 1890s, a few papermills were beginning to operate. The decline in tim-ber caused great concern for the economy and busi-nesses of the area at a time when the nation wasmoving into another of its seemingly regular cyclesof economic depression in the last half of the nine-

teenth century. (The U.S. experienced a majordepression in 1873 and the next several years, and alesser one in 1884 and following. The worst depres-sion of the second half of the century began in 1893and lasted for several years.) It was not surprising,then, that the idea of a normal school located in thecity would generate much excitement about possiblebusiness and economic gains. The Stevens PointJournal declared that the city “wants that school andit wants it bad” and admonished each of its residentsto consider him/herself “a committee of one to doall he can to secure it.”

Stevens Point’s City Council met in February of1893 to discuss the merits of having a normalschool and the course of action needed to obtain it.The financial committee pointed out that such aschool would not be a burden to the taxpayers of thecity and would provide the children of the area achance for further education regardless of the wealthand ability of their parents to pay. The committeealso estimated that the presence of such a school inthe city would bring with it about $100,000 in annu-al income for the city. The council proposed holdinga special election for the citizens to vote on allow-ing the city to issue bonds in the amount of $16,000to assist in the financial bid. That vote was takenon February 28 and the bond issue was approvedby the voters.

In addition to approving the bond issue, the cityalso resolved to donate “a suitable site, to be select-ed by the Board of Normal Regents.” A further indi-cation of local support came when the PortageCounty Board held a special meeting and voted infavor of appropriating $30,000 “to be given as abonus toward securing the normal school.” Thesecommunity efforts illustrated the strong interest ofthe community in procuring the site for the normalschool. That strong community support would, ulti-mately, help convince the Board of Regents tolocate the school in Stevens Point.

As a final step in enticing the Board of Regents toaccept the bid from Stevens Point, Judge G. W. Catesent a written statement to the board pointing outthe many benefits of locating the campus within hiscity. He pointed out that because of its naturaladaptability, it was one of the healthiest cities in thestate. He noted that potential students from northernWisconsin could easily reach the city because it was

a railroad center. And, he provided statistical evi-dence which showed that even though Stevens Pointhad a smaller total population than Wausau, it hadmore children in school, employed more teachersand had 116 students in high school compared’ toonly 57 in Wausau and 56 in Marshfleld.

The community was optimistic about its chancesto receive the approval of the Board of Regents forits bid for the normal school site. The local paperdeclared that “there is every reason to believe thatStevens Point will be selected as the site” for one ofthe normal schools. But, the board still had not com-pleted its visit to each of the competing cities, andno decisions would be made until after the site visitshad occurred.

After narrowing its list of choices to the final two,Wausau and Stevens Point, the Board of Regents setout to visit the remaining contestants. On May 12,1893, they visited Wausau. After that visit, theWau8au Pilot Review optimistically reported that“no one feels any less hopeful since the visit of theBoard nor does it seem unreasonable to feel that thematter is as good as settled.”

The next stop for the normal board was StevensPoint, where the city rolled out the red carpet for itsvisitors. The superintendent of the Wisco/nsin

Judge George W. Cate

Central Railroad provided a special train to meet themembers of the delegation at Junction City andbring them to Stevens Point. On Saturday morning,carriages arrived at the Curran House, the city’selite hotel, and took the regents to inspect the vari-ous sites being offered for the location of theschool. The regents found all of the sites quiteacceptable. In an effort to show the regents “justwhat kind of city Stevens Point really is,” the com-mittee conducted a thorough tour of the city for theboard, a tour which included schools, businesses,manufacturing, and railroads. Members of the boardexpressed surprise “at the thrift, prosperity andgrowth that met them on every hand.” They found thecity a pleasant surprise particularly since, they report-ed, others had apparently attempted to “belittle” it.

On Saturday evening, arguments were presentedin support of Stevens Point’s bid by John H.Brennan and A. W. Sanborn. Both pointed out thatStevens Point would provide greater accessibility tomore students than any other city in the WisconsinRiver Valley. They also presented statistics support-ing the need for additional public school teachers inthe area. After the evening’s business session, theday’s festivities culminated with a banquet at theMasonic Hall at which G. E. McDill served as mas-ter of ceremonies. All of those involved felt that thecity’s presentation had been well received by thevisitors viewing the potential sites.

With visits to the two leading cities completed,all that remained was the voting by the 11 mem-bers of the Board of Regents. That voting beganat 3p.m. on July21. Rumors ran rampant through-out the Stevens Point community, and by 4:30word began to spread that the city had beenselected as the site for a normal school. Thatreport, however, proved to be premature. By theeighth ballot, Stevens Point had five of the sixvotes required to secure a school. City leadersbelieved that once the obligatory votes were castfor a few cities not seriously in the running,enough of the regents would switch their votes toStevens Point and gain for the city the desiredoutcome. As the evening progressed, the commu-nity waited. The operator of the local telegraphoffice, Jesse Holt, agreed to remain at his deskand to wait until he received the final word.Many others waited patiently with him.

Shortly after midnight, the long awaited messagecame. A Milwaukee operator wired: “Stevens Pointwins one school.” A short time later, a secondtelegram sent by G. E. McDill directly fromMadison confirmed the news. His words, memorial-ized on the plaque in Old Main, said: “To the boysat Stevens Point-We have won, the world is ours.Stevens Point wins on the 101st ballot.” By thistime, more than 2,000 people had gathered toreceive the final word, and jubilation exploded fromthe ever-growing crowd. Soon it was estimated thatfrom 3,000 to 5,000 people filled the streets in ajoyous mood, with some described as shouting “asif this were their last opportunity.” Huge bonfireserupted in the middle of the public square and thelocal band answered the call to assemble. Peopleblew horns, banged drums or pounded pieces ofwood together. Several city leaders gave short con-gratulatory speeches. Cannon fire was reported to

have resounded throughout the night as the peoplemarched up and down the streets. The Stevens PointJournal reported that the city was not rejoicingbecause Wausau lost or because of the material ben-efits to be gained, but because Stevens Point had atlast secured “that to which they were by right enti-tled - one of the highest educational institutions ofthe state, an institution whose broad steps will leadup to doors that swing outward to the rich and pooralike.” The paper, with a bit of tongue in cheek, wasunable to delete the reference to Wausau’s loss fromits victory statement.

Although the successful bid of the city to gain thesite was the result of hard work by many persons,Byron B. Park deserves a great deal of the credit forsecuring the normal school for the city of StevensPoint. A local lawyer and judge, Park served as amember of the Normal School Board of Regentsfrom 1892 to 1895. Using his influence and pres-

Plaque in Old Main contains the words of a the historic telegram and relates history of the building

tige, he presented his city’s case to the board in themost favorable light. His successful efforts wererecognized at a hastily called meeting of city offi-cials who drafted plans for a reception to honor thereturning delegation from Madison and to thankPark for his leadership role in this venture.

Plans for the celebration began immediately. Flagsand lanterns decorated the streets. A special traintraveled to McDill to meet the returning delegation.On board, the band played and nearly 200 citizensshouted and cheered. When they reached the CentralRailroad yard, railroad torpedoes exploded, andwhistles and bells from every “live” engine, school,church, mill, shop and factory blew and rang.

When the delegation arrived, Park and his wifeand two children were placed in a waiting carriage.The horses were unhitched and several young menof the city took turns pulling Park’s carriage throughthe streets. At the public square, John H. Brennandelivered the welcoming address and congratulatedPark on behalf of the entire county for his success inobtaining the school site for the city. In reply, Parkstated that it was a great honor for him and that this

Judge Byron B. Park

was the happiest day of his life. But, he gave fullcredit for the successful bid to the people ofStevens Point, especially those who had gone toMadison to fight for the city’s bid for the normalschool site.

Needless to say, not all of central Wisconsin wasin such a festive mood. Wausau was, not surprising-ly, distressed over the decision. The Wausau PilotReview reported editorially that “in all justice, grat-itude, policy, and good sense, the Regents werebound to locate one of the schools in this city,” butinstead they chose Stevens Point, “a city with amoral reputation which stinks worse than theMilwaukee River.” The Wausau Torch charged thatthe choice was made through “jobbery and corrup-tion, wire working, politics, and bribery.” The Torchconcluded that it seemed that it would have beenhard for the regents to “make a worse decision.”The Wausau Central proclaimed that the board’saction “exhibits as plain as day that the vote onboth schools was secured by bribery.” The Centralblasted the regents’ choice and stated that the moralcharacter of Stevens Point was so poor that “itwould even be risky to locate a penitentiary there.”The paper chastised those regents who had voted tolocate the school in Stevens Point and urged themto “publicly make known their situation and clearthemselves of the outrageous scandal... a scandalfor which any honest, decent, self-respecting manwould be commended if he openly disavowed anyconnection therewith.”

The “twin cities” of Grand Rapids and Centralia(which later merged to become the city of WisconsinRapids) received the news of the selection of StevensPoint with more equanimity. They, also, had beenamong the early suitors seeking the normal schoolsite. The Centralia Enterprise and Tribune reportedthat the selection met with “general satisfaction in thetwin cities,” while the Wood County Reporter notedthat although the twin cities would have welcomedthe site, the one chosen would be “convenient forNormal pupils from the Twin Cities to attend.. . .”The paper concluded that although disappointed, “wegracefully yield the palm to our more fortunate rivaland extend congratulations.”

With the initial victory celebration behind them,efforts turned toward fulfilling the city’s commit-ments to provide land and financial support for the

new school. Plans were made for the delivery of themoney secured from the city and the county.Because of the failure of banks throughout thenation in the depression which had begun in 1893,the state treasurer, who was wary of banks, demand-ed that the commitment be delivered in cash to hisoffice in Madison. A committee consisting of EdMcDill, Andrew Week, George Rogers, and ByronPark was given the responsibility for making thedelivery. Armed with revolvers and $50,000 in cash,the group set out for Madison. They stopped once,in Portage, to count the money and from that citytook a train to Madison where a deputy met themand escorted them to the treasurer’s office. By mid-night, the cash had been counted, turned over to theregents, and a receipt given.

As the city sought to meet its commitment to pro-vide a location for the school, three different siteswere offered: the Wadleigh grove for $2,500; part ofthe E. D. Brown homestead for $6,000; and theThomas Clements homestead for $8,000. Additionallots were needed with each of these proposals tomake up the promised five-acre total. On August 15,Regents Hume, Parker, Hill, Ainsworth, and Parkmet in Stevens Point to make a site selection. Theyunanimously selected the Brown homestead site onMain Street along with a small tract of land on thenorth side which was owned by N. Boyington. Theyviewed the site as “one of the finest and best in thecity, centrally located . . . [and noted that] its loca-tion will give almost universal satisfaction.”Transfers of the deeds for the lands purchased weremade out and forwarded to Madison. In all, thetransaction involved just under five acres of land.

The Stevens Point Journal reported that “even theWausauans will have no kick coming so far as thesite is concerned.” But despite the rapid progress ofevents, rumors had continued to circulate that therewould be a special meeting of the Board of Regentsto reconsider and perhaps even to rescind its actiongranting Stevens Point a normal school. RegentHume, the president of the board, responded quicklyand forcefully to the rumors. He stated that theboard had no intention to reconsider the decision,and he declared that the negative remarks ‘’ariseonly in the chagrin of some of the unsuccessful con-testants.” He indicated that the school in StevensPoint would be built just as soon as a successful

bidder could be contracted to do it. Walker Wyman,in his History of the Wisconsin State Universities(1968), noted that despite these rumors and the alle-gations of corruption and bribery in the determina-tion of the site for the school, no legal challengewas ever brought against the decision.

To help in assuring a proper beginning for theschool, Regent W. D. Parker sent a letter toRegent Park with suggestions that he said would“aid the normal school in your city.” He advocatedpublicizing the role and the benefits of having anormal school in the city, and urged that this mes-sage be carried to every home in the city, countyand surrounding areas, by utilizing the newspa-pers, superintendents of county and city schools,and by giving out information at institutes forteachers that would be held throughout the year.He suggested that local school superintendentsshould be encouraged to “seek out and nominatesuitable persons for admission” to the state’snewest normal school.

The next steps followed quickly, as planningbegan for the new school. The first set of planssubmitted for the school contained defects andwere rejected by the Board of Regents. Otherplans appeared to be more appropriate, and finally,those submitted by Perkins and Shelby of Chicagoreceived the endorsement of the board. With thecompletion and endorsement of a set of plans, acall went out for bids on October 12,1893. Theplans provided for a brick building with a base-ment and a slate roof, a building which, for allintents and purposes, would be fireproof. It wasestimated that over one million bricks would beneeded for the building.

In all, 48 bids were received and were openedon October 20. The bids came from builders asclose as Stevens Point, Wausau, and Appleton, andfrom some located as far away as La Crosse,Chicago, Superior, and Milwaukee. Failure to fol-low plans and specifications resulted in the elimi-nation of thirteen of the bids. From those whichmet the required specifications, the estimatesranged from $46,630 to $71,000. The Board ofRegents selected architects Shelby and Perkins tosupervise the project for which they would receivefive percent of the total cost. That firm, in turn,hired Thomas Olin of Stevens Point to do the on-

site supervision of the construction project.The low bid of $46,630 was submitted by Frank

Houle and Company from Chicago, and that firmwas offered the contract and given two days tosecure the necessary bonds. When asked how hecould make a bid so low, Houle replied that he hadrelied on “one of the tricks of the trade,” and heindicated that he did not feel there would be any dif-ficulty in securing the bonds. Although Houle didvisit Stevens Point with a business partner, andalthough he did contract with W. E. Langenberg for700,000 bricks, he did not return the following weekto begin construction and he did not file the requiredbond with the board. For whatever reasons, Houlechose not to accept the proffered contract.

So, the bids were reviewed again and the projectwas offered to the next lowest bidder, E. Bonnettand Son of Whitewater. The Bonnett bid of $51,900was accepted and that company was able to pro-ceed. Contracts let for ventilating and steam heatingprojects for $10,273 completed the bidding processin February of 1894. In addition, the board set aside$5,000 for furniture, fixtures and ground work, and$5,600 for the library and equipment for the labora-tory. When all of the parts of the project were tal-lied, the cost of building the original Stevens PointNormal School totaled $75,985.44.

The next step was the actual construction whichbegan on November 8, 1893. John Bonnett arrivedin Stevens Point to supervise the excavation. Thecity and the board decided to set the building 200feet back from Main Street so that the tower wouldbe on a line with the center of Brown Street “givingthe structure a more commanding appearance” andleaving more space in both the front and the back.Bricks from Black River Falls began arriving byrail, as did carloads of slate for the roof, shippedfrom Indiana. All was proceeding on schedule untilthe middle of June, 1894 when the Pullman railroadstrike, a major national labor/management conflictwhich was causing many sectors of the nation to beinconvenienced, stranded materials in the rail yardsof Chicago and elsewhere. The delay set back theplanned opening of the school by several weeks.

April 26, 1894 was a day of celebration as morethan 5,000 people from all parts of the county andfrom many neighboring counties as well came to cele-brate the laying of the building’s cornerstone. Perfect

weather and a mood of jubilation prevailed. Four vis-iting regents, Hume of Oshkosh, Gardner ofPlatteville, Johnson of Whitewater, and Ainsworth ofRiver Falls attended the ceremony. Festivities began at10 o’clock with a procession of bands, carriages, andparticipants marching to the school grounds.

Regent Hume addressed the crowd and offeredcongratulations to the Stevens Point community. Hecommented that this occasion “marks an epoch inthe progress of this thriving city,” and he noted thatthe school now being built was “for the masses,being for and of the people, where the high and low,rich and poor, native and foreign, can alike partakeof benefits offered.”

The laying of the cornerstone was the ostensiblereason for the celebration, but the city used theoccasion to proclaim once more its success in thecompetition to become the home for a normalschool, with local speakers again declaring the just-ness of the choice of the city for the campus. Withthat said and with the usual oratorical pronounce-ments, the festive laying of the cornerstone proceed-ed. The articles deposited into the cornerstone boxincluded an American flag, coins from 1893, cityand school directories, a copy of the proceedings ofthe Board of Regents in which Stevens Point wasselected, city and county government proceedingsdealing with commitments of the community, and aBible. Max Krembs sealed the box, placed it in thecornerstone, and then placed another stone on top ofit. A banquet at the Curran House followed.

With this action, the long struggle to locate a nor-mal school in Stevens Point was essentially overand the campus soon became a reality. The journeytoward the centennial began. From its beginning, theStevens Point campus, first as Stevens Point NormalSchool and several transformations later as a part ofthe University of Wisconsin System, continued tostrive for uniqueness and excellence in higher edu-cation. The city’s successful bid for the campusreflected upon the strong feelings of communityleaders for the expansion of educational opportuni-ties to citizens of the central part of the state. Fromthe very beginning, a close relationship developedbetween the school and its hometown community.One-hundred years later, that close relationshipwould continue to be part of the strengths of boththe campus and the Stevens Point community.

The Board of Regents selected Theron B. Pray,age 45 and a graduate of the University of Chicago,to lead the new Stevens Point Normal School. Prayhad been on the faculty of the Whitewater StateNormal School as institute conductor and was well-known throughout much of the state. Realizing theimportance of the job ahead of him, Pray immedi-ately set out to recruit and hire the first faculty forthe new school.

Suggestions and recommendations came fromfriends, from board members, and from the localcommunity. As in other public circumstances, thequestion of religious bias was raised in regard to thepossible hiring of Catholics. Silas Gillian of theNational German-American Teachers Seminarywrote Pray to congratulate him on his appointment.He said that he hoped that Pray would “prove anexception to the rule that the founders of schoolshave the work, and those who come after, [have] theglory.” He recommended that Pray offer a positionto Dr. Edward McLaughlin and questioned whetherit would be “well to even up matters a little on thebasis of religious bias?” Another letter supportedMcLaughlin, calling him a “prominent educator,”but noted that “his being a member of the CatholicChurch would be a hindrance.” The writer suggest-ed, however, that “the president of a normal schoolshould be above bigotry.” Despite these and othersuch recommendations, McLaughlin was not hired.Religious bias in the hiring of faculty in public insti-tutions was a fact of life in 1894 and that bias wouldremain for several decades.

The Board of Regents provided for 12 additionalpositions to be filled at the new school. The Gazettereported that this large number indicated that the

Chapter 3

Throw Open the Doors:The Presidency of Theron Pray, 1894-1906

President Theron B. Pray, 1894-1906

Board had “confidence in the success of the schoolhere and, therefore, desired to put it on [an equalfooting] in all respects with other institutions at thevery beginning.”

Pray gave first priority in hiring to finding aninstitute conductor, the position which he had heldat Whitewater. The position ranked second to that of

the president. Institutes, or workshops, had becomean important factor in the preparation and improve-ment of elementary teachers, specially those in ruraleducation. Because the institute conductor wouldtravel all over the state and become widely known,he would be able to attract the attention of youngmen and women across the state to his particularnormal school. Such a position demanded an aggres-sive but personable individual. Pray believed he hadfound just such a person in C. H. Sylvester, a highschool inspector for the State Superintendent ofPublic Instruction. Sylvester was hired, but poorhealth forced him to resign in 1897 and J. W.Livingston succeeded him in the position.

The only holder of a doctorate among the origi-nal faculty members was Joseph V. Collins, hiredto head the program in mathematics. Poor eyesightplagued Collins, but “did not deter him from ... aremarkably strenuous program of study, writing,and teaching.” Collins, for whom the CollinsClassroom Center was later named, served on thefaculty from 1894 until 1937. During that time, hewrote several algebra textbooks, and many of theteaching methods he employed, including the useof the metric system, were widely accepted andused by teachers elsewhere.

Garry E. Culver, a geologist by training, was hiredas the first science teacher, teaching all of the sci-ence courses in the early years. He taught at StevensPoint Normal School for 29 years and retired afterthe death of his wife. Well-respected by students andfaculty colleagues alike, in 1923 the senior classdedicated that year’s yearbook, The Iris, to him.

Culver, who later wrote extensively about his earlyexperiences, reported that when he arrived atStevens Point “the student body was not ... of veryhigh quality ... and seemed to be somewhat out ofthe habit of studying and with not the highest idealsas to accomplishment.” Adding emphasis to hispoint about student quality, he concluded that “theslaughter at the final examination was sufficientlyappalling to make future students more careful inmeeting the requirements of the classroom.”

Selected to teach science, Culver found himself onthe third floor of the building known to later genera-tions of students and faculty as Old Main. At thetime it was the only building on campus, he report-ed, and “the weather was unusually hot that first

Professor Joseph V. Collins

fall.” He noted that “there was not a single openingto the outside air . . . [and] the Johnson heat controlseemed [not] to have the slightest influence on OldSol who poured his rays through those big skylightsand absolutely refused to take any of the surplusback....” When he came to work, he said that hesometimes found the temperature inside at 96degrees which, he suggested, “however favorable tovegetable growth” was not at all helpful “in thesprouting of ideas in the minds of the members ofmy classes.” Winters he found more satisfactory.

Culver, who led what was probably the campus’first field trip, a visit to Yellowstone in 1900, foundthat President Pray, whom he noted had been edu-cated “in an institution in which physical sciencereceived scant attention,” was not very supportive ofnew efforts in science. Pray reportedly told Culverwho was trained as a geologist that “we don’t careanything for your geology and Chemistry butPhysics is okay.” He went on to note that when he

attempted to put a geology course in the programthere did not seem to be any room for it (presidentscontrolled the timetable in those days). He finallyreceived Pray’s reluctant approval to try such acourse at eight in the morning since there were noother courses scheduled at that early hour. Despitethe president’s belief that such a schedule would killgeology and end the discussion, Culver prevailed.When it became clear that students actually wouldenroll in classes at eight o’clock, others were soonadded at that time of the day.

Pray selected Albert H. Sanford, who had receiveda master’s degree from Harvard, to teach history,government, and political economics. Sanford’s loveof history led to the publication of a textbook onUnited States history which was widely used in highschools around the state. After 15 years, Sanfordresigned in 1909 and joined the faculty at anothernewly-established normal school in LaCrosse.

Pray continued his search for a high quality facul-ty. To teach German and Latin, he chose Bertha J.Pitman. Mary E. Tanner was employed to teachdrawing in all grades at the school. Caroline E.Crawford was placed in charge of physical trainingwhich soon became a featured area in the StevensPoint Normal. Knowledgeable of the game of bas-ketball to which she had been introduced in the

East, Crawford introduced the sport to the campusand the community. She formed two women’steams and two men’s teams from her physical train-ing classes and scheduled games between them inJanuary of 1898.

With the positions in the basic courses filled, Praythen turned his attention to finding those whowould be in charge of teaching the elements of edu-cation. Emma J. Haney was appointed director ofpractice teaching. Mary D. Bradford who was hiredaway from Kenosha High School to become criticteacher for the grammar grades, was promoted tosupervising teacher and later to principal of theTraining Department. Bradford, recognized for hercontributions to the field of reading, resigned inprotest over the firing of President Pray in 1906 andwent on to successfully hold several other positions,including that of superintendent of schools forKenosha, thereby becoming most likely the firstwoman in the country to head a major city’s schoolsystem. Frances Quinn, recognized by the StevensPoint public schools as “one of our brightest andbest teachers,” was hired as critic teacher for theintermediate grades.

To complete the staff, two non-teaching positionswere also filled. Isabelle Patterson was hired asclerk and librarian, and Peter C. Kelly was

employed as engineer and janitor. Kelly,who was paid $50 per month, was alsoprovided an apartment for himself andhis family in the basement of the school,rent and heat free.

These five men and eight womenformed “the largest corps of teacherswith which any Normal School inWisconsin ever opened.” One of thoseoriginal faculty members, MaryBradford, whose published memoirs shedmuch light on the early years at theschool, later expressed the opinion thatPray had illustrated his “selective ability”and she indicated that the school quicklybecame known as “a good training campwhere men and women had the opportu-nity to prove themselves.”

The president and his new faculty seta tone for the school that carried onthroughout the years. In a report to State

Early faculty with President Pray (bottom row, third from left),Garry Culver (bottom row, third from right with beard) and Mary

Bradford (top row, third from right with glasses).

Superintendent J. Q. Emery by a committee sent toinspect the Stevens Point Normal School, it wasnoted that Pray had “gathered about himself a facul-ty, not merely of teachers, but of men and womenbroad in their view, strong in their sympathies, andrich in culture.” The writer of the report stated thatthis outstanding group would be able to carry out“the highest aims of education” in the newly-estab-lished normal school at Stevens Point.

For many, Stevens Point in 1894 was a new fron-tier. Some of the participants, both faculty and stu-dents, who later reminisced about the early years onthe campus, made the frontier theme clear. StevensPoint was referred to as a “getting off place for log-gers on their journey north,” and it was educational-ly “on the frontier fringe.” The original 13 facultymembers were young enough and free enough underthe enlightened (for that day) leadership of Pray tointroduce into the campus and community a newspirit of experimentation and enthusiasm. Theyaccepted willingly the challenge of working in aneducational frontier.

Historian Albert H. Sanford commented that theschool developed an institutional individuality frommeeting this challenge. This individuality, hedeclared, created “an atmosphere of freedom fromthe old fashioned ‘discipline’ of the country school[and] a refreshing spirit of friendliness and infor-mality between faculty and students.”

Years later, two of the more notable students of theearly years of the normal school also commented onthis atmosphere of individuality. Dr. Arnold L. Gesellreflected on those early years and called that period a“golden age” in the school’s life, where the “freshvigor of the faculty and its young president, allbespoke progressiveness.” Because there was nooppressing tradition and no old musty odors, hebelieved that “faculty and student body alike felt thestimulus of pioneering conditions.” MargaretAshmun, noted author, wrote of her years at StevensPoint Normal and gave high praise and admirationfor President Pray, stating that he had “won the affec-tion of the students by his kindness and humor.” Shepointed out that “his integrity and Puritan strength ofcharacter exerted a steady influence among pupilsand faculty.” She, too, stated that she had experienceda “simplicity of friendliness which promoted a goodfeeling and a desire to learn; and it made the College

a pleasant memory to those who left it behind.”Despite all the talk of freshness and invigoration,

adjustments had to be made by many of the incom-ing faculty. Entering into this area of majestic pineforests with a hint of wilderness all around provedto be unnerving for some. New arrivals often mis-took the filtered drinking water from the WisconsinRiver as cold tea. Eventually, they came to like itfor its “recognized purity and healthfulness.” If thepine forests intimidated some at first, others on thefaculty became concerned at the rapid speed withwhich the pine trees were being harvested by thelumber mills. In late 1894, some faculty memberseven led protests against the cutting of grown pinesnorth of Stevens Point. Their protests largely wentunheeded and the cutting continued, leading MaryBradford to write mournfully some years later that“those wonderful trees are only a memory now.”

Adjustments to this pioneer area proved too diffi-cult for some. The first director of practice teaching,Emma J. Haney, came from New England, and sheremained unhappy and was unable to adjust to thenew situation. More than once, she stated that shejust “did not like the West.” When ill health forcedher to resign at the end of the first semester, shehappily returned to the East Coast, and MaryBradford was shifted into the position of director ofpractice teaching.

The community also needed to make adjustmentsto the fact that the school called the city “home.”To help insure continued community support, theGazette printed a firm admonition to the people ofStevens Point, reminding them of their pledge“that the school was likely to receive at home,such a support as would be ample justification forplacing it here.”

Housing for students was another adjustment facingthe campus and community. No dormitories existed,but students were required to live only in approvedrooming houses or homes. Local newspapers involvedthe community immediately, with solicitations forrooms for the new students. President Pray remindedthe city that “those who enter the normal schools ofthis state are people of moderate means - for the mostpart young people who are making their own way inthe world.” The community responded positively:offers of “rooms, fuel, light, with board from $2.75upwards,” and “rooms without board, $2 to $5 per

month,” made their way to the president’s desk.When the opening of the sixth state normal

school at Stevens Point was announced, immediateinquiries poured in regarding admission andentrance requirements. The first bulletin, publishedand released to those expressing interest in attend-ing, noted that admission was open to “all personsof mature years and serious purpose, whose inten-tion is to fit themselves to teach in the publicschools of this state.” The cut-off point for “matureyears” was to be not less than 15.

With almost no other standards for admission,many inadequately prepared students were broughtin and the curriculum had to be shaped to meet theirneeds. Geography was the single most importantdeterminant of enrollment.

The bulletin also announced the school’s desire“to maintain a high standard of behavior, such as ischaracteristic of cultured ladies and gentlemen.”Therefore, those seeking admission were encouragedto bring documents certifying their physical healthand good moral character. Those without such docu-ments could obtain them after they arrived.

Three groups of students applied for admission.The first group included those students who werenot high school graduates, but who had graduatedfrom a common school, completing eight grades.For those students, admission was based on success-ful completion of an examination. The exam, pre-scribed by the Board of Regents, included questionscovering numerous areas including arithmetic,grammar, reading, writing, spelling, U.S. history,and geography. Successful completion of this exam-ination would make the student eligible for enroll-ment in the review class.

The second group of students seeking admissionwere those who had graduated from a high schoolwith a four-year course. They were admitted with-out an examination, and given credit for two years’work. Those who graduated from a high school witha three-year course were credited for one year’swork in those areas in which they did well. Thesehigh school graduates could complete the normalschool course in two years.

The third group of students seeking admissionwere those who were already teachers who held oneof three levels of certification. They took no exami-nation for admission. Those holding a first-grade

certificate were credited with one-half year in areasof education in which they were proficient. Thosewith a second grade certificate were admitted to thefirst year of the normal course, while those with athird-grade certificate were admitted to the prepara-tory class and received credit for those subjects inwhich they had high standings.

The students who were admitted had a selection offive courses of study as established by the Board ofRegents. These courses of study included anEnglish-scientific course of four years; a Latincourse of four years; a German course of four years;an elementary course of two years; and, a one-yearprofessional course open only to those who had afirst-grade certificate and proof of three years ofsuccessful teaching experience.

President Pray wanted the school to contribute tothe educational needs of the area. His concernextended to those who were teaching or wanted toteach in rural schools but who could not remain inhigh school long enough to finish the regular courseof study. In an attempt to remedy this situation, headmitted those students to a one-year course in edu-cation, an action which anticipated that later takenby county training schools which did not yet exist atthe time of Pray’s action.

For those teaching in the common schools whowanted a better preparation in fundamental studies,Pray established a review course. Although not arecognized course, it was “an experiment to ascer-tain whether there is a reasonably large number ofpersons who expect to teach in the common schoolswho will undertake such a definite short course.”Success during its first year led the Board ofRegents to recognize the course and issue a certifi-cate to those who completed it.

Organizing the Science Department proved to bemost difficult. Professor Culver was seen as “not aneasy man to please.” The lack of space to spread outthe equipment was an early point of aggravation forhim, but by the third year the Science Departmentwas enlarged to a total of eight rooms on the thirdfloor “devoted wholly to work in science.” Theschool also purchased an expensive ($50) telescopewhich provided a scientific resource most of theearly normals schools did not have.

Not surprisingly, the expense of higher educationconcerned many. Although tuition was free for those

who expected to teach, room and board cost approx-imately $30 for a 10week term. With an additionalcost of about one dollar each for books and library,and for stationery, the total student outlay was about$32 per term. Those who were not going to teachbut who qualified for admission paid a tuition fee.For the first year, the cost for normal classes forthose students was 75 cents per week. For thepreparatory classes, the cost was 40 cents per week,and for the model school, it was 15 cents per week.

Diplomas and certificates acknowledged the com-pletion of work in the normal school. Those com-pleting the elementary course or the one-year ruralcourse received a certificate that allowed them toteach for one-year in any common school. With asuccessful year of teaching, the state superintend-ent would endorse the certificate for an additionalfive years.

Those who completed the full courses received adiploma and a license to teach for one year in anypublic school of the state. After this first year ofteaching, the diploma became the equivalent of alife certificate. The recipients could then teach inany public or common school.

After completing the one-year common schoolcourse, students received a statement signed by thepresident. This held no legal licensing implications,but was instead, a “simple testimonial of effectiveand commendable work.”

September of 1894 was a time of great anticipa-tion in Stevens Point. The state’s newest normalschool was ready to open. The city, itself, waited.Main Street, paved with wooden blocks as far asDivision Street, was the only paved street in thecity. The rest were sand. The Court House, OperaHouse, and the Curran House added grace anddignity to the community. Two new paper millswere operating south of town. Men driving oxcarts still congregated at the town square to selltheir goods. But, the community sensed thatchange was imminent and prepared to meet thatchange, including and supported by the emergenceof the new normal school.

After a slight construction delay due to the rail-road strike and general economic conditions of theday, President Pray announced the opening of theschool on September 17, 1894. In a statement to thecommunity, he declared that the purpose of the

school was to develop “a training school of a reallyprogressive character-one that would turn out forservice in the schools of the state, teachers imbuedwith the same spirit.”

The school opened with 366 students-152 studentswere enrolled in the Normal Department, 49 in thePreparatory Department, and 165 in the ModelSchool. Only 34 of the students in the NormalDepartment were high school graduates, with anaverage age of 19.5.

At the close of the first week of classes, theGazette reported that the school could “point withpride to the fact that it opened under more favorableauspices than any other Normal School in Wisconsin,having a larger attendance on the first day, and morethan double as many as most of the other five [nor-mal schools].” The paper optimistically predictedthat this initial success was “bound to expand witheach succeeding month and year in the future.”

One month later, with the school settling into aroutine, thoughts turned to a dedication ceremony,and on October 18, 1894, the event was held. Theday of dedication was pleasant and clear as peoplefrom all over the state traveled to Stevens Point tolend their support and enthusiasm to the celebration.By midafternoon, the assembly hall was filled tooverflowing. Regent Byron Park received a rousingovation as he accepted the American flag for theschool. President Pray addressed the gathering andstressed the high and noble calling of the teacherswhom, he said hold “the keys of destiny” for theirfuture students. An informal reception, a banquet,and dancing followed that evening.

Student activities began early in the school’s his-tory. Some were forced on the students, while othersresulted from voluntary participation. Each daybegan with an early morning general assembly atwhich attendance was mandatory and roll call wastaken. Every Friday was set aside for rhetoricals,during which time students were required to give aspeech, an experience which proved terrifying tomany of them.

Two major areas gave rise to student clubs, the lit-erary circle and the music circle. Arena, a literarysociety admitting both male and female students,organized first. Its stated purpose was to give “need-ed opportunity for literary culture, elocution andparliamentary practice, as well as incidental relax-

ation and diversion.” Arena’s programs featureddebates, declamations, papers, essays and musicalnumbers. After a couple of years, the male studentsbroke away from Arena and formed their own club,the Forum. Later, another all-male club, theAthenaeum, was formed. In 1905, the womenformed their own club called the Ohiyesa Society.

Many students with musical talent came toStevens Point Normal School and eventually joinedmusical groups. Male and female quartets, an all-male Glee Club, and an all-female Treble Clef Clubwere among the earliest groups established.Although vocal talent seems to have been dominant,a Mandolin Club and a Mendelssohn Violin Clubwere also organized. Frequent concerts given bythese groups provided cultural enrichment for thecampus and community.

One the earliest organizations to form and to havea lasting effect on the school was the PressAssociation which held its first meeting in the fallof 1895. Its first contribution appeared in Decemberof 1895 with the release of the first issue of TheNormal Pointer. Published as a “purely student pub-lication the paper contained sections on literaryworks, editorials, athletics, personal news, andadvertisements. Several years later, one of the edi-tors successfully requested that all students be

required to pay a small subscriber fee inadvance to provide the paper with aworking fund.

In 1901 the school’s first annual, TheNautilus, was published. An expandedversion of the school paper, the annualenjoyed great success in the early years.In 1904, its name was changed toSummum and in 1907 changed again toThe Iris. Over time, the literary contentdiminished significantly and the annualsbecame more of a pictorial record of theevents of the just-completed school year.

Voluntary speech activities alsoappeared early in the school’s history. TheOratorical Association was formed in1896 and joined with the Inter-NormalLeague. Local contests resulted in selec-tion of a school representative to competein the state contest. That contest, in turn,determined the representative to the inter-

state competition. In the early years, these contestswere held between the two male and two femaledebating societies. These debates often drew a fullhouse in the Assembly Hall and developed an enthusi-astic and sometimes unfriendly rivalry. This rivalryeventually resulted in a hilarious incident whenHerbert Steiner, later a member of the school’s facul-ty, was to present a Patrick Henry oration. The rivalgroup, the Forum, planned to kidnap him to preventhim from making his presentation. Getting wind oftheir plans, Steiner dressed up in women’s clothingand walked to school between two faculty members,arriving successfully. The Forum apparently never diddiscover how he had managed to evade their plot.

In 1899, Stevens Point Normal hosted the Inter-Normal Contest. The city turned out in large num-bers as student Arnold Gesell represented thelocal Normal and received first place for hisaddress entitled “Development of the Spirit ofTruth.” Gesell then traveled to Cedar Falls, Iowaand again won first place at the Inter-StateNormal Contest. Already popular on campus andeditor of the school newspaper, he gainedstatewide acclaim for his oratory. Students andtownspeople alike gathered at the railroad stationto welcome him back. Some carried him aroundpart of the city in a torchlight parade, while others

Many early Stevens Point Normal students were active in literary societies.

sang songs written for the occasion.Not all extracurricular activities were simply for

the mind or the vocal chords. Physical training,which was becoming increasingly popular acrossthe country, led to the development of physicalactivities, and the gymnasium was open every dayfor voluntary exercises and practices. President Praysupported the development of physical activities forthe students “not for play alone, but for growththrough play and serious training.” Physical meas-urements of all students were taken and specialexercises were prescribed based on those measure-ments. Stevens Point became the first school in thestate equipped to carry out the “anthropometricmeasurements and corrective work.”

All students, unless physically unable, met everyday for 40 weeks in the gym for individual practice,class exercises, and lectures and discussions of

applied anatomy and physiology. In the gym, thewomen wore blouses and divided skirts, while themen wore tennis shoes, sweaters and slacks. Praywas proud of the physical training and noted in hisfirst annual report that the work in the gymnasiumhad resulted in an almost universal physical gain forthe students in the school. In many cases unevenshoulders have been adjusted, spinal curvaturesarrested; muscular strength and chest capacity havebeen almost universally increased. . . .” He conclud-ed that the greatest benefit to the students was“found in the bearing, and regard for physical con-ditions and bodily health evident in all classes.”

Not all physical activities were so structured. Mr.Sylvester organized outdoor activities almost assoon as the school opened. In the fall of 1894, agroup of young men went to Appleton to play afootball game against Lawrence College. The rather

Physical training exercises at Stevens Point Normal

hastily created team lost, 6 to 4, but that was onlythe beginning. The team won three of four gamesthe next year, but after a game with Whitewater in1896, Pray wrote to his counterpart at that school tocomplain that the team from Whitewater had“played too rough” in the game between the twoschools. President Salisbury responded by remind-ing Pray that “football was no child’s game.” Beforelong, some of the other schools reported being“astonished at the way in which this youngupstart school was winning games,” and by 1908,the school had claimed the championship of thenormal schools.

When the earlier normal schools opened, base-ball was the dominant intercollegiate game, but bythe 1890s, football had surpassed it and basketballwas not far behind. Intercollegiate basketballbegan in 1897-98 with a game against Lawrence.Once again, Lawrence won. High school teamsalso appeared on the schedule. Professor Collinslater reported that the “old gym under the librarysaw many a hard fought basketball game” duringthose early years. He indicated surprise that “thewalls didn’t come tumbling down like the walls ofJericho, because of the unison stamping and terrif-ic yelling” that accompanied the games. Financeswere always a problem for the fledgling athleticteams and the teams sought donations from stu-dents and from the community as early as 1908.Facilities were poor, both for home and awaygames, but since there were few spectators notmuch more was needed.

Although not taken as seriously as it is in manycolleges and universities today, athletic success wasalready important to some. After a disastrous,uncoached football season in 1901, the school papercalled for the hiring of an outside coach. A coachwas brought in, and although not much changedwith regard to winning and losing, he did manage tohold the team together through the season.

Track and tennis also made their debuts early inthe school’s history. In 1895, the tennis groundswere laid out and activities began immediately. Atrack team was organized in 1895 and entered intoseveral meets each year with other schools.

Women were not left out of these activities.Basketball was the first recorded team sport forwomen who, on many campuses, played that game

before the men did. At Stevens Point Normal, theearly teams were organized by class, with competi-tion between the teams reported to be fierce. Thefirst reported basketball game for women was heldon January 25, 1898, when two locally organizedwomen’s teams played a game which resulted in a4 to 4 tie. It was noted that about 350 spectatorsshowed up for the game which was followed by amen’s game. [That game ended in a score of 5 to3.] The first game against an outside teamoccurred in May, 1898, when the women fromStevens Point Normal School defeated WeyauwegaHigh School, 8 to 2.

Despite some ups and downs during the next fewyears, The Normal Pointer noted in December,1901, that the “outlook for basketball this year isbright. ... two young women’s teams and sevenyoung men’s teams have been organized.” Women’sathletic activities were not mentioned by theschool’s paper between April, 1903 and October,1909, but the sport of basketball returned in 1910with the added bonus of a silver cup, the “BischoffCup,” being established to be presented to theyear’s best campus team.

The community and the school actively supportedthese athletic events. Individuals donated moneytoward the expenses and no one seemed to mindpaying a small fee to see the games. Income andexpenditures generally balanced out each year withan occasional small profit for the school. In 1904,The Normal Pointer reported that “school spirit wasbuilt around extracurricular activities.

In addition to physical fitness, President Pray wascommitted to bringing cultural influences to bear onboth students and the Stevens Point community. Heknew that many of the school’s students came fromhomes which lacked interest in or knowledge of liter-ature, music, painting and sculpture. Consequently,he used small monetary gifts to purchase the mostaffordable reproductions of old Greek and laterItalian sculpture possible.

Music also provided a cultural influence. Under thedirection of Alice G. Clement, students engaged inboth vocal and instrumental music, and produced sev-eral successful musical events including a perform-ance of Handel’s “Messiah.” During these early years,the school song was written by Kenneth Pray, son ofthe president. “On the Banks of Old Wisconsin” was

set to the tune of another school’s song, and laterbecame known as “The Purple and the Gold.”

Dance, a vital part of the curriculum in theCollege of Fine Arts and Communication 100 yearslater, had a more difficult time making its entranceinto the activities of the school. Social dancing wasnot allowed at the school until it was in its fourthyear. Mary Bradford attributed this to the fact thatmany of the school’s students were brought up tosee dancing as sinful and inappropriate. However,Caroline Crawford, instructor for physical training,advocated the acceptance of dancing and a compro-mise was worked out by the faculty that alloweddancing for a short time during evening entertain-ment. Gradually, the objections to dancing died out.

Faculty/student gatherings were instantly success-ful. Receptions and picnics were given by the facul-ty, by the school itself, by the literary societies or bythe various classes. The first all-school picnic washeld at Waupaca Lake in 1902.

The lecture series, one of the best of the outsideinfluences on the lives of the students, began duringthe winter of 1897. Albert Sanford headed this effortto keep students in touch with world events andpeople of the time. The first series featured visitingprofessors from Madison and Chicago. Soon, thetown as well as the school supported the series.Lectures, held in the Old Opera House over the nextseveral years, featured such nationally prominentpersons as William Jennings Bryan, SamuelGompers, Eugene V. Debs, and Jane Addams.

The exciting and challenging first year of theStevens Point Normal School came to an end withthe initial commencement exercise held on June 26,1895. Families, townspeople, faculty and studentsgathered at 10 a.m. in the Assembly Hall for thishistoric occasion. Dr. Benjamin S. Terry of theUniversity of Chicago presented the address andspoke on the topic “What is an Education?” Sevenmembers of the class received diplomas in elemen-tary education.

Program change and development, a constant sub-ject of discussion and debate in modern universitiesand colleges, began early as well. By 1896 theEnglish course was split from the science course. Asa four-year course, it specialized in the preparationof teachers for primary and intermediate grades, andled to a diploma upon completion. Those wishing to

teach in the high schools and higher graded schoolswere advised to enter the advanced or postgraduatecourse for one year. This course required additionalwork in Latin, German, physics, history, chemistry,drawing, and economics. As indicated earlier, thefaculties of the several normal schools, who weretrained as academicians, sought from the beginningto increase the “academic” content of the programsoffered in the normal schools. The Stevens Pointfaculty proved no exception in this regard. This strug-gle between academicians and teacher trainers contin-ued until the normal schools were allowed to expandto include liberal arts courses and degrees as well asthose which provided for the training of teachers.

The normal schools were established to prepareteachers. Therefore, much attention was focused onstudent or practice teaching. Students had to takepreparatory classes such as the theory and art ofteaching and observation of classes conducted bythe critic teachers. Having met the initial conditions,students were assigned a group of children for 10weeks. Individual preference as to subjects taughtwere usually considered in the first assignment in anattempt to insure success.

Student teaching began in the Model Schoolhoused in the west end rooms of the first floor, butas the size of the school increased, with more stu-dents requiring more practice time, an arrangementwas made between the school and the local schoolboard. This agreement allowed students to conductclasses at the Third Ward School, and PresidentPray selected Josephine FitzGerald to take chargeof this branch of the department. He reported thatthe arrangement should “lead to a great extension ofthe training departments of the Normal Schools inWisconsin, and to a large increase in the actualtraining available for our students.”

From the beginning, the Stevens Point NormalSchool continued to grow and the increasedenrollments soon forced a reassessment of thespace occupied by the school. President Prayaddressed this concern in his report to the Boardof Regents in 1898 in which he pointed out thatfurther growth would be hindered by the restric-tions on space that existed. He noted that theModel School already had difficulty finding seat-ing for the pupils and he stressed that it was“imperative that more room be provided at an

early date either by an addition to the presentbuilding or by the erection of a new building.”

After a review by a state inspection committee,the committee concurred with Pray regarding theovercrowded conditions. In its report to StateSuperintendent J. Q. Emery, the committee conclud-ed that the enrollment had exceeded expectationsand the capabilities of the building. Even theschool’s janitor, Peter Kelly, had to move his familyout of their basement quarters so that the spacecould be converted into rooms for Mr. Swift and hispsychology and theory classes. In addition, practiceclasses had no rooms but met instead on the stair-way and in the halls.

The state took steps by 1898 to meet the spaceneeds of the campus. An additional five acres werepurchased behind the original site and, according toa writer for the local newspaper, with the trees andbushes on the site the school had become “one ofthe most beautiful school campuses in Wisconsin.”Plans were soon made, however, to make other useof the new campus grounds. In the winter of 1898,the legislature appropriated $70,000 for use by theseveral normal schools, and it was announced in thefollowing spring that $30,000 of that allocationwould be made available to Stevens Point to utilizefor an addition to the school on the west side of theoriginal building. Bids were submitted after planswere drawn and the board accepted the bid submit-ted by George R. Potter of Stevens Point for

$20,250. Construction on the urgently needed addi-tion began soon thereafter, and the new west wingwas completed in time for the opening of the schoolyear in the fall of 1901. The Training Departmentoccupied all of the first floor except for one roomreserved for the Domestic Science Department. TheNormal Department took over all. of the secondfloor. The third floor contained eight laboratories,several recitation rooms, and a large hall called theArt Annex which was used for exhibiting artwork.

As enrollment grew, not only was there a need formore space but for more teachers as well. Most fac-ulty members directed five classes per day and vol-unteered one hour a day to library work. Little timewas left for consultations with students. The stateinspection committee reported that “the number ofteachers is insufficient even to do satisfactory aca-demic work ... and the need of addition to the teach-ing force, then, is most urgent.” In spite of the lackof space and the shortage of teachers, the committeereported that it found a “prevailing spirit of courtesy,respect and kindness in the relations of teachers withstudents and of students with each other.” Theyviewed this as a distinguishing feature of the schooland a great benefit to the students and the community.

Conditions for teachers in the normal schoolswere also changing. Comparison of salaries led toan increasing expectation of higher wages. With ashortage of teachers, the overworked faculty alsomade its requests known. Dr. Joseph V. Collins

West wing addition to Stevens Point Normal, 1901.

asked why the faculty were not paid as well as thoseteaching at River Falls, Whitewater or Milwaukeeunless “Stevens Point is to be regarded as an inferi-or school, and we as teachers [thought to be] ofinferior preparation and ability.” But the board coulddo little about this noting that the legislature wouldprobably not be very liberal with them “because ofthe necessity for large expenditures in the repairingor rebuilding of the Capitol.”

Tragedy struck the faculty in 1903 with thedeath of Alicia DeRiemer, geography teacher andactive supporter of the arts, who died suddenlywhile on vacation. Students and faculty formed acommittee and designed a window as a memorialfor her. The window was placed in the main buildingwhere it remains.

It is difficult to manage an institution such as anormal school, but even more difficult to start onefrom scratch. President Theron Pray involved him-self in all facets of the school’s life, and made anenormous effort to insure the successful beginningof the school. He tackled most of the managerialwork, overseeing registration, handling the payroll,and ordering all of the supplies. The power of thepresidents in the normal schools was extensive asthey were given a virtual free hand in the hiring andfiring of faculty members and in the determinationof salary and other such matters. And, as a laterstudy would corroborate, in curricular matters, thepresidents would have power to “determine all mat-ters pertaining to courses of study for the training ofteachers and the subject matter to be included. . .

As a teacher, the president’s concern went beyondthe campus to the surrounding communities. Hisextensive travels throughout Portage County, lectur-ing without compensation and traveling at his ownexpense, testified to his determination. He alsoworked hard to repair the relationship with StevensPoint’s disappointed neighbor to the north, butWausau’s bitterness over the selection of StevensPoint as the site for the normal school continued. In1895, the Wausau Central reported that the schoolwas “such a failure that the state is seriously think-ing of turning over that institution as an asylum forthe feebleminded.” Pray made efforts to overcomethose feelings, working closely with Wausau’ 5superintendent of schools and other area educators.

President Pray displayed a deep and direct interest

in people. To his students, he often became a fatherfigure, while to the parents of those students, hebecame an extension of their own hopes and desiresfor their children. Many of the students were youngand were away from home for the first time.Concerned parents wrote to Pray about specificproblems because they knew that he was alwaysglad to have them write, and they knew also that hewould do everything in his power to correct the situ-ation and alleviate their fears and concerns.

Many letters passed over Pray’s desk each day.Prospective students wanted to know the advantagesof going to a normal school, and Pray diligentlyresponded to each and every one, encouraging themto take every opportunity to further their education.Many students accepted the president’s advice to“keep in communication” (an idea now stressed byalumni groups!) and continued to correspond withPray after they had left the school. Some wrote toPray seeking recommendations because, as one ofthem noted, “you [Pray] always know what yourformer students are doing.”

For the majority of the time, Pray concentrated onthe students on campus. Because many of them wereaway from home for the first time, homesickness wasa recurring problem. One student wrote that she wasso homesick that she was going home, but she addedthat she hoped that she would do better the next time.All of the faculty were urged to work to relieve someof these feelings of the students and to encourage thestudents to continue with their education.

Academic problems also came to Pray’s attention.Concerned with poor spelling by the students, heand Professor Frank Spindler established specialspelling courses each quarter [the school year wasdivided into four 10-week quarters], attempting tobuild a strong foundation for the students as theyproceeded through their regular courses.

During the school year, frequent requests forteachers tempted students to leave school beforethey had finished their course work. Between 1900and 1902, 40 to 50 students decided to postponetheir education and accept teaching positions.While most indicated that they planned to return tofinish later, once in the teaching field it becamedifficult to return.

The most difficult student area concerned disci-pline. The school and the faculty viewed discipline

as one of the most important aspects for growth.While allowing a certain amount of freedom (per-haps more than visitors to campus liked to see), theschool maintained its aim of a high standard ofbehavior, such as is characteristic of cultured ladiesand gentlemen.” Emphasis was placed upon truth,industry, honesty, independence, brotherly love andpatriotism to guide one’s conduct.

The ongoing competition between the normalschools and the university, outlined in chapter one,did not prevent the institutions from attempting tofacilitate the smooth transfer of students from theone to the other. An agreement between the Boardsof Regents of the Normal Schools and of theUniversity of Wisconsin provided the mechanismfor the transfer of students from the normals to theuniversity into a two-year course leading to a degreeof bachelor of philosophy in pedagogy. While notalways smooth, the possibility for such did exist anda number of students did take advantage of thisopportunity during these early years.

Likewise, the normal schools also made someadjustments within their programs to attempt toaccommodate the transfer of their students to the uni-versity. Upgrading their offerings in natural science,mathematics, and German were all intended as waysto improve the transfer opportunity for their students.

Of course, the upgrading in the traditional academicareas was also at least partly related to the desire ofsome to expand the possibilities for students in thenormals. While it was not deemed likely that theycould obtain the approvals for offering liberal artsprograms per se, other avenues were pursued. TheBoard of Regents, in its meeting on July 1, 1902,unanimously approved the establishment of a depart-ment and program in domestic science for StevensPoint. This program was viewed as a way to assist inthe “training of girls in those subjects that affect life,”including sewing and cooking. The establishment ofsuch a department made Wisconsin one of the firststates to recognize its value in the training of youngwomen. The Pointer, perhaps a bit premature in itsenthusiastic reception of the decision, announced thatwith the establishment of this department StevensPoint Normal “stands as one of the foremost schoolsin this line of ~ although it would not have been anexaggeration to have stated that this decision wouldhelp make the school a pioneer in the training of

teachers of domestic science for the public schools.The two-year domestic science course was open

primarily to those who were high school graduatesor its equivalent. Any students who entered as grad-uates of the common school (eight grades) wereplaced in a five-year program, with three years ofessentially high school equivalency work and theremaining two years concentrated on the domesticscience course.

The Domestic Science Department was located onthe first floor of the main building. Facilities includ-ed a kitchen with movable cupboards and a largecoal or wood range at the side of the room. Eachstudent had a single burner gas stove on the top ofthe tables. One corner of the room served as thedirector’s office. A small dining room was providedwhich allowed the young women, mostly from smalltowns or farms, a place where they could “practicethe most lady-like manners for serving table guests.”Across the hall was a sewing room, equipped withfive new sewing machines.

Mary Secrest was appointed director and teacher forthe domestic science course. Eight students enrolled inthe course the first year. In addition, 30 young womenfrom the Model School and 27 from the normalcourse also took classes in sewing, while 30 and 19,respectively enrolled in the cooking course. Thitionwas free and books were provided for about $5 peryear. Although the course was at first considered easy,the demands soon dispelled this belief. President Prayreported “that the course is no snap is shown by thefact that several good students have already found itprofitable to give more time than is specified in thecourse.” Only two diplomas were given at the end ofthe first year.

The library, a symbol of institutional change inrecent years, was already a place of innovationand change during the 1890s. The original libraryoccupied a room adjoining the assembly hall inthe main building. At its April, 1895 meeting, theBoard of Regents authorized the hiring of a pro-fessionally trained librarian to come to StevensPoint and directed her to make out a card cata-logue and an index for the library. Card cata-logues, a relatively new innovation, caught theattention of others in the state. President Salisburyof Whitewater Normal wrote to Pray and request-ed a demonstration of the technique. With the first

real librarian hired by any normal school in thestate, Stevens Point helped demonstrate the valueof professional librarians in higher education.

Presaging the school’s later strength in naturalresources, a small but expanding scientific andhistorical museum began gathering items from res-idents of the surrounding area and from others fur-ther away. A collection of birds included a greathorned owl and a cooper’s hawk. Some additionsarrived in unconventional ways, as for instance, inNovember, 1896, when a boa constrictor arrived atthe school in a shipment of bananas.

Historical artifacts were also accumulated by theHistory Department and others. Arrowheads, stoneaxes, copper spearpoints, a warclub, and “an excel-lent specimen of Mexican stone mill” were amongthe early items collected. Albert Sanford submitted arequest for an exhibition case for several of therelics which, he believed, would encourage peopleto visit the school and would encourage others togive or loan other artifacts to the school for display.About two years later, the various scientific and his-torical collections were combined into one largeroom for all to view.

Into the early years of the new century, the nor-mal school at Stevens Point appeared to be meet-ing the goals set for it. While all seemed to befunctioning smoothly under the successful leader-ship of President Pray, apparently not all agreed.Dissatisfaction with Pray’s leadership had existed,somewhat under the surface, among some mem-bers of the Board of Regents, and during theboard’s semiannual meeting on February 7, 1906,Pray’s bubble burst. He had been excused from thesecond half of the meeting to attend his mother’sfuneral in Michigan. He had “no intimation fromanyone that any action relating to his tenure ofoffice was even under contemplation.” While hewas away from the meeting, the board in the exec-utive portion of its meeting, passed a resolutionasking for Pray’s resignation.

Statements by Regent C. D. McFarland appear tohave greatly influenced the board. McFarland con-tended that the school was falling off in enrollmentand the board later used the issue of lagging enroll-ment in its public statements concerning their ration-ale for demanding Pray’s resignation. Pray did notreceive word of the action until February 24 when he

received an official notification of the action.Although the board had hoped to keep the situa-

tion secret to assist Pray in obtaining a differentposition, it was not to be. The Milwaukee Sentinelbroke the story on March 6 and the “great surprise”set off a storm of protest. The Sentinel called uponthe board to reconsider its actions or at least makepublic the reasons for that action.

Local newspapers became the medium for thedebate between Pray’s supporters, led by formerRegent Park, and the primary opponent of Pray,Regent McFarland. Park charged McFarland withleading a personal campaign against Pray andaccused him of improper conduct in handling the sit-uation. Park stated that McFarland should have gonedirectly to Pray if there were problems that he feltshould be addressed. Park also charged the boardwith impropriety for making a decision without ade-quate investigation first. He noted the board’s willing-ness to allow Pray to leave the meeting early toattend his mother’s funeral and suggested that theyought to have been more open with him.

Park also called upon the board to make the chargesagainst Pray public since the only apparent reasonswas that dealing with the declining enrollment. Parktook strong issue with that reason, citing figures thatshowed that the other normals at Whitewater,Oshkosh, Platteville, and Milwaukee had all shownoccasional slumps in enrollment. He suggested thatthe presidents of those institutions should also havebeen dismissed if an occasional enrollment declinewas sufficient cause for such an action.

Regent McFarland responded by stating his con-cern over the statistics he had which showed adecline, a decline which he attributed to Pray’sinability to direct the school in a progressive way.Responding to Park’s suggestion that the board hadpaid too much attention to his concerns, he statedthat “it flatters me by ascribing to me [such] aremarkable influence with that body.”

The Stevens Point Journal produced attendancefigures placing Stevens Point third in total enroll-ment, behind Oshkosh and Milwaukee. The Journalsuggested that this should be a strong argument insupport of Pray’s administration.

Responding to numerous petitions from citizens ofStevens Point, alumni and friends of the school, andfrom students, the board called a special meeting to

be held in LaCrosse on April 26, 1906. The statedpurpose of the meeting was “to take such action asseems best in relation to the Presidency of the StateNormal School at Stevens Point.” In response, theStevens Point Journal presented its hope that thehearing would “be conducted in the truest andbroadest sense of the word ... and will arrive at theconclusion that the best interests of the school willbe served by the retention of Mr. Pray.”

Even in Whitewater, where Pray had served asinstitute director prior to coming to Stevens Point,there was disbelief and indignation at the news ofPray’s dismissal. Whitewater’s citizens refused tobelieve that Pray “had suddenly lost his ability” andthey deplored his lack of an opportunity to defendhimself prior to the action being taken. (When Praydied in 1920, he was buried in Whitewater.)

At the special meeting, a general statement of theboard’s reasons for its action was issued. In thestatement, the board charged Pray with not being avigorous and efficient administrator and with notbeing “an enthusiastic and inspiring teacher andeducational leader.” The board indicated its beliefthat Pray’s “defects are temperamental and that it istherefore practically impossible for him to overcomethem.” The final reason given suggested that theschool was not attaining the best results that it could.

In support of the charges, the board cited its ownannoyance and irritation when dealing with Praydue to “his slowness of action and his prolixity inwords.” They indicated their belief that it was diffi-cult to get him to carry out the instruction of theboard in an expeditious and satisfactory way. Theypointed to criticism from graduates of the schoolthat he did not prepare properly for classes, did notkeep up with the work of the teachers and students,and was “painfully slow and prolix in addressing hisstudents.” As a final reason, they stated that Prayhad not succeeded in uniting the faculty into “aworking unit for the accomplishment of certain welldefined ends.” No mention was made in these “offi-cial” charges of a declining enrollment.

Former Regent Park appeared before the board inPray’s defense, but his open hostility toward RegentMcFarland most likely did not help the president’scause. Pray, himself, was also present and presenteda picture of the status of the school as a whole. Hepointed to the increased competition from the coun-

ty training schools as well as the continuing demandon the part of high schools for teachers with univer-sity training as sources of the school’s enrollmentproblems. On the other issues, the real issues withthe board, Pray appeared to be unwilling or unableto present a personal defense.

At the conclusion of the special meeting, a unani-mous vote was taken on the following resolution:“That a vacancy be and is hereby declared in thePresidency of the Stevens Point Normal School, totake effect at the end of this school year, June 15th,1906.” The Pray era would, therefore, soon end, byaction of the Normal Board of Regents.

Although Pray’s dismissal may have been justifiedby the board on what appeared to be some factualevidence, the underlying motive remained RegentMcFarland’s personal desire for a change in thepresidency. The Stevens Point Journal agreed thatalthough the board’s list of reasons did appear toprovide support for the action taken, it also illustrat-ed the need for a change in the structure of govern-ment of the normal schools to prevent a local regentfrom gaining absolute control over the institutionthat he represented.

Part of the problem was with the attitude of plac-ing the president of such an institution on a pedestal.That, according to one of Pray’s successors WilliamC. Hansen, was at the root of Pray’s problems. Hesimply did not conform to the image that was devel-oping for a president. He did not “possess enough‘style’ to please some of the influential townspeo-ple.” Unlike later presidents, Pray was unconcernedwith his personal appearance, so much so that heapparently failed to notice when, on occasions ofdriving his horse and buggy to campus, “some of its[the horse’s] dung... caught under ... [his] shoes andwas brought into his office.”

The board’s final decision led to unrest on thecampus and in the Stevens Point community.Students considered giving up all social activitiesincluding the senior play, but Pray and other facultymembers urged them to go forward. Talk of anunauthorized and unfriendly demonstration by thestudents put the local police department on the alert.The Pointer wrote that “with a pathetic, yet perhapsto some degree heroic effort, we refrain fromexpressing our sentiment concerning the matterwhich has for some time lain heavily upon the spirit

of our student body.” Letters of support poured intoPray’s office from former students and fromprospective students. A number of the letter writersviewed Pray’s dismissal as being “without cause,thru [sic] the scheming of politicians,” and someprospective students apparently decided to attendother schools because of the board’s action.

Pray’s firing also had an effect upon the faculty.Regent McFarland met with members of the facultyat a special meeting and, according to one of them,attempted “to intimidate us by warning that any crit-icism of his action would not be permitted or toler-ated.” Even in those early days, the faculty resentedsuch treatment. McFarland also called several facul-ty members about a rumor that The Pointer woulduse its last issue to berate him and the board, and hestated emphatically that the faculty would be heldresponsible for the contents of the student paper.

Not all of the faculty members accepted the results.Mary Bradford, who had developed a strong personalanimosity toward Regent McFarland, submitted herletter of resignation on March 26, 1906 along with anattack on McFarland and the “respectable board”which went along with “the execution of his plot.” Allof the critic teachers and several other faculty mem-bers, including Pray’s daughter, Katherine, followedBradford’s protest and resigned.

The students showed their feelings by dedicatingthe 1906 yearbook to President Pray and to MaryBradford. The Iris contained many student and fac-ulty tributes, including this statement of dedicationto Pray:

“To our beloved President, Theron B. Pray, whohas given to our Alma Mater her most enduringcharms, whose energy, devotion and integrity havebeen instrumental in developing her individuality,whose work and life have inspired and guided allher children, we, the students of the Stevens Point

Normal affectionately dedicate this volume.”Pray’s last official duty was to preside over the

commencement exercises in June. At that time, heexpressed his “fullest appreciation of the earnest andeffective work, of the truly pedagogical spirit, andthe loyal and united effort of the faculty.” Ninetystudents graduated, with 47 completing the normalcourse and 43 the elementary course.

With his task completed, Pray left for Philadelphiawhere he had accepted a position as a commercialsalesman for the Calumet Tea and Coffee Company,where, it was later reported by the Stevens PointJournal that he had gained much greater monetaryreward than he had at Stevens Point Normal. Whenhe departed, he left behind an enduring legacy. Hehad recruited a strong and loyal faculty to help thenew school start off on the right foot. He expandedthe educational opportunity for students in the cen-tral Wisconsin area with the establishment of theDomestic Science Department. The reputation hehelped establish helped attract some notable stu-dents. Among those attending the school during thePray era were Dr. Arnold Gesell (1899) who becamenationally recognized for pioneer research in childpsychology; Jesse H. Ames, (1902) later presidentof River Falls State College; and, Harvey A.Schofield, (1901) the first president of Eau ClaireState College. Pray, who was born March 8, 1849,died on September 11, 1920 at the age of 71.

Pray’s departure ended an important era in the his-tory of the Stevens Point Normal School, an era inwhich essential decisions about the direction andnature of the new institution had to be made.Overall, the first president, Theron B. Pray, faced upto those challenges and made the decisions neces-sary for the development of the school. Perhaps histime was simply over: new challenges and new direc-tions would emerge with the coming of his successor.

The controversy and secrecy surrounding the dis-missal of President Pray continued during theprocess of selecting his successor. The Board ofRegents named a three-member committee consist-ing of Regents Harrington of Oshkosh, Morris of LaCrosse, and McFarland of Stevens Point, to beginthe search. The committee accepted 12 applicationsfor the position, including one from John Sims ofRiver Falls, a man who was apparently suggested asa candidate at the time of the special meeting of theboard to reconsider its action dismissing Pray. In apersonal letter written prior to the report of thesearch committee to the full board, RegentMcFarland informed Sims that he was his “personalchoice for the place,” but advised Sims to hold theletter confidential. He stated that “the unauthorizedannouncement at the time of the La Crosse meetingthat the board had selected you did some harm toyour candidacy at that time, and no chance shouldbe taken of the same results occurring again.” Heexpressed confidence that the other two members ofthe search committee would join him in his endorse-ment of Sims.

At the time of the board’s annual meeting in June,McFarland urged Sims “to use your own judgmentas to whether or not you should come to Madisonand be present at the board meeting.” He fearedSims’ presence might give the impression that theboard had already made its selection. Sims acceptedMcFarland’s advice and did not attend on June 20when the committee made its recommendation tothe full board. Voting by the board resulted in ninevotes for Sims and one each for V. E. McCaskill andGeorge C. Shutts. A telegram was sent to Simsinforming him of his selection as the second presi-dent of the Stevens Point Normal School. Sims’return telegraph stated simply: “I accept trustimposed. My cordial thanks to the Board.” The fol-

Chapter 4

The Sims Era, 1906-1926

lowing day, William Kittle, secretary of the Board ofRegents, sent a formal letter to Sims notifying himof his selection and informing him that his presiden-tial salary would be $3,000 per year.

John Francis Sims was a self-educated teacher. Agraduate of the public high school in Manitowoc, hehad already taught a year in the public schools dur-ing his last year in high school. Sims progressed

President John F. Sims, 1906-1926

quickly up the educational ladder. He started as arural school teacher and, after holding several otherpositions, became a member of the faculty at RiverFalls State Normal School in 1896, where he taughtgeography, civics, history, and served as an instituteteacher. During his stay at River Falls, theWisconsin State Teachers Association named him toa term as its president.

News of the board’s selection of Sims spread rap-idly throughout the community. The Stevens PointJournal reported that although it was still opposed tothe removal of President Pray from the position, itwished “Sims the utmost success.” The editor wrotethat presidents and regents would come and go, “butthe school, let us hope, will go on forever.”

Although qualified by experience if not by earneddegrees, questions arose following the selection ofJohn Sims. Faculty concerns were dispelled by a let-ter to Sims from Joseph V. Collins in which Collinswrote that “of all the candidates I knew of you werethe one I personally preferred to see get the place.”Expressing the fear often voiced by faculty at thetime of administrative changes, Collins suggestedthat he favored Sims because he “feared somestranger might be selected who would make thefuture of the institution uncertain.” Collins saw noreason for the school not “to go right on and prosperwithout a break.”

Congratulatory messages poured in to Sims.Willard N. Parker, editor of the Wisconsin Journalof Education, wrote that “while, of course, you aregoing in under trying circumstances, I believe thatMr. Pray’s friends will be just as loyal to you as[are] his enemies.” John Barnes, chair of theRailroad Commission of Wisconsin, congratulatedSims and warned him of the “factional feeling”that could prove to be “a little antagonistic towardsyou, at the outset at least.” Barnes also tried tomake the path a bit smoother for Sims by writingto his old friend, Byron Park, and urging Park toaccept that Pray’s dismissal was a closed incidentand that keeping the issue alive would only hurtSims and the school. Barnes urged Park not toallow his “own feelings to interfere with the suc-cess of Mr. Sims and of the school but in a quietway you can... do a good deal to allay the cholericfeeling that no doubt exists to some extent atStevens Point at the present time”

Sims presented himself as president of StevensPoint Normal School and indicated his philosophyconcerning the role of the school. He stated that the

normal schools should definitely prepare their stu-dents for teaching in the public school,” and heurged students who wished to teach to“definitely…take work in an institution which isexclusively devoted to this purpose.” The statementmight be interpreted as a rejection of the concernsexpressed to Sims by State Superintendent Carywho foresaw increasing dissatisfaction with the nor-mal schools which, he felt, was due to the fact thatmany people felt they were too “closely related tothe trade school” in their approach and mission.

Increasing enrollment and enhancement of theschool’s image were the two major challenges facedby Sims as he began his first year at the helm.Attendance was down to 204 in the NormalDepartment and 30 to 40 in the Model School.

Where Pray had been criticized for being uncon-cerned about his appearance, Sims worked hard topresent a new and positive public image to the cam-pus and to the public, and his reputation as a well-groomed man, with “ever polished shoes” spreadrapidly. Each day, he placed a fresh red carnation inhis lapel and the flower quickly became his trade-mark. Many years later, one of Sims’ successorswould make a red vest his trademark. Those whoknew Sims well verified his reputation for likingwell polished shoes, as they reported that he alwayskept a shoe polishing kit in his desk drawer.

Because of the shake-up following the dismissalof Pray, the faculty that greeted Sims’ arrival wassomewhat different from that of previous years.Josephine FitzGerald had replaced Mary Bradfordas supervisor of the Practice Department in theNormal School where she was joined by newcomersMinnie Coggeshall and Laura Comstock. MarianPeake was the new teacher of English.

The length of Sims’ presidency allowed him tomake many changes in the school’s faculty. Duringhis tenure, he hired several faculty members whowould later be among the institution’s most remem-bered faculty. The first of these was HelenParkhurst, who served on the faculty as primaryteacher training supervisor and director of thePrimary Department from 1912 to 1915. Parkhurst,who had studied previously under Maria Montessoriin Italy, organized a Montessori room in connectionwith the Primary Department. Its success led to aMontessori demonstration room, something no othernormal school in the state had at the time.Parkhurst’s connection with Maria Montessori alsoresulted in an invitation to Dr. Montessori to teach

Fred Schmeeckle, who joined the faculty in 1923,played a major role in the establishment of conser-vation education at the school and in the spread ofconservation education to the public schools of thestate. UWSP’s emphasis upon conservation began togrow and flourish later and led ultimately to a lead-ership role for the campus in that area, a develop-ment which led to the establishment of a College ofNatural Resources. The Schmeeckle Reserve area,developed and named many years later, bears testi-mony to Fred Schmeeckle’s many contributions tothe early conservation education program.

Other changes were initiated by the Board ofRegents. In 1908, the board formalized its policy ofnot hiring married women by passing a resolutionwhich stated that after September 1, 1909, “no mar-ried woman [may] be employed as a teacher in anyof the Wisconsin State Normal Schools unless herhusband is physically incapable of providing for hersupport.” The board also eliminated the position ofinstitute conductor in 1910 and directed the presi-dents to choose the best qualified teachers to handleinstitute work in the future.

on the campus, but despite an apparent agreement tocome, she decided instead to return to Italy.Parkhurst continued to develop the ideas espousedby Montessori and served for a time as director ofall Montessori schools in the United States. She alsohelped develop the widely-used Dalton Plan ofEducation which stressed that children learn moreeffectively in an open environment permitting themto proceed at their own pace.

In 1914, Sims offered May Roach a position inthe Rural Education Department. Roach, an EauClaire native, attended Stevens Point Normal in1905 and 1906 and returned to join the faculty ofher alma mater in 1914. Active in the formation ofcampus clubs, she became one of the most popularteachers at the school. In addition to her work inthe field of rural education, she also taught Englishand later helped President Hansen create the pro-gram in conservation education. May Roachremained on the faculty until her retirement in1956. Both during her career and after, she receivedmany honors including having one of the campus’sresidence halls named for her.

May Roach

Fred Schmeeckle

Changes also were made in the courses offered. In1908, the Board of Regents adopted a new two-yearcourse for high school graduates. In 1909, theManual Training Department was developed withelective courses for those in elementary educationand the advanced courses. In 1910, other new cours-es were added, including a four-year English course,an advanced postgraduate course, and a specialpreparation for the primary and intermediate grades.The next year, English, Latin, and German courseswere increased to five years in length. At the sametime, some courses were eliminated. In 1913, theelementary course was abolished, and 10 years later,the Latin course was also discontinued.

As indicated previously, the struggle between the advocates of “pure” pedagogy and those whofavored a broader-based collegiate program con-tinued throughout and actually became quite agi-tated during Sims’ presidency. A. N. Farmer’sreport to the State Board of Public Affairs in 1914noted that some of the college work being offeredin the normals was academic rather than practicaland had little bearing upon the problems that thenormal school students would face as teachers.The report suggested that the college courses werecreating an “aristocracy both among members offaculty teaching in these courses and among thestudents taking them.” Reporting that some of thefaculty and students involved with the collegecourses viewed teacher training as less dignifiedand less important, Farmer recommended that nocourse in the normal schools should be allowed tointerfere with their main purpose training teachers.

The Board of Regents took the ultimate step inresponding to these and other criticisms of the collegecourses when, at their meeting on July 27, 1922, theyvoted to discontinue offering the college courses afterJuly 1, 1923. In so doing, the board reaffirmed thegoal of the normal schools to operate “primarily andexclusively for the preparation of teachers for thepublic schools of the state.” The Stevens Point cata-log for 1923 noted in its “Foreword” that because ofthe actions of the legislature and the board, the col-lege courses had been eliminated.

Elimination of the college courses did have an effecton the normal schools, including Stevens Point.President Sims reported the enrollment in the fall of1923 at 544 which, he noted, was “very fine consider-

ing the fact that the College Course has been eliminat-ed.” Apparently reacting as did the other normalschool presidents, when students inquired about thecollege course, Sims assured them that “while theCollege Courses have been definitely taken out of theNormal School as such we still offer courses ofCollege grade, which are accepted by the University.”This was an indication that Stevens Point, like theother normal schools, apparently continued many ofits college course offerings despite the board’s ban.

Other course changes reflected the changingtimes or the change in faculty. In response to stu-dent inquiries about programs in agriculture, Simsreplied that Platteville and River Falls had programsfor training agricultural teachers. With the hiringof Fred Schmeeckle and his efforts in starting con-servation education, Sims cited it in his responsesto those seeking training in agriculture. He notedthat conservation involved a real life situation anddeservedly occupies an honored place in the curricu-lum, vitally teaching problems in arithmetic, geog-raphy, history, agriculture, botany, biology, andnature study.”

When young men inquired about physical educa-tion, Sims referred to the training that would bereceived by participation in one or more of theorganized sports programs offered by the school.Responding to a prospective student about the lackof a separate kindergarten program at the school,Sims noted that a little kindergarten practice wasgiven ‘’mainly for the purpose of strengtheningour primary grade teachers.”

It was also during Sims’ administration that theconflict with the university over the exact role of thenormal schools came to a head. When StateSuperintendent Charles P. Cary urged that the nor-mal schools be allowed to prepare high schoolteachers and grant degrees, his position was vigor-ously opposed by Charles R. Van Hise, the presidentof the university. As noted in chapter 1, Van Hisecontended that the training of high school teacherswas a function granted exclusively to the university.To strengthen the argument for his position, Caryurged the normal schools to develop a system of dif-ferentiation in their course work according to thedifferent levels of teacher preparation.

In 1912, the normal schools attempted to groupthe elective courses according to primary, intermedi-

ate, grammar and high school areas. This action andthe resultant organization was a natural step towardthe development of a departmental system. Suchwas the intent of a resolution passed by the Boardof Regents in February, 1914, which provided forclasses in each normal school to be organized onthe basis of special departments. Each presidentwas directed to “modily and adapt the existingcourses of study for the purpose of organizing each special department.”

At Stevens Point, three departments were estab-lished initially: Rural, Primary, and Intermediate andUpper Elementary. Oscar W. Neale became directorof the Rural Education Department and remained inthat position until his retirement in 1944. JamesDelzell served as director of the Primary Departmentuntil his death in 1931. C. Frank Watson headed theIntermediate and Upper Elementary Department untilhe retired in 1946.

Several months later, the normal schools won thestruggle to be allowed to train high school teachers.President Sims appointed H. S. Hippenstell as direc-tor of the High School Department, and during thespring of 1914, faculty members met to draft acourse of study for that department. New courseswere introduced, including logic, public speaking,school supervision, and advanced courses inEuropean and American history. Five separatecourses of study for the new High School

Department were developed, but small enrollmentsmade it difficult to get enough students to formclasses in so many different subjects.

Hippenstell resigned from his position as directorof the High School Department after the first yearand Sims appointed Alfred J. Herrick to succeedhim. Seven students graduated from the three-yearhigh school course at the end of the first year.When Sims appointed Herrick to the position ofprincipal of the Training School in early 1920,Ernest T. Smith was selected as director of theHigh School Department.

Those who headed the four divisions carriedheavy loads. In addition to their full teaching assign-ments, they were faced with many administrativeduties. They were responsible for student advising,for program planning, and many of the relatedduties commonly associated with positions such asdepartment chairs in later eras. Each division hadorganized student clubs with the goal of each being“to promote professional attitudes and appreciation.”

The department that saw the most spectaculargrowth and development and became a specialty ofthe Stevens Point Normal was the Domestic ScienceDepartment. In February of 1912, the Board ofRegents approved seven different courses of studyfor the department, including a two- or three-yeardomestic science and general course for high schoolgraduates, a five-year course, a one- or two-year

non-professional domestic sciencecourse for high school graduates, and arural school domestic science course.Eventually, the one- and two-year non-professional courses were droppedbecause of a lack of enrollment and thefive-year course was dropped when allof the five-year courses were eliminated.The rural course involved a five weeksession aimed at teaching the preparationof a hot lunch in the rural schools.

Stevens Point Normal had beenauthorized to hire a domestic scienceinstructor in 1903, the first such positionauthorized for any of the normal schools.Although 10 years old, the departmentwas still trying to find itself in 1913 whenSims brought in Bessie May Allen tohead the department and clarify its role.An early primary class in Old Main.

Allen, who held the position until her retirement in1952, brought strong leadership and a clear directionto the program. Serving as faculty adviser to theHome Economics Club which she helped organizeduring her first year, she promoted home economicsthrough the club and other vehicles. The club had asits stated purpose the promotion of “departmentalunity by enabling girls to become better acquainted,to learn club management, to consider interestingphases of the subject not covered in regular classes,and for social enjoyment.”

Growth in enrollment in the domestic science pro-gram led to a desperate need for more space. TheBoard of Regents sent Allen and Sims on a tour ofthe eastern part of the United States and Canada tostudy the space, equipment and curricular experi-ences of several schools with strong domestic sci-ence programs. Upon their return, they used theinformation gained in support of the proposed con-struction of an east wing of the main building in1914. With the wing built and the equipment pur-chased, the Domestic Science Department movedinto the new wing and occupied all of the spaceexcept for the auditorium located on the secondfloor. The addition, which cost $76,000, provided areal boost to the program. With laboratories and adining room “finished in oak,” with a “high wain-scoating and beamed ceiling,” and a reception room,the department became a showcase for the campus.

Expansion and innovation in domestic sciencecontinued with the building of the John F. Sims cot-tage in 1915. At a cost of $9,500, the double house,the first of its kind in the country built for this pur-pose, was to furnish actual practice in housekeeping.Groups of four senior women were assigned to livein the cottage for a semester, with Allen residingthere as supervisor. It was reported in an early histo-ry of Portage County that, while living in the cot-tage, “every young woman serves for at least oneweek as cook, dining room maid, housemaid andmistress, the schedule of work for each being veryspecific.” The specific duties were rotated weekly sothat each participant might experience all of them,including running the coal furnace. The youngwomen were responsible for their own cooking,baking, cleaning, purchase of supplies, and keepingaccounts. No rent was charged, with residents pay-ing only for board, the money from which went to

help cover their expenses. Unlike later residents, thefirst group of students assigned to the cottage wereso eager to begin that they voted to go into the cot-tage in December, 1915, before all of the equipmenthad been installed!

“The Cottage,” as it was called, was unique.Only a few such practice houses existed in theUnited States at the time, and most of those wereold, single family houses. This one was new and aduplex, which allowed for the supervision of twogroups of students at the same time with only onesupervisor. Despite a few problems, most of theyoung women who lived in the cottage duringthese early years reported that the experience was“memorable and valuable.”

Sims’ commitment to the program in home eco-nomics was genuine. He noted that “the unit of ourcivilization is the home... [and] the heart of thehome is the mother.... Education must contribute...the qualities of sympathy, self-control, breadth ofview, and that knowledge which will enable themto... make... a real home.” He suggested that train-

Bessie May Allen

Sims Cottage, domestic science practive house.

ing for this must be provided by the publicschools, and that “the normal schools should andmust train teachers for this service. .

The science teacher, Garry Culver, recountedhis role in the development of a chemistry courseto support the domestic science program. Henoted that the course provided “the only case ofserious opposition to my plans and teaching.... Abright, vivacious but really lazy girl had electedthe home economic course thinking to find it asnap since it would, so she thought, consist most-ly of cooking and sewing. To her great surprise,not to say disgust, she found herself in the chem-istry class and was much disturbed thereby as shewas aware of her likelihood of failure in any sub-ject requiring careful work and real thinking.”After an illness kept Culver out of class for fourweeks, he noted that this particular young ladyled an effort to defeat his plans to make up thetime and work missed. Despite the opposition,Culver proceeded and the young woman appealedto President Sims who declined to take any

action. Culver reported that “it was a grouchyclass that began the [makeup] work after school. .. . I think it was the most unpleasant month ofteaching I ever did.” Shortly after beginning theafter-hours sessions, Culver was called into thepresident’s office where he faced the parents ofthe woman in question. And, although he pre-vailed in his makeup plans, he noted that he wasturned down for salary increases several times infuture years, with President Sims noting that“there was too much trouble” in his classes.

As a state school for teacher training, theStevens Point Normal School focused its attentionon the training of teachers and, therefore, on thetraining school which was intended “to help eachstudent teacher to grow and show his teachingpower” and to “encourage initiative and individu-ality on the part of the student teacher.” AtStevens Point, the training school was made up ofthe Montessori demonstration room and eight ele-mentary grades. These provided the opportunityfor the students to observe and practice teach.

The increasing number of students entering thetraining school for practice teaching posed anextraordinarily difficult problem for the school dueto a lack of adequate space. In November, 1922, theboard passed a resolution that called for the buildingof new training schools at three of the normalschools, including Stevens Point. Sims made directappeals to the legislature to help, arguing that nor-mal schools needed training schools as much asmedical schools needed hospitals. Sims also gotlocal citizens to write to their state legislators urgingsupport for the project, but despite his efforts, hewas not successful with the legislature.

Seeking alternative arrangements to meet the needsof students for working under real school conditions,Stevens Point Normal agreed to pay the local schoolboard $100 per year for allowing students to do theirpractice teaching in the city’s schools. Student teach-ers would follow the course of study in the publicschools and be supervised by teachers from theNormal School. Home economic students were to beallowed to observe in the high school.

The Board of Regents passed a resolution in1921 which set the required amount of practiceteaching time for students in the normal schools.Thirty-six weeks of practice teaching or its equiva-lent were required before a diploma could begranted. It should be noted that practice teachingdid not mean only teaching. Student teachers wereexpected to do such housekeeping chores as wash-ing blackboards, cleaning erasers, dusting andstraightening out furniture, and the other tasksassociated with school teaching. Student teacherswere not allowed to punish students but wererequired to report student problems to the criticteacher or the principal.

Director Herrick established nine points on whichstudents doing practice teaching were to be judged.Personal qualities such as English, manners, initia-tive, and responsibility were to be observed, andcooperation and loyalty were to be evaluated, as waspreparedness, presentation, and results in the area ofschool management. Lastly, training in citizenshipwas to be considered.

Orthman Rural Demonstration School

In addition to problems of space, the increasednumbers of student teachers placed a burden on thefaculty supervisors. Although additional staffmg wassought on a regular basis, little help was forthcoming.

One of the areas which Sims sought to developwas in rural education. Deeply concerned with theeducation of rural children, he believed that the chil-dren in rural areas were “not given the same faireducational chance as their city cousins.” Sims wel-comed the arrival of the rural school course whichbegan in 1912, and he reinforced his commitment tothe program by hiring Oscar W. Neale fromNebraska to head the department in 1915. Nealeestablished practice teaching for his students whichinvolved work in both city and rural schools. Thosegraduating from the program in rural educationfound their services greatly in demand, although thelevel of compensation in the rural schools remainedwell below that offered for teaching in city schools.

The program’s success under Neale was such thatone county training school official noted that of thestate’s normal schools, only Stevens Point was“making a commendable effort to properly train

rural teachers.” Success also led to requests for thefunds to build a one-room demonstration school, arequest approved by the regents in 1922. This time,approvals from the legislature and the governorwere forthcoming, and construction on a one-roomschool began in December of 1923. The RuralDemonstration School, named the Orthman ModelSchool in honor of Regent Orthman of StevensPoint, was ready for use in September of 1924.

A significant change in campus life occurred in1908 when the first summer session was held. Aftermany requests, the Board of Regents responded witha resolution approving a six-week session. A numberof reasons for the summer program were offered,including the need for regular students to continuetheir education, for graduates to update on new edu-cational ideas, and for many current teachers,including those teaching in the rural schools, to havethe chance to expand their knowledge and gain abetter salary. A wide range of courses in educationand in other disciplines was offered to the 176 stu-dents (only 14 of whom were male) in attendance atthe first summer session which proved to be a great

Nelson Hall

success. Thition for the session was set at $5 for thesix weeks and room and board cost between $2 and$3. With the strong enrollment, summer schoolbecame a regular fixture for the school.

In addition to the expansion of Old Main and thebuilding of the Sims Cottage previously mentioned,other campus expansion and renovations occurredduring Sims’ presidency. A heating plant was builtbetween the gym and the west wing in 1909; fireescapes were added to the buildings; and, in 1913,the legislature authorized the building of a women’sdormitory, the first such authorization given to thenormal school system.

As enrollment continued to climb, it became diffi-cult to find satisfactory boarding rooms within thecity. The solution that was proposed was to build adormitory for women, but there was much opposi-tion to the appropriation of $100,000 for a dormito-ry, partly because dormitories were still consideredexperimental. But, “through the tactful and tirelessefforts” of Sims, Regent George B. Nelson, StateAssemblyman Anton Krembs and others, the legisla-ture finally confirmed the appropriation.

Supporters of the building of a dormitoryargued, as did the Gazette when it reported on thegroundbreaking ceremony on September 15, 1915,that the availability of a dormitory “means thatparents outside of Stevens Point may send theirdaughters here in confidence that their moral andphysical health will be preserved.” Completed in1917, the dormitory provided 96 double and sevensingle rooms, plus three hospital rooms, four liv-ing rooms, 10 bathrooms, a dining hall, a recre-ation room and assorted storage facilities. Dormrates ranged from $5 to $6 per week. Board ratesranged from $3.75 to $4 per week.

The dormitory, named in honor of Regent GeorgeNelson who fought valiantly to have it built, wasdedicated on June 15, 1918. At about the same time,another dormitory was under construction atSuperior. From that time on, no additional studentdormitories were built by the state on any of thenormal school campuses for the next 30 years.

Strict rules and regulations were established andenforced for the residents of Nelson Hall.Gentlemen callers could be received by the occu-pants only on weekends, and no visitors wereallowed into the upstairs rooms, so all entertaining

occurred in the first floor parlors. Some “inci-dents” did occur, but apparently none that had anyvery serious consequences.

One of the renovation projects that caused someunusual stress involved the remodeling of thelibrary, a project approved by the legislature in1921. The work, at a cost of approximately $16,000,was completed by December, 1922. Then, the prob-lems started. The structural engineer for the stateinspected the library and condemned the new room.He believed that the structure was unsafe because itwas not built to support the load of the bookcases.The state architect recommended that steel posts beextended against the gym wall for needed support atan estimated cost of $5,500. It was more than a yearlater before approval was given to let a contract forthe needed building supports. Not until the fall of1924 was the newly remodeled library fully avail-able to students and faculty.

Changes and stresses brought about by World WarI and its aftermath were also faced by the campusduring the administration of President Sims. Simscampaigned diligently to have a Students’ ArmyTraining Corps (SATC) unit located on the campuseven though the units were intended originally onlyfor four-year campuses. On September 10,1918,Sims received a telegram confirming the location ofa unit on the campus. The Board of Regentsapproved the arrangement three days later.

The men registering for the program had to regis-ter with their local draft boards and then volunteerat the school. They were housed in Nelson Hall. Thewomen residents there moved temporarily to otherboarding houses. Each member of the corpsreceived $30 per month for the duration of his par-ticipation in the program. Although subject to callby the President of the United States, corps mem-bers were officially classified as 5-D which placedthem on the inactive service list for the duration oftheir studies. Each was expected to attend summercamp for six weeks.

The arrival of the corps provided an opportunity foradditional town-gown cooperation, as the communitywas called upon for medical support and to provideplaces for military training and drill for the program.From all reports, the community responded well.

While on campus, the young men in the corps par-ticipated in a program which combined both aca-

demic and military courses, with the regular facultyteaching the academic classes and an army com-mander directing the military classes. Each studentwas required to take math, English, French, survey-ing, map-making, military law and practice, warissues, and military hygiene. The course of studywas to be completed in three months, after whichtime, some participants would be sent to the army,some to officers’ school, and some would stay onfor an additional three months. The program wasrigorous and one participant reported many yearslater that life in the program “lacked frivolity,” andthat all of the men found that their lives were veryregimented, from morning exercises to bedtime at10 p.m. And, he complained, no social or recreation-al activities were made available to them.

On November 9,1918, news arrived that the warwas over and the men fell into formation and parad-ed around town in the pouring rain. Two days later,when the war really did end, they repeated theparade, again in a heavy rain. Many of the partici-pants spent the rest of the fall battling illness, atleast in part due to marching in the cold, Novemberrains of central Wisconsin. Once the war was offi-cially over, the notice came to disband the unit, andthe unit was gone by December 21.

Members of the faculty did their part for the wareffort. Four members of the faculty entered activeservice, while others became speakers for LibertyLoans or the Red Cross, salesmen for war bonds, orcontributed in some other way to the support of thewar. Bessie May Allen conducted classes on warfood usage to help with conservation of items suchas wheat and sugar, and “prepared bulletins whichwere published quarterly dealing with food conser-vation for the household.” Other faculty membersconducted classes designed to give students “widerinformation on the war, its causes, and dangers, andto make them patriotic citizens.”

Students also showed patriotism and initiative intheir support of the war. Enrollment declined, withmen entering the service and women taking theirplaces in the shops and stores. Those students whodid remain in school contributed by making articlesfor those in service, by writing letters to servicemen,and by voting to join the school chapter of theWisconsin Loyalty Legion. Sims showed his pridein the role of his students by writing to many of

those who entered the service. To one young serv-iceman he wrote that he was very proud of the for-mer student who was, in his words, doing “whatevery red-blooded young chap ought to do.” Heurged the student to do his share in conquering themas they ought to be conquered,” if he got his chanceat “the huns.”

As in most military encounters, feelings of patriot-ism soon became tinged with sadness as word cameof the death of the first student from Stevens PointNormal. By war’s end, eight former students of theschool were reported killed. Students who survivedthe war and who were honorably discharged weregiven the opportunity to return to school with atuition break and a state subsidy.

The experience of an army unit on campus ledSims to apply for one of the newly-formed ReserveOfficers’ Training Corps units in 1918, but when thearmy decided to postpone the creation of any newunits in 1919, that request went unfilled. Not untilthe late 1960s, when the nation and the StevensPoint campus were again involved with a war, thistime the war in Vietnam, was an ROTC unitassigned to the campus. When that event did occur,it was met with much less support and enthusiasmthan would have greeted it had it been established in1918 or 1919.

The war was not the only battle faced by the cam-pus during the fall of 1918. The Spanish flu, sweep-ing across much of the nation, made its impact feltin Stevens Point as well. On October 10, the citycouncil passed a resolution closing all schools, the-aters, and other places of public gatherings. For sev-eral days, the school was allowed to maintain smallquiz sections and laboratory work, but as the epi-demic spread, it was decided to close the schoolentirely until the danger had passed. The doors wereclosed on October 16.

By the middle of November, there appeared to bea significant decline in the number of cases and theban on assembling was lifted. Sims Cottage wasconverted into an infirmary in an attempt to isolatethose students who did still contract the flu. Mealsin the infirmary were provided by the HomeEconomics Department. As the flu continued itsmarch, the school decided on December 4 to closeagain and did not reopen until January 5, 1919.

After the war, returning servicemen and a

renewed interest in education put additional pres-sures on the school which was constantly strug-gling to acquire an adequate teaching force. Thecreation of a Junior High Department in 1920added to the need for staff, and the training schoolneeded an extra supervisor to help meet theincreased demand in that program. As the publicschools were adding junior high programs, fewteachers were prepared to teach in those programs,but the normal schools were not adequately staffedto meet the need. The junior high program openedin September, 1920 with an enrollment of 90, but itwas several months later before the approval for anadditional critic teacher was given.

Workload concerns led to the discontinuance ofcorrespondence work offered by the school.Students had been able to take courses through cor-respondence by paying a small fee, renting the text-books, and working with a professor in specific sub-jects. When they came to the school, they receivedfull credit for the correspondence work. The practicewas discontinued in 1921 due to “the extra burdenplaced upon the faculty.”

Entrance requirements were reviewed in the early1920s. Although President Sims was not (at least,not at first) in favor of the proposed requirementthat all entrants be high school graduates, in 1924,the Board of Regents passed a resolution requiring ahigh school diploma of students entering the NormalSchools after September 1, 1924.

Regents also addressed the issue of tuition in 1924and passed resolutions clarifying tuition and fees forboth residents and nonresidents. It was agreed tocharge all students a $6 per semester incidental fee,and to require an additional payment of $50 fromout-of-state students who signed a letter of intent toteach in Wisconsin. Non-residents not signing sucha letter would have to pay a tuition fee of $120,while residents not intent on teaching in Wisconsinwould be charged a fee of $50. These differentialsresulted from the many discussions of the purposeof the normal schools and from an attempt to guar-antee an adequate supply of teachers for the state.

In spite of the many changes that were underway,President Sims continued to promote the academicand personal growth of the school’s students. Hetook every opportunity to promote “the wholesomeChristian atmosphere . . . ever present at Stevens

Point.” Students had long been informed that theywould be required to “yield themselves to reason-able regulations in the matter of study, recitation andrecreation” while attending the school. Such yield-ing, it was suggested, would cultivate “habits ofstudy, cooperation and industry-those habits whichmake for sterling character and robust health.” Oneway in which the college attempted to insure thiswas through the visitation of students’ rooms by fac-ulty committees.

The president did not believe in fraternities andsororities and, as a result, such organizations werenot recognized by the school until later. Sims wasquick to note, however, that there were recognizedstudent groups on campus and encouraged studentparticipation in those groups. Among the groupswhich Sims did support were those revolvingaround musical and oratorical interests of students,and those which centered on discipline focusedgroups such as the Home Economics Club and theRural Life Club.

Other student interests included athletics, cheer-leading, and writing for the school paper. Firstpublished in 1895, the paper’s name was changedto The Pointer in 1916 and the pointer dog wasadopted as its symbol. Beginning in 1917, thepaper produced an edition every other weekinstead of monthly as before.

Athletics, as noted earlier, were a part of campuslife at Stevens Point Normal School from its verybeginning. That did not change during the presiden-cy of John Sims. In fact, action by the state legisla-ture in 1911 actually helped bring an increase in ath-letic programs at the normal schools. But, prior tothat time, the athletic programs at the schools werefairly primitive. Facilities were poor and financesalmost nonexistent. In 1909, a report on the condi-tion of the locker roomsfor athletes at Stevens Point revealed the existenceof an unsatisfactory situation. The report noted that“There is little to encourage decency in our bathroom” which is “a basement room, without sunlightand entirely unventilated. The sweaty athletic suitsmaintain a stench which, together with the dampmoist atmosphere makes the room an abomination.”

No formal athletic conference was establisheduntil 1912. Prior to that time, “informal champi-onships” were claimed based on comparative scores.

Stevens Point claimed the football “championship”in 1908 on that basis. Trouble still plagued the foot-ball team, however, and after playing only twogames in 1910, the team disbanded and football dis-appeared for the remainder of the 1910 season andthe entire 1911 season.

The legislature passed a law in 1911 which pro-vided for each of the normal schools to hire a full-time male director of physical culture. Although theostensible purpose behind the law was to insure anactive physical education program, in fact, these“directors” were coaches, and with each school hav-ing a coach, the next logical step was to set up aconference. Football quickly became the chief sportin the new Inter-Normal Athletic Conference ofWisconsin. It has even been suggested that the presi-dents of the normals saw athletics as a way toincrease the enrollment of male students. The lead-ing authority on the early years of inter-normal ath-letics states categorically that “the issue of virility ofnormal schools was important, and the presidentsused it to develop a stronger athletic program.”

With the Inter-Normal Conference in effect,Stevens Point won the basketball championship ofthe northern half of the conference in the first year,but lost the overall championship game to the south-ern half champion, Milwaukee, on March 28, 1913,by a score of 43 to 30. In an attempt to get the con-

ference off to a good start, the Board of Regentsprovided $500 to each of the eight schools for sup-port of athletics during the first full conference year,1913-14. And, in 1914, the board authorized theschools to assess each student a $2 athletic fee. Thiseffort failed to provide adequate support and by1921, the Stevens Point athletic association washeavily in debt and was seeking loans from willingfaculty members.

While the emphasis upon men’s athletics wasincreasing, women’s athletics appear to have taken astep backwards. When the decision was made to holdinter-normal competition in men’s basketball in 1912,the presidents also informally agreed to prohibitwomen’s inter-normal games. Despite this develop-ment, other athletic efforts for women continued. Thefirst mention of track for women occurred in theNormal Pointer in March of 1912. Other activities forwomen included toe dancing and folk dancing, and in1914, a campus tennis tournament for women washeld. With the addition of another physical educationteacher in 1918, mention is made of not only basket-ball and tennis, but also volleyball, field hockey, andindoor baseball for women.

With the additional emphasis upon women’s ath-letics, a Girl’s Athletic Association was organized inNovember, 1918 with a stated purpose “to promoteclean sportsmanship and a higher standard in wom-

ens’ [sic] athletics.” The GAA was reor-ganized in 1926 by which time it waspromoting the previously mentionedorganized sports as well as activitiessuch as tennis, hiking, skating, coasting,and classical dancing. With the slogan“Sports for all and all girls out,” it wasclear that the school was into a “well-ness” mode very early in its history.

Declining economic conditions dur-ing the years after World War I made itdifficult for students to find work tosupport them while in school. Theschool made an effort to locate jobs forthe students and attempted to providelow interest loans to deserving students.

Sims continued the practice of hold-ing daily general assemblies. Talks bythe president and other speakers on avariety of subjects, assembly singing,

1914 women’s basketball team

and rhetoricals made up most of these programs.Rhetoricals were supervised by the EnglishDepartment and required each senior to present anoriginal work in front of the assembly. Despite orperhaps because of the fact that each student wastold that “three-hundred students and teachers layaside their work to hear your effort ... and that noth-ing less than your best is good enough,” manydreaded the time when it was their turn to speak infront of the assembled campus community.

Interest in oratory, strong in the school’s earliestyears, declined after World War I until Leland M.Burroughs joined the staff of the English Departmentin 1920. As interest returned, Burroughs’s studentsquickly rose to the challenge and five of them wonstate oratory contests. One went on to win the inter-state contest in Iowa in 1923.

Despite the admonitions from Sims and the facul-ty, some student problems persisted. Some of themrequired the imposition of discipline, an area inwhich Sims was uncomfortable. Two ongoing prob-lems involved the drinking of beer and unchaper-oned activities. Students caught drinking beer at oneof the many roadside inns surrounding the city wereusually dismissed from school, although some wereallowed to enter other normal schools under super-vision. Those involved in “unchaperoned activities”were usually dismissed for the remainder of theterm and could be readmitted only under certainconditions, which generally included an agreementthat the readmitted student would refrain from anysocial engagements with those of the opposite sex.Women who violated the rule were also required tolodge and eat only in places approved by the deanof women, Miss Bertha Hussey.

The rules for the licensing of teachers were alsochanged during the 1920s. During World War I,graduation was not required for licensing sinceteachers were in short supply. In 1922, the require-ments were tightened to include the necessity of atleast three years of college work beyond highschool. Students also had to attend summer schoolor take correspondence work, and no licensewould be renewed without at least three additionalcredits in education. Two years later, the

Department of Public Instruction announced thatbeginning in June of 1925 no license would begranted unless the person was at least a graduateof a normal school program.

During the struggle to define the role of the nor-mals in the early 1920s which led ultimately to the“elimination” of the collegiate courses and thegranting of bachelor’s degrees in education by thenormal schools, Sims worked in support of theeffort to grant degrees. In letters to state assembly-men and senators, he noted that the university couldnot possibly meet the demand for high school teach-ers in the state and that the “granting ofsuch degrees [by the normals] would be in line withthe best educational practice in other states.” As pre-viously indicated, this debate led to approval for thegranting of degrees by the normal schools alongwith a name change to State Teachers College.

Sims recognized that the new name and the statusassociated with the granting of four-year degreesbrought with it the responsibility to upgrade the fac-ulty of his institution. He knew that he would haveto push the faculty to improve and to obtainadvanced degrees. And, he knew that this would bevery difficult for him to do in view of the fact thatseveral of the faculty members, including Sims,himself, did not even possess baccalaureate degrees.He appeared to be prepared to step down from hisposition as a show of support for this change.

Fate spared Sims wrestling with this problem. Hebecame ill and underwent gall bladder surgery inMilwaukee. After surgery, his condition worsenedand he died on May 29,1926. Funeral services wereheld on June 1 in the school’s auditorium. After theservice, the casket was carried between two longlines of students. Red carnations, his trademark,were everywhere. He was buried at Forest Cemeteryin Stevens Point.

The Board of Regents appointed C. F. Watson act-ing president for the interim. As the school enteredyet another era of change, the board’s task was tosearch for the best possible leadership to move thecollege into yet another new era, an era in which itwould become, finally, a full degree-granting college.

The unexpected death of President Sims createda vacancy just as the school was entering into aperiod of profound change. The state normalschools had begun the transition to four-year, stateteachers colleges in 1926. In a sense, the death ofSims was timely, for he did not possess the aca-demic credentials which many felt should berequired of the president of a state teachers col-lege. That view was held by many, including Mrs.Elizabeth Maloney, regent from Stevens Point,who believed strongly that the next president ofthe school would have to have an earned doctoratein order to be successful in motivating facultymembers to improve upon their qualifications andto seek advanced degrees.

The Board of Regents met on September 3, 1926,and accepted unanimously the recommendationfrom its committee, headed by Mrs. Maloney, thatRobert Dodge Baldwin be named the next presidentof Stevens Point State Teachers College. Baldwinmet the requirements with a bachelor’s degree fromPrinceton, a master’s degree from Columbia, and aPh.D. from Cornell (1926) with special emphasisupon rural education, a field most appropriate forhis new assignment.

Described as the “large eared scholar with babyblue eyes and wire-rimmed glasses,” Baldwin tookthe reins of the presidency with enthusiasm. Whenasked later why he had accepted the offer to come toStevens Point, he replied that it was because of theschool’s rural education course and because theboard wanted him to develop that program fully.

The school and the community quickly wel-comed the Baldwins as nearly 300 people fromthroughout the area attended a reception held intheir honor. At first, the Baldwins flourished in

Chapter 5

The Normal Becomes aState Teachers College, 1926-1930

President Robert D. Baldwin, 1926-1930

the community and gloried at being the center ofthe community’s attention. Mrs. Baldwin becameactive in numerous local clubs and groups andPresident Baldwin, in addition to his other roles,achieved some local notice for his talent as a bass soloist.

After a brief period of adjustment to the newposition, Baldwin turned to the tasks at hand. Hecorrectly viewed his major challenge to be thepreparation of the school and its faculty for its newrole as a four-year college. He noted that he saw thechange as the “beginning of a new era in the historyof our school, [one which] calls for many newadjustments and changes if we are to function to thehighest degree in our new status.”

The requirements which were established forobtaining a degree included a minimum of 128hours and a maximum of 144 hours. Stevens Pointdecided initially to grant degrees in education in thefields of home economics and rural education, andto add a degree in secondary education the follow-ing year. Diploma courses in primary, intermediate,and junior high school education were continued, aswas the one-year course that prepared students toteach in a oneroom school.

To give incoming freshmen a better opportunity toexperience all of the four-year courses, Baldwin andthe faculty developed a new program. Beginning inSeptember, 1928, incoming freshmen were given theopportunity to survey all of the fields in whichteaching programs were available at the campus.The program was intended not to be just a briefreview, but a “birdseye view of the whole field ineach particular branch.”

Baldwin did have a concern about the Possibilityof setting limits on granting degrees, especially inthe area of junior high education. He observed thetrend developing that would join the junior and sen-ior high school courses into a single SecondaryEducation Department, and in a letter to his counter-part at River Falls, he expressed his belief that thepresidents should consider “abandoning the distinc-tion between the junior and senior high schools inpreparation for this movement within the publicschools themselves.” He also advocated two otherpoints: the schools must maintain a very high stan-dard in all courses, and they must guard againstwhat he called “flimsy majors.”

Funding remained another area of particular con-cern by 1927. State resources, hurt by the agricultur-al depression in progress since the early 1920s, werenot being provided to the normal schools in ade-quate amounts. Baldwin received a letter fromPresident Brown of Oshkosh in which Brownlamented the lack of funding support by the stateand he appeared to attribute the low level at least inpart to the lack of commitment to teacher training

by the legislature. He noted that while the universityreceived the best budget in its history, “we are flaton our backs in the teachers colleges with meagerfunds for operation and nothing at all for mainte-nance or capital.” Baldwin agreed that it appeared tobe easier to get funding for a liberal arts educationthan for teacher training, but indicated his belief thatthe “reincarnation of the college course” would notbe the best route to go for the teachers colleges.Instead, he urged that the emphasis be placed onconvincing the board that quality counted, and thatit was the board “which has been growing restivewith the lessened enrolment [sic] even more thanthe legislature.” Thus, he felt that the struggle wasto get greater commitment first from the Board ofRegents. This struggle over budget and state fundingcarried overtones of the long argument about therole of “college courses” in the state teachers col-leges, and the budgetary struggle did not diminishthroughout the course of Baldwin’s presidency.

In June of 1927, the first class to receive bache-lor’s degrees marched across the platform at thenewly renamed Central State Teachers College inStevens Point. A great deal of publicity preceded theevent, but resistance from the faculty was not easilyovercome. Only on a second vote did the facultyapprove the plan to make this event a formal occa-sion, complete with caps and gowns. Genevieve andMayme Cartmill of Plover received the firstBachelor of Education degrees granted by theschool. Both specialized in domestic science.

After the excitement of the graduation ceremony,thoughts returned to the needs of the school and theever present problem of funding. Those seeking anincrease in state support for the teachers collegesnoted that the schools appeared to have been fundedmore adequately as normal schools. Despite theinadequate funding, Baldwin applauded the efforts ofhis campus to increase the standards for graduationand to raise the overall level of student achievement.

In addition to the raising of academic standards,attention focused on several other areas of need,including buildings. The most pressing need, oneidentified previously by the Sims administration, wasfor a training school. By 1926, this need had reached acritical stage. Many educators believed that the suc-cess of a teacher training school could be measured byits practice training facility, and supporters of a newbuilding pointed out that the facilities at Stevens Pointhad remained essentially unchanged for more than aquarter of a century. The school had long been crowd-

ed and space was at a premium. Several of the train-ing rooms were being used by regular normal schoolstudents, while other makeshift rooms included a“light alley for the basement corridor, an old kitchen,a storage room and a laundry.”

As noted, the board had increased substantiallythe requirements for practice teaching time in1921, and students were thereafter required to dosignificantly more practice teaching. This increasedrequirement put added stress on the already limitedspace available. An additional concern was report-ed by Director Herrick who noted that it was diffi-cult to get children to come to the training schoolwhere they were taught “for the most part, byyoung inexperienced students for practice purpos-es.” To enhance the enrollment of sufficient stu-dents for the trainees to teach, Herrick argued for

special inducements such as freetextbooks and supplies, and little orno tuition. All of this would, howev-er, produce an added financial burdento the institution.Finally, on September 8, 1926,

Governor John J. Blame authorizedplanning for a new building to housethe training school with an appropria-tion of $150,000. Work began shortlythereafter. The next month, discussioncentered around the need for a heatingplant. The planners decided to locatethe plant behind the Main building butdetached from it, with heating con-duits to be run to all buildings, includ-ing the new training school. Total esti-mated cost of the new heating plantwas $65,000. Construction, however,would have to wait three years untilthe completion of the training school.Faculty quality was a major problem

facing President Baldwin. He knewthat ultimately he would have toapproach the faculty with a requestthat they consider upgrading to meetthe new responsibilities which accom-panied the granting of degrees, and heknew that this would be his most dif-ficult challenge in his new position.But, as is so often the case in stateinstitutions, before he could get to the

difficult task of preparing for the future, he had todeal with more immediate problems. The hiring ofnew faculty was restricted due to the economic diffi-culties being experienced by the nation. (The GreatDepression, often erroneously thought of as begin-ning with the stock market crash in October of1929, had actually been underway for several yearsin certain parts of the nation and its economy. Thefarm depression, for example, was underway asearly as 1921). Baldwin faced the unhappy prospectof reducing the existing faculty in size, and thatlikelihood would serve to both alienate him fromand hamper his attempt to upgrade the faculty.

It should be noted that the attitude toward thehiring of married women had not progressed veryfar. In response to a letter from a married woman

Training School built in 1926; became the Communications Arts Center in 1974.

seeking a position with the school, Baldwin wrotethat, in general, school boards refused to engagemarried women, believing that they had “suffi-ciently heavy responsibilities to prevent their giv-ing the attention to their professional task of teach-ing which the task merits.”

Baldwin owed his job at least partially to the factthat he had a Ph.D. in an appropriate field for theschool which was seeking to upgrade its image inkeeping with its new responsibilities. The presidentwas expected to be an example to the faculty aswell as a prod to their efforts to self-improve. Heagreed with the task set before him for he saw thatthe requirements for the teaching profession were“constantly rising with the result that only thosewho advance themselves in training are going to beeligible for the better positions.” Those schoolswhich did not keep pace by hiring fully qualifiedfaculty would, in his judgment, suffer serious longterm consequences.

Faced with these rising educational requirements,a declining budget and enrollment, Baldwin decidedthat those faculty who lacked a college degreeshould be strongly encouraged to take a leave ofabsence to finish their degrees. Although he saidlater that the attitude he found in the staff was “pret-ty darn good,” there were problems with those whohad been on the faculty for a long time and werenearing retirement age. Content and secure in theirpositions, they could see no possible reason to pur-sue a degree at this point in their careers. Also, asthe Depression continued, not many had the finan-cial ability to leave their jobs behind and go back toschool, at least not without some financial commit-ment from the school or the state. Unfortunately,faculty development funds, teacher improvementassignments, and sabbaticals were still many yearsin the future for the faculty at Stevens Point. Thesewould come slowly and much later.

Believing that his decision concerning the need toimprove faculty qualifications was correct, Baldwinaddressed the faculty and noted that some of thestaff “did not even have the things that the collegewould be expecting to give their [sic] students.” Hepointed out that with the enrollment falling, itappeared that some of the staff would have to bedropped, and he suggested that as an alternativesome of them might wish to consider an unpaid

leave of absence to further their education. Whilethey were gone, he expressed hope that enrollmentwould improve and positions would be available fortheir return.

Although this was not very welcome news formany of the staff, some did respond positively, espe-cially when the president followed up on the speechby sending personal letters to each of them. Some,like May Roach, were encouraged to pursue a bach-elor’s degree and a master’s degree at the same time,while others with bachelor’s degrees, were encour-aged to obtain a master’s. The few new hires madeduring this period included persons with the appro-priate degrees. One such new hire was MildredGreta Davis, who was hired to teach French in 1928.As was often the case in those difficult days, Davisalso taught Spanish, physiology of speech, andspeech therapy during her 44-year teaching career atStevens Point. Known for her artwork and handi-work, she left behind a legacy of woodwork andother artifacts for the campus to enjoy. Years later,the language laboratory operated by the Foreign

Mildred Greta Davis

Language Department was named in her honor.Reacting to the problems of qualifications and

finances statewide, the Association of WisconsinNormal School Teachers formulated a resolution in1926 asking the Board of Regents to provide“opportunities for leaves of absence without loss ofsalary for the purpose of further study.” Not until1929, however, did the regents pass a resolutionwhich did call for very limited financial support forfaculty leaves of absence.

Despite attempts at adjustments, positions wereeliminated. These were difficult times for Baldwin.Reflecting the feelings of other administratorsthroughout the school’s history who faced similardifficult decisions, he stated that there was “nothingharder for an administrator to do than to have to dis-continue positions.”

By 1929, some faculty positions had been reducedbut still the enrollment was low and financesremained scarce. Forced to send a letter to allremaining faculty members, Baldwin explained thatthe recent budget delay involving the teachers col-lege appropriation bill would result in a delay of thepayroll checks. He pledged to help faculty in what-ever way he could, including explaining “the situa-tion to your banker. . . .” The state’s budget ulti-mately was passed, but not without some anxiousmoments for faculty and staff.

Concerned with the low enrollment, Baldwinspoke often of the missed opportunity for theyoung people of the Stevens Point area to get acollege education and a degree right at home. Tocreate a positive learning situation for incomingstudents, he advised that they not seek outsidework during their first semester, and to live oncampus, if possible, for their first year. He knew,however, that finances were a problem for many ofthem, and with his encouragement, the schoolattempted to find work for those students whoneeded it. [Work study programs and others like itwere still in the distant future.]

To give guidance to students in academic, socialand economic matters, the school established a sys-tem of faculty counselors. Each member of the fac-ulty became a personal counselor for eight or ninestudents. Anticipating later efforts at advising andmentoring, Baldwin believed that it was importantto ‘’maintain a close relationship between students

and faculty.” Even with guidance some students raninto difficulty and discipline was handed out. Theroadhouses around the city were a great temptationfor the students even though there were rules forbid-ding them to enter such places. Drinking remained acause for dismissal and cigarette smoking broughtdisciplinary action, including the possibility of send-ing a student home to his/her parents for a while.One young man was expelled for breaking into thecoach’s office and stealing sweaters which werelater found in his room. Not all of the students’extracurricular activities caused difficulties, butsome did raise questions such as the presence ofsororities and fraternities on campus. Baldwin sup-ported the professional honorary societies “whichemphasize the scholarship and professional achieve-ment of students,” but he opposed the social sorori-ties and fraternities which he believed erected “whatseem to me to be social barriers athwart the streamof democratic life.” As a result, during his time aspresident, the school denied recognition to thosegroups on campus.

Questions also arose concerning the enrollment ofseveral Catholic nuns. They were accepted in thepractice teaching area with no objections, asPresident Baldwin declared that he believed it was agood idea for them to take their training in the stateschools because it would “insure the improvementof the quality of instruction in the parochialschools.” In response to an inquiry regarding reli-gious education, Baldwin wrote that although theschool did not have religious instruction as a part ofthe curriculum, it did “cultivate [the] religious andspiritual life” of the students, and to achieve this, itsupported the establishment of the Young Women’sChristian Association and the Loyola Club.

What may have been a difficult time in schoolbecame even more difficult as graduates soughtemployment in the teaching profession. The individ-ual state schools no longer handled the requests forteachers or for employment. Instead, the NormalSchool Bureau was operated for that purpose out ofthe Capitol Building in Madison. Even though a sur-vey showed that Central State ranked third in thenumber of graduates teaching in the state ofWisconsin, jobs remained scarce, and PresidentBaldwin agonized over the problem. In a letter toProfessor G. E. Carrothers of the University of

Michigan he pointed out that all of the states wereexperiencing the problem of an oversupply of teach-ers because anyone who met the requirements forcertification was considered a teacher. The resultantoversupply caused a lowering of salaries and ashortage of jobs. Baldwin advocated raising thestandards for entrance into the teaching professionto meet this problem and, he hoped, to advanceteaching “to a genuine profession.”

While trying to promote higher standards andmore professionalism among faculty, students, andthe field of education in general, Baldwin alsoattempted to de-emphasize two areas of past pridefor the school and the community-athletics andforensics. Although he claimed to be an ardent sup-porter of athletics as a part of one’s education, heobjected to the intense competition and “commer-cialization” that he and others felt was beginning toappear within athletics in the state teachers colleges.Athletics in Wisconsin, with intensified inter-cam-pus rivalries, were criticized for excessive commer-cialism during the 1920s and 1930s and Baldwinshared this view.

Forensics also experienced difficulties raisingenough funds to support the debates and other com-petition. Baldwin also believed that forensics hadbecome too expensive and he recommended thatfunding for both forensics and athletics be broughtinto a “reasonable basis” since many of the schools“are now in debt on account of their forensics andsome of them on account of their athletics.”

Baldwin’s timing in his attacks on forensics andathletics was incredibly poor. When coupled withinadequate budgets, cutbacks in positions, reducedenrollment, and pressure on remaining faculty to

give up salaries and return to school to further theirown education, it was simply too much. Studentshad come to expect that sports would provide anoutlet for their energies. In fact, the Women’sAthletic Association had again reorganized in 1929and interest by women students in athletics appearsto have been very strong. The attacks on athletics bythe president added fuel to the fire of those whowere already beginning to seek a change in leader-ship for the school.

As a result of the ongoing problems and the con-tinued decline in faculty support for the president,Baldwin’s popularity declined in other circles andthose seeking to remove him from the presidencygained additional converts. Regent Maloney led thefight to keep Baldwin, and because of her steadfastsupport, he remained on the job until 1930. In thatyear, Maloney’s term on the board expired and shewas replaced by William E. Atwell. Sensing finallythat he had lost the struggle and that the deck wasnow stacked against him, Baldwin resigned from thepresidency in July of 1930. So far as can be deter-mined,there were no outcries when it happened.Unlike the earlier removal of President Pray, thistime the school and the community were both readyfor a change in leadership.

Baldwin’s leadership, in very difficult times, wasunappreciated then, but in retrospect, it is clear thathe understood well what the problems were andhow difficult they would be to resolve.Unfortunately, his sense of timing failed him, andhis inability or unwillingness to appreciate the depthof feeling among those whose trust he most neededmade it impossible for him to succeed. Once again,the time had come for a change in leadership.

In the fall of 1930, a familiar face returned to theStevens Point campus. Known to his colleagues as aquiet, elderly gentleman with good common sense,Frank S. Hyer was enthusiastically welcomed by thecity and campus as a returning favorite son. Onenewspaper editorial summed it up for the communi-ty and proclaimed that “all Stevens Point willrejoice that a popular former resident is comingback to make his home probably for the rest of hislife among the friends of many years’ standing.”

The Board of Regents, upset by Baldwin’s han-dling of delicate matters such as the proceduresregarding faculty improvement, and distressed byhis attitude toward such extracurricular programs asathletics and forensics, sought a more conservativeand traditional figure to fill the presidency atStevens Point. In their search, they did not have tolook far, as they turned to the State TeachersCollege at Whitewater and selected that school’spresident, Frank Hyer, to fill the same position forthe troubled campus in Stevens Point.

Hyer was himself no stranger to intracampus dis-putes. His last years at Whitewater were difficultones because of a political and ideological disputewith a member of the faculty whom Hyer felt wasupset over salary. Hyer, a conservative, survived theconflict over what the historian of UW-Whitewaterhas called an attempt to “liberalize the educationalpolicies of the normals,” but the issue proved divi-sive and destructive. Although he maintained thestrong support of most of his faculty and theWhitewater community, and although he was sus-tained by the Board of Regents by a vote of 6 to 3,the board declined to support his request that theydismiss the offending faculty member. Among a

Chapter 6

The Depression Years:Presidents Hyer, Falk and Smith

number of charges and revelations raised at theboard’s hearing was the allegation that Hyer “hadbeen reared a Democrat!”

With his position at Whitewater weakened, Hyerresigned as president of the Whitewater school onAugust 5, 1930 and was elected president of theschool at Stevens Point. It was noted that thisaction was taken “to the delight of some 50 citizens [of Stevens Point] who had organized tosecure their former townsman and to the regret ofthe Whitewater community.”

President Frank S. Hyer, 1930-1938

Since Hyer viewed the Stevens Point position as awelcome change of scenery, he readily accepted theboard’s transfer resolution. Regarding his newappointment, he wrote to a friend and noted that he“returned to Stevens Point because my many friendsin the city urged the board to transfer me to this col-lege.” He indicated his belief that he had the “enthu-siastic support of the townspeople, the faculty, andthe student body,” and that any failure to do the jobhere “will be my own fault.”

Hyer’s previous association with Stevens Pointbegan in 1904 when he was hired by President Prayto be the school’s institute conductor. In 1909, hewas named director of the Training School. Becauseof these past experiences at Stevens Point, the localpaper cheerfully endorsed him as a man not onlywith a “long, successful educational career but onewho is personally acquainted with the institutionand with Stevens Point.”

With such widespread support, Hyer did not hesi-tate to define his position on pending issues and hiseducational philosophy clearly. Instead of cuttingpositions (and people) from the budget, he advocat-ed eliminating small classes as a step toward stabi-lization of the school’s financial situation. He chal-lenged the faculty and the students to become morededicated personally and to strive diligently to makethe programs work. Despite the difficult economictimes, he suggested that the youth of the 1930s“were no different from the youth of past genera-tions” and that moral integrity had to be maintainedand cultivated in the individual, as well as in theinstitution, just as it had in the beginning of theschool’s history.

Hyer’s opening remarks were received positivelyby the community and the faculty. The school hadsuffered from a periodic loss of prestige and influ-ence due to the uncertainties and conflicts of theprevious era. The Stevens Point Journal reportedoptimistically that Hyer’s “return had a magicaleffect upon the college.” A prominent faculty mem-ber, Norman Knutzen, commented that among thefaculty there was “a revival of the fine spirit of loy-alty,” and he stated that “it is just like breathingnew air around here now.

Renewed optimism accompanied the opening ofthe new school year in the fall of 1930. A lettersent to the school’s alumni in October proclaimed

that “everything is starting off wonderfully at oldCentral State this fall.” Enrollment took a “bigleap” to 490 students, about 100 more than only ayear earlier. The new Training School was fullyoperational and the front entrance to Old Main wasalmost completed. Athletics and forensics, whichhad not fared well under President Baldwin, againlooked more promising. The alumni were alsoencouraged to rejoice at the most important news,that “our old friend, Mr. Frank S. Hyer, has comeback to us in the capacity of President.”

Despite the optimism created by the change inleadership, the problems faced in the past persisted.By as early as the second semester, the question ofadvanced degrees for the faculty again arose. Inresponse to inquiries from potential candidates forteaching positions at the college, Hyer replied that“no one can expect to be selected on the faculty of ateachers college unless he possesses at least aMaster’s Degree, and preferably he must possess aDoctor’s Degree.” The problem went beyondappearances, for the college was unable to achievethe desired accreditation from the North CentralAssociation, the major collegiate accreditation asso-ciation for the region, so long as it had so many fac-ulty members without the appropriate degrees.Consequently, some faculty continued taking leavesof absence or going to summer school to earn thosedegrees. Among those taking such action was afuture president, E. T. Smith, a teacher of history.

During the first year of his administration, Hyerwrote of his feelings about the job in a letter to afriend in Missouri. He commented that returning toStevens Point “was like coming home... and thework is starting off very favorably.” He expressedexcitement over “a healthy increase in our enroll-ment and a very promising student body.”

In June of 1931, President Hyer presided over hisfirst graduation. The school year had ended as itbegan-on a positive note. In his commencementaddress, he discussed his “yardstick” used to meas-ure teachers of the future. He stated that it wasimperative that those graduating with plans to gointo the teaching profession must display not onlythe knowledge and skills that they had learned atStevens Point, but also that they should display themoral virtues expounded at the school. He exhortedfuture teachers to “walk uprightly, work righteously,

speak the truth.” By the opening of the school yearin September of 1932, the deepening economicdepression made employment and funding for theschool even more uncertain. On May 23, 1932, theBoard of Regents had passed a resolution setting upa schedule for salary reductions among the facultiesof all the colleges. According to the schedule, reduc-tions were to range from a loss of one week’s salaryfor those earning less than $1,500 to a loss of onemonth’s salary for those earning $4,000 and above.To attempt to alleviate fears and discontent amongthe faculty, Hyer sent each member a letter express-ing his thoughts concerning the upcoming schoolyear. He wrote, “I am very thankful that I am rea-sonably sure that I shall receive a check eachmonth.” He concluded that he hoped that the facultywould also feel as he did in this regard. Salariesremained low until efforts were made in 1937 torestore them back to the 1932 level. Unfortunately,renewal of the national depression in 1937 led tofurther salary declines by 1939, resulting in lowsalaries as the nation entered another period of warin the 1940s along with its accompanying shortageof faculty. By war’s end, the salary situation at all ofthe state teachers colleges had become a matter ofsignificant concern. It would take many years, evendecades, to restore salaries to pre-depression levelsfor faculty and staff.

As with colleges elsewhere, and as in other timesof economic distress, the college experienced anunexpected boom in enrollment. The continueddepression made jobs extremely scarce, and thealternative for young people was additional educa-tion. The result was the largest student population inthe school’s history with more than half of the stu-dent body consisting of new freshmen. Some federalfunds were available to needy students who couldwork for 30 cents per hour and earn up to $15 permonth to help cover the costs of tuition, books, and“an occasional ticket to the Picture Show.”

The large increase in student enrollment createdother problems besides numbers. Not all of the stu-dents were able to achieve the required level of aca-demic work. In a letter dated October, 1931, Hyerdiscussed the problem of those students who were“not measuring up to the standards which we areattempting to set for this college.” Due to the laborconditions and the shortage of jobs, he said he

favored keeping as many as possible in schoolbecause then they would not be “competing with thearmy of unemployed.” He did clarify his position,however, by stating that he did not intend to providea place for “loafing on the job,” and he made it clearthat he did not believe all those enrolled should beencouraged to become teachers. Rather, heexpressed the hope that their education would“make them better citizens,” and to provide muchneeded guidance for those not really suited for theteaching profession.

Most students entering the college needed supportand were willing to work for their room and board,and letters requesting work positions arrived in greatnumbers. Dean of Women Bertha Hussey expressedconcern over the situation and explained toPresident Hyer that the “citizens have always, in thepast, most generously and adequately provided forthose ambitious students.” But, she indicated thatshe feared overtaxing the generosity of the localcommunity. Hyer replied that he wished that he had“a hundred places to offer,” but that this was not thecase. In response to inquiries about work, Hyer sentmany letters expressing his regrets at not being ableto give much encouragement. To one young womanhe replied that it was “practically impossible for agirl to find a place to work for wages in any occupa-tion in Stevens Point.”

With the increased size of the student body thequestion of sororities and fraternities arose again. Inthe past, the school’s administrations had not sup-ported such organizations on campus, but Hyer helda different point of view. He recognized that suchorganizations already existed outside of the schooland now found it advisable to recognize them solong as they had a faculty representative assigned tothem. He stated that although he was personally notin favor of such organizations he believed that itwas better to accept conditions that existed thanattempt to control the situation and create unneces-sary discord. He noted that he was impressed withthe “very fine spirit on the part of all our studentstoward everything worthwhile in the college”including their desire to organize into societies.

For those graduating from school and preparing toenter the teaching profession, the depression offeredmore obstacles. The lack of jobs caused a trendtoward underbidding for teaching positions in the

attempt to secure one of the scarce available posi-tions. One graduate offered her services for $80 permonth, which was $20 less than the school board towhich she applied had expected to pay. This, andpractices like it, angered Hyer. Although heacknowledged that it was unlikely that teacherswould receive an increase in wages under the cir-cumstances, he maintained that wages should beheld at their present levels if at all possible.Consequently, he admonished the college’s gradu-ates not to enter the field with the idea that it was“ethical to cut wages in order to secure a position.”

In spite of the effects of the Great Depression andthe lack of funding, some things did improve. InDecember of 1930, Eddie Kotal was hired as headof the sagging and dispirited Athletic Department.During the previous administration, athletics hadbeen forced to take a back seat in importance muchto the chagrin of the students and the community.But with Kotal, a former Green Bay Packer, it waswidely expected that the program would be revital-

ized quickly. Editorials noted that although sports atCentral State Teachers College had hit “the dol-drums,” with the hiring of Kotal the school hadfound a “long awaited savior.” Kotal, whose philos-ophy was similar to later Packer legendaries,believed that “winning was everything,” a factor thenewspapers suggested would lead to a “golden era”for the school. Hyer, who had helped build a strongathletic tradition at Whitewater, also thought thatKotal was the person who could bring similar suc-cesses to Stevens Point.

Due to his flamboyant personality and his commit-ment to winning, Kotal quickly revived the localinterest in sports. The school had been having anunusually difficult time recruiting new studentsinterested in sports, especially those who were con-sidered good athletes. Through his style and aggres-siveness, Kotal was able to lure many young meninto the program. He became personally involvedwith and concerned about each of his players. Hisassistants noted that he even “kept his wife and her

Eddie Kotal (top row, first on left) and the 1932-33 championship basketball team.

hired girl wondering just how many players wouldbe brought home for supper after practice nights.”

Kotal’s first love was football, although he wasalso successful in basketball. As is often the case,success breeds success-and accusations in collegeathletics. The historian of athletics in the state col-leges writes that despite the winning records,Stevens Point athletics had a difficult time in the1930s. A minister from Mount Horeb complainedthat his son had been promised a free education ifhe came to Stevens Point and played football. Hyerreplied that no one representing the college wouldhave made such an offer and that it was probablythe work of a traveling salesman from the communi-ty who was overzealous. This was not the onlyattack on Kotal. Some charged that Stevens Pointwas providing jobs for athletes, and it was generallyknown that the president of a paper company pro-vided the funds to allow Kotal to hire an assistantcoach. As a result of these and other allegations,Stevens Point’s 1932 football championship wasforfeited and Stevens Point was censured by the fac-ulty athletic representatives for using an ineligibleplayer. Determined to gain revenge, Kotal’s 1933basketball team dominated the conference and evenstunned the University of Wisconsin team in a gameplayed before 5,000 fans in the Wisconsin RapidsHigh School fleldhouse, 28 to 24. In 1934, StevensPoint won the conference in both football and bas-ketball, but participation by two players in presea-son games against the Green Bay Packers andChicago Bears led to forfeitures and suspension ofStevens Point from the conference in 1935.

The conclusion reached by the historian writingabout athletics in the State Teachers CollegeConference was that “Stevens Point may not havebeen the only team using questionable practices in the1930s, but they may have been more blatant, andmore successful judging by the number of victories.”Regardless, Stevens Point’s teams continued theirwinning ways, with a football championship in 1936and basketball championships in 1936 and 1937.Discovery of yet another ineligible player led to for-feiture of a number of games in 1939. Coach Kotal’sretirement came in 1942, after three players, includ-ing one not even enrolled at the school, were foundineligible in the fall of 1941. An exciting era in sportsat Stevens Point closed with Kotal’s early retirement.

Several other sports were beginning to attractattention throughout the state, and in order not tolag behind, Kotal introduced two of them, trackand boxing, into the school’s athletic program.With his support and hard work, these two areasgot off to a good start.

Homecoming, l9ng associated with the footballseason, was a highlight of the athletic seasons dur-ing the 1930s. The celebrations began with aparade through downtown Stevens Point withfloats developed by student organizations and with“funny stunts.” Next, a luncheon was held atNelson Hall for the depression era price of only 50cents. After the football game, a homecomingdance was held for all to attend at the cost of $1for couples and 25 cents for single women.

On October 15,1932 a new athletic field wasdedicated in a ceremony during the football gameagainst Eau Claire State Teachers College. Thefield was named in honor of Fred J. Schmeeckle,chairperson of the college athletic committee who,according to the tribute at the dedication, wasmore responsible than any other person for thecompletion of the project. The site included afootball field, bleachers on both sides, an enclosedbandstand, and a running track.

Women’s sports also revived during the 1930s.The school’s yearbook, The Iris, declared in 1930that “Women’s Athletics are becoming moreprominent in C.S.T.C. every year.” Field hockey,tennis, volleyball and basketball were all noted.Other physical activities for women athletesincluded clogging, archery, baseball, and track. Asthe 1931 Iris reported, “any pleasant day one findsgirls improving their posture as well as their aimby the use of the bow and arrow.” Field hockey,basketball and volleyball remained the most suc-cessful sports. In 1934, The Iris devoted five fullpages to women’s athletic activities, though thecoverage the following year was reduced.

Another indication that the college was deter-mined to improve its image despite the depressioncame with the hiring in May, 1931, of Peter J.Michelsen as the new music director. In announc-ing the appointment of Michelsen, Hyer pointed tothe “great anticipation for the work” whichMichelsen would be able to do in the field ofmusic. Well-known and highly respected around

the state for his talents, Michelsen’ 5 creditsincluded study at the Military School of Musicand the Conservatory of Music of Norway, wherehe studied with the likes of Edvard Grieg. Inaccepting the position at Stevens Point, he pledgedto do all he could to make the ‘’music departmentoutstanding among the schools in the state.”

Hired to train and develop a band and to trainleaders for band, orchestra and glee clubs, and to establish an honorary music fraternity,Michelsen plunged right into his work. In his firstyear he formed the first real band of the college, a group which consisted of 20 players. Hedeclared that the purpose of the band was “to pro-mote more pep in assemblies and at athleticgames.” By the next year the band had grown to40 pieces and each member had a uniform madeup of “discarded capes and overseas caps.” Theband continued its rapid growth and by 1935had become a widely known 60-member touringgroup that required comprehensive tryouts forprospective members.

Michelsen and the band worked with EdnaCarlsten and the Art Department to develop a formatfor Christmas concerts that were soon declared to be“institutions” by the local newspapers. The ArtDepartment did elaborate work to decorate the stage,and Michelsen rehearsed his group to perfection.

Throughout Hyer’s tenure as president, few physi-cal changes occurred on the campus. In October of1930 the board did release $6,000 in funding for theconstruction of a spectators gallery in the gymnasi-um of the training school building. But as thedepression persisted, money for the expansion ordevelopment of facilities slipped to an almost non-existent level. Even though enrollment grew by over30 percent in the state’s teachers colleges, theyreceived no major allocation for capital purchasesbetween 1931 and 1938.

Curricular changes, however, did continue. Startingin the fall of 1935, all curricula in all divisionsbecame four years in length except for the curriculafor the rural teachers and for teachers in state gradedschools, both of which remained two-year programs.

On June 8, 1934, many alumni gathered in StevensPoint to celebrate the fortieth anniversary of thefounding of the college. Many commented on how thecampus and the community had changed since theirdays at “the old school.” A reception and banquet wereheld at the Hotel Whiting. Speeches were given byJudge Park, Mary Bradford, Albert Sanford, and GarryCulver. A dance followed in the gymnasium.

In 1935, the fifth anniversary of Hyer’ 5 presiden-cy was celebrated. The Pointer gave top billing toHyer and his achievements over the previous fiveyears. The paper noted with enthusiasm the develop-ment of the band and glee clubs, the increased par-ticipation in forensics, the athletic fame achieved byCoach Kotal’s teams, and the expanded enrollmentwhich had doubled over that of the previous decade.

Several notable faculty members of this period hada lasting influence upon the college, the community,and the field of education. In 1935, Fred Schmeeckle,a member of the faculty since 1923, successfullyhelped promote passage of a bill in the state legisla-ture which required public schools to establish cours-es in conservation. At the same time, he was deeplyinvolved with the teaching of conservation courses atthe college as part of the preparation for secondaryand elementary teachers.

Peter J. Michelsen

Susan Colman, hired in 1931 as the director of pri-mary education, became involved in the develop-ment of a standard form for testing children.Ultimately, her effort was successful and the formwas adopted and used in the testing of childrenacross the country. Colman also was an avid sup-porter of the college’s athletic programs, traveling tomany of the out-of-town games and bringing “thecripples” (injured players) home in her own car.Because of the poor financial situation facing manyof the students, she made personal loans to them butinsisted that they be repaid since “it was good forthe kids to do that.” Later, she commented that shegot every cent back except for $12 “from a lad whowent into the service and was killed.”

In May of 1935, it was announced that through thesupport of alumni the college had “about completedour hook-up with WLBL and hope soon to broadcastfrom our own studio and auditorium stage.”President Hyer had been instrumental in getting theradio a permanent studio on the campus and heannounced that “Central State Teachers College now

Susan Colman

enjoys the distinction of being the only teachers col-lege in the state having a radio broadcasting stationon its campus.” Although WLBL would leave thecampus later, the campus remained interested inradio and significant developments in that areaoccurred later. One of the benefits of the establish-ment of the early radio station was that the Board ofRegents passed a resolution, proposed by RegentGeorge Martens of Stevens Point, which providedfor radio and visual education at the college, a factorwhich helped to support the later developments inthose areas of instruction and activity.

Public school teachers in the central Wisconsinarea often expressed concern to Central State thatthey were not being adequately served by theExtension Division of the University of Wisconsin.In an attempt to meet the needs of those teachers,President Hyer solicited volunteers on his faculty tooffer some of the college courses in evening classeseach week. The faculty were, indeed, volunteerssince there was no extra pay for the work involvedwith these courses. Students in such courses oftentook up a collection for a gift for the instructor at theend of the term. About 300 teachers enrolled in thisprogram, with some of the participants driving toStevens Point from as far away as 125 miles.

At the close of the summer session in 1937, anoth-er era in the school’s history ended. A man referredto as “an institution within an institution,” Dr.Joseph V. Collins, retired. Colleagues saw the retire-ment of Collins as “the end of an epoch in collegehistory.” As a tribute, the Board of Regents passed aresolution granting him the rank of ProfessorEmeritus of Mathematics. More than 30 years later,the classroom center housing the College of Lettersand Science was given the name of the CollinsClassroom Center in honor of Collins’ many years ofservice to the campus.

President Frank Hyer announced that he, too,would retire on September 1, 1937 or as soon as asuccessor could be named. He cited three reasons forhis decision. He said that for the first time in 50years of teaching, he felt he had “caught himselfloafing on the job.” A second reason that he gavewas his belief that he had completed the job he hadbeen called to do and that the school had been re-established on a sound basis. Finally, the retiringpresident voiced concern that the community seemed

to have lost interest in the school over the last twoor three years. He believed that this was because theschool was “running too smoothly to make news”and that perhaps a new leader could create interestagain in the school.

The local papers expressed a great sadness at theforthcoming loss of one held dear by the commu-nity and the campus. One editorial stated thatwhen Hyer came in 1930 he found “an institutionwhose spirit and morale were at a low ebb... andthat there were fears that the institution might beregarded as having outlived its usefulness andmight be closed.” Having completed the job andhaving reversed the trend in which the schoolappeared headed, the paper noted that Hyer shouldnow be allowed to “loaf on the job” for at leastanother year. Others agreed. The Board of Regentspersuaded Hyer to remain one additional year, adecision which delighted the class of 1938 thathad expressed a unanimous desire to graduate withthe president.

Hyer presided over graduation for 123 seniors on June 10, 1938. Fifty-two of those graduatingreceived the newly established Bachelor of Sciencedegree. Regent George Martens presented Hyerwith a plaque commending him for his 50 years ofservice to public education in Wisconsin. In hisown humble way, Hyer thanked everyone for thehonor and declared that any success he had wasdue to “the loyal support and cooperation of theBoard of Regents, the faculty, and the students.”Onlookers commented that this exchange was “one of the most impressive moments of the wholeimpressive ceremony.”

President Hyer did restore stability and balanceto the campus as was expected when he had beenselected for the position. Following his retirement,a period of turmoil and instability returned, a peri-od involving several changes in leadership, sharpdrops in enrollment due to World War II, and then,a dramatic increase in enrollment after the warended. Despite the serious problems brought aboutby the Great Depression, Hyer’s steady hand ledthe campus peacefully through a difficult period.

After a one-year search process which resulted inthe screening of 80 candidates, the selection com-mittee of the Board of Regents, chaired by GeorgeH. Martens of Stevens Point, selected Phillip H.

Falk as the fifth president of the school. AlthoughFalk had not been a formal candidate for the posi-tion, his qualifications caught the attention of thecommittee. The board had announced that this posi-tion called for “executive and administrative abilityand appreciation of the value and importance to theschool and its students of various extracurricularactivities.” They believed that Falk’s experience,particularly as the young superintendent of schoolsin Waukesha, had prepared him well for the tasksahead. Falk had established a fine record atWaukesha, and when chosen as president of theStevens Point school, he became the youngest of allof the 10 state teachers college presidents.

Because of continuing economic problems, collegepresidents served under a waiver that reduced theirsalaries from $6,000 to $5,000 per year. Falk hadconsidered other, more attractive possibilities, but

President Phillip H. Falk

said that he accepted the position in Stevens Point“because of the greater opportunities he felt wereafforded by the position.”

The school got its first look at the new presidentduring the 1938 summer school commencementexercises. During the ceremony, President Hyerintroduced his upcoming replacement and asked theschool to give Falk a warm welcome. In reply, Falkstated that he was well aware of the “large shoes-physically and educationally” worn by Hyer and feltthat he was likely to “rattle around in those shoesfor some little time” before he would be comfort-able. Expressing his eagerness to begin, he askedthe community, faculty, and students to be tolerantwhile he was learning.

After barely taking hold of the reins of leadership,Falk and the school received word from the board ofits decision to eliminate the home economics major.No new students were to be admitted into that pro-gram after September of 1938. Falk was instructedto devise a plan to close completely the course bythe February, 1939 board meeting.

Several reasons for the decision to eliminate theprogram in home economics were given by theboard. They cited the enrollment decline as theprime factor, arguing that the resulting cost per stu-dent (estimated at $500 per student) was too highand was resulting in an unequal distribution of fundsand space in proportion to the number of studentsserved. The maintenance and replacement of expen-sive equipment added to the cost of the programwhich, the board stated, was essentially duplicativeof that offered at Stout.

Students who were in the home economics pro-gram at the time were offered the choice of remain-ing and completing the program at Stevens Point ortransferring their credits to another school. The SimsCottage was to be reviewed for possible use as ahealth center for the campus, for remodeling as arecreation center, or for possible use for housing.

Radio and visual education were expanded as areplacement for the program in home economics.The first formal broadcast emanated from WLBL’snew headquarters located in the campus trainingschool building (now the Communication ArtsCenter) on September 6, 1938. The station’s facili-ties included a reception room, two studios, a silentroom, a conference room, and a control room.

Despite these significant programmatic moves,Falk remained concerned about the quality of thefaculty and the programs offered by the campus. Onearea of great importance to him, as it had been toeach of his predecessors at least since the campushad been given the authority to grant degrees, wasthe problem of faculty quality and advanced degrees.Early on, he thought it was “important to emphasizea need to have more people on the faculty with such[appropriate advanced degrees] credentials.”

In addition to voicing his concern about facultyqualifications, Falk also began a study of the qualityof programs at Stevens Point. He obtained informa-tion from the University of Wisconsin which includ-ed the academic records achieved by Stevens Pointstudents who had transferred to the university aftercompleting one or two years. He was deeply disap-pointed at his findings, and in a statement to the fac-ulty in January of 1939 he wrote that “the poorrecord of [our] transfers at the University ofWisconsin is not prima facie evidence of lowscholastic standards at Central State or that the fac-ulty has been remiss in its services to students. Therecord does, however, cast scholastic suspicion overthe college in the eyes of many people, and presentsa situation of which the faculty should be aware.”

Falk’s study would later form the basis for pro-viding guidelines to upgrade the Stevens Point pro-gram, but for Falk, himself, it led to a differentdecision. After only one semester on the campus,Falk resigned as president and accepted the posi-tion as superintendent of the Madison PublicSchool System.

Not surprisingly, much discussion of the reasons,apparent and not so apparent, for Falk’s early depar-ture followed. Some argued that Falk had been onthe job long enough to see that the state was notadequately funding the education of teachers andthat teacher education and the schools set up to pro-vide for it were being “slowly crippled by inade-quate financial support.” Editorials raised questionssuch as whether or not the state could “afford tocontinue to expect results in the all important fieldof teacher training without paying a fair and reason-able price” for it.

Falk made no mention of salary in his statement ofresignation. He reported instead that he felt that theMadison position offered “a greater opportunity for

educational service” than he had at Stevens Point.He indicated that the decision he had made was themost difficult one he had ever had to make. What hedid not say, publicly, but acknowledged much later,was that although the Madison job did pay a muchhigher salary, his primary reason for leaving whenhe did was “a need by his wife to be close to herphysicians in Madison.” Shortly after coming toStevens Point, the Falk’s infant daughter, Sally, dieda few days after birth. This led the Faiks to desire tobe closer to more complete prenatal care facilities inthe future.

So, only a few months after the selection of theschool’s fifth president, a renewed search processwas again started. Regent Martens, who expressedhis regret over Falk’s leaving in a statement inwhich he suggested that Falk had possessed thepotential to develop into “the most outstandingpresident in the system,” made plans to form thecommittee to search for a successor. Tragedystruck in February of 1939 when Martens waskilled in a car accident. Wilson S. Delzell wasappointed to replace Martens as regent from theStevens Point area and would, in time, become thearea’s longest serving regent.

Because of the complications brought on byMartens’ death, instead of instituting a full searchprocess the board decided to name Ernest T. Smithas acting president. Smith, who had been on thefaculty for 30 years, was the oldest active memberof the college faculty. He had been hired byPresident Sims in 1909 as a history teacher. In addi-tion to teaching, he had held other positions includ-ing the directorship of the high school divisionwhich he held just prior to being named actingpresident. Born in Maine in 1879, Smith becamethe school’s sixth president at the age of 60. A grad-uate of Bowdoin College, with a Master of Artsdegree from the University of Chicago, Smithseemed the right person to provide stability andcontinuity after the early and unexpected departureof President Falk.

Officially named as the school’s sixth president onAugust 12, 1939, Smith was the first president ofCentral State Teachers College to be promoteddirectly from the faculty. The local paper editorial-ized the feelings of many in the community thatSmith’s appointment “constitutes fitting and

President Ernest T. Smith

deserved recognition of long and distinguished serv-ice to the institution and to the cause of education ingeneral.” The editorial went on to say that theappointment of Smith was “to borrow an expressionfrom the sports world, a ‘natural.”’

Smith’s official presidency began at a time whenthe world was moving swiftly toward another cata-clysmic event. Actions by Germany and Japan hadpushed the world toward World War II which beganin Europe in 1939, and the effect of those actionswas already being felt in the United States. As thethreat of direct involvement in the war moved evercloser, a nationwide Civilian Pilot Trainmg programbegan, and a ground school for this program was setup at Stevens Point, with physics teacher RaymondM. Rightsell as director. And, as the U.S. began toboost its military preparedness, the call went out foryoung men to enter the armed services. The result

was a quick, almost catastrophic decline in enroll-ment at the campus at Stevens Point and elsewhere.

Despite the war clouds and preparations, somegood news did come to at least a smallgroup of faculty at Central State at the beginningof the 1940-41 school year. Those who had beenworking diligently to keep the home economicsprogram alive had successfully lobbied the newregent, Wilson Delzell, and with his support andhard work by President Smith, the Board ofRegents was finally convinced of the wisdom ofrescinding the earlier resolution which had termi-nated the program in home economics. The effortsof Delzell and Smith were greatly aided by thework of Bessie May Allen. There were those oncampus who believed that the board would nothave rescinded its previous decision if Allen hadnot been as aggressive as she was. On April 18,1940, the major and minor in home economicswere reinstated by board action. And, since the col-lege had recently been granted the right to grantthe Bachelor of Science degree along with the

Bachelor of Education degree, that option was nowextended to home economics major graduates.

Tragedy struck the Central State campus again onSeptember 28,1940, shortly after the beginning ofthe new school year, when President Smith diedsuddenly after a two-week bout with a bronchialailment. The school closed and campus eventswere canceled. Students, faculty, family, and com-munity friends gathered in the auditorium to paytheir respects and to say goodbye to their long-timefriend and short-time campus leader. At the serv-ice, former President Hyer spoke of Smith, whowas 61, as “a kind neighbor, loyal friend andinspiring teacher.”

For the third time in less than two years, CentralState Teachers College was facing the transitionswhich occur when a change in leadership takesplace. The apprehension over the approaching warand the need to once again find a president cast longshadows over the campus at Stevens Point.

Central State Teachers College inaugurated one ofits former students as president in December, 1940,when William C. Hansen assumed the presidencybestowed upon him by action of the Board ofRegents following the death of President Smith.Hansen, 49, earned B.S. and M.S. degrees from theUniversity of Wisconsin and had been a high schoolteacher and school administrator for more than 20years when he returned to Central State where hehad completed the English-scientific course of stud-ies in 1911.

Although direct involvement by the United Statesin World War II was still a year in the future,Hansen’s presidency was affected by world eventsfrom the very first. Despite the uncertainties of theworld situation, the new president sought toaddress some of the concerns that had been voicedearlier by President Falk and that, due to Falk’spremature departure and Smith’s untimely death,had not received the attention they warranted.Falk’s criticisms of the academic programs atCentral State closely mirrored those cited by theNorth Central Association, the regional accreditingagency, in its rejection of the college’s request foraccreditation back in 1936. Taking those criticismsto heart, Hansen sought to strengthen the image ofCentral State as a “tougher” college. Although theBoard of Regents had given the teachers collegesthe right to refuse to admit students in the lowerquarter of their high school graduating classes, thatrule was not being enforced at Central State.Hansen discovered, as had Falk before him, thatthe school was not even enforcing its own rulewhich provided for the dropping of students whofell below specified academic minima. The new

Chapter 7

One of Its Own:The Presidency of William C. Hansen, 1940-1962

President William C. Hansen, 1940-1962

president set out to end these and other deficien-cies, but with the world and the U.S. movingtoward war, the new set of international circum-stances made change more difficult than usual.When the North Central Association suspended itsevaluation program for the duration of the crisis,

the chances for redressing the problems and forobtaining accreditation received another setback.Consequently, Central State did not obtain fullaccreditation until 1952.

In addition to a reputation as an “easy” school, thecollege faced other problems in 1940. Facultysalaries, a recurrent problem among institutions ofhigher education, were inadequate. Salaries hadimproved gradually until 1932 when the median fac-ulty salary in the state teachers colleges had reached$3,000. Because of the economic distress of theGreat Depression, those salaries had been reducedduring the next several years with the result that thelevels in 1937 were about the same as they had beenfive years earlier. Then, with renewed economic dif-ficulties nationwide, salaries once again declined.The precipitous decline in enrollment and the needto spend national resources for war preparations ledto further inadequacy in the salaries of the facultyand staff of Central State and the other teachers col-leges. By the end of World War II those salaries,when defined in terms of real dollars, had declinedto uncomfortably low levels. One authority estimat-ed in 1948 that salaries would have to be raised bynearly 40 percent to bring them back to the levels ofa decade earlier in terms of real dollars.

The other major problem faced by PresidentHansen involved the inadequacy of the physicalfacilities of the campus, one very noticeable resultof the state’s inability to provide for adequatemaintenance and improvement during the leanyears of the Depression. While enrollment grewthroughout the state college system, the stateessentially spent no money on capital improve-ments during the period between 1931 and 1938.The result was readily apparent on most of thecampuses, and Central State was no exception.Unfortunately, with the nation moving toward fullinvolvement in World War II, little could or would be done until after the war, thus adding several additional years of wear and tear on thecampus’ facilities.

When World War II came directly to America onDecember 7, 1941 with the Japanese attack on PearlHarbor, it brought with it a new set of problems forhigher education. Enrollment, particularly of malestudents, declined sharply during the war years. Forthe Wisconsin State Teachers College system

as a whole, the problem was acute. In just one year,the total system enrollment dropped from 8,100 in1942 to 2,800 in 1943.

Again, Central State was no exception. Theenrollment at the college, which had gone up from402 in the 1929-1930 school year to 838 a decadelater, declined sharply in 1941 and in 1942. By thefall of 1944, the campus enrolled only 225 stu-dents, a number lower than in any year of thecampus’ existence except for the very first year(and that exception can be claimed only byexcluding the pre-college enrollment in 1894).Although men left first to join reserve units andbecause of the draft, women also found opportuni-ties available to work and serve in war-relatedoccupations, and their numbers also declinedsharply. Not until the fall of 1945 was the down-ward spiral reversed.

President Hansen expressed his personal disdainfor war in his Christmas message to the faculty in1941. In his greetings he noted that “The world isespecially discouraging to the teacher because hiscraft has some faith in the improvability of thehuman race.” In an attempt to improve facultymorale despite the wartime concerns, he concludedthat “One of the tasks which confronts us in educa-tion is to help maintain a good civilian morale.”

Hansen’s message a year later reflected wartimereality as it appeared on American college cam-puses. Referring to the sharp decline in enrollmentand its impact on the life of Central State, henoted that “there isn’t much that we can say forthe college year.” He praised the members of thestaff who, he said had “been loyal and coopera-tive” and who had “shown willingness to do all intheir power to meet the emergency.

Wartime demands had other implications for thefaculty and the students. In a memo to the facultyearly in 1942, Hansen urged recipients to “Save onuse of paper, clips, pins, rubber bands, pencils,because of shortages in metals, rubber, pulp, andlead. Catalogs can be reduced and all printing keptat the lowest possible level.” He also urged the cam-pus to go “on a war basis” insofar as class rings,commencement invitations and such purchases wereconcerned. A memo later the same spring noted thatreplacing the items previously mentioned would beunlikely.

Other changes brought about by the war includeda switch in 1943 to two summer sessions, one offive weeks and one of six. That arrangement contin-ued until 1946 when the campus returned to its pre-vious schedule of one six-week session, a patternthat was continued until the Board of Regentsauthorized eight-week sessions in 1960. During thewar period, faculty were expected to accept alteredschedules as well as other war-induced changes andinconveniences. From all accounts, the faculty madethe necessary adjustments without serious com-plaints. Despite their cooperation, some adversitiesremained. In his annual Christmas message to thefaculty in 1944, President Hansen suggested to fac-ulty that the year had, at least, been somewhat lessdistressing than had 1943, implying that the wholesituation had not been endured without some com-plaints and frustrations.

While regular enrollment languished during thewar, several war-related programs helped to offsetthe decline at least in part. In June of 1942, the col-lege was authorized to offer a course for teachers insecondary schools who planned to teach aeronautics.The college was also given the assignment to train10 naval fliers during the summer of 1942. Thefliers were housed in the Phi Sigma Epsilon fraterni-ty house on Main Street, and physics teacherRaymond Rightsell was named director of the pilottraining program.

Early in February, 1943, the Stevens Point Journalannounced that the college would become home toan Army Air Corps training unit in March. The 97thCollege Training Detachment (CTD) arrived oncampus on February 27, 1943 and formal instructionbegan the next week. By the end of the first month,the unit was up to its capacity of 350 trainees.

May Roach (under flag) works for the war effort

Participants in the 97th CTD were housed mostlyin Nelson Hall, although for a time some lived onthe first floor of the Campus Laboratory School andsome stayed at the Whiting Hotel. Trainees wereexpected to receive 20 weeks of instruction while inStevens Point, although some of the membersmoved in and out at differing intervals. Each mem-ber of the unit was to receive preparation in English,history, geography, physics, and mathematics. Inaddition, instruction in civil air regulations, first aid,and physical training were required. Regular collegefaculty, where possible, were used as instructors.

Albert H. LaMere, one of the participants in the97th CTD, later recalled a few of his experiences.Noting that his stay in Stevens Point constituted“some of the happiest [days) of my life,” hereported that the faculty and the community weregood to the members of the unit, that the collegewas similar to other colleges that he and other

members of the 97th had attended. He even commented that “the food at Nelson Hall wasprobably better than any of us had ever had in ourentire lives.” Stevens Point’s water, he wrote, wasan even greater treat to those who had “beendrinking lukewarm funny tasting Texas well waterfor two months....”

President Hansen’s account of the activities of the97th reflected most directly on the academic andleadership aspects of the experience. He indicatedthat the faculty found it difficult to teach the mili-tary students because of the wide range of prior edu-cation and backgrounds they possessed. While somehad little or no education, some in the groups pos-sessed bachelor’s or master’s degrees. A strongdesire to learn was apparent in most of the membersof the unit, and that helped somewhat to offset theother educational disadvantages inherent in teachingsuch a culturally diverse group.

Members of the 97th College Training Detachment

While President Hansen’s written reports on theactivities of the 97th CTD were mostly concernedwith the educational aspects of the experience,LaMere’s reports, written years later, focused moreon the social aspects. His recollections of the unit’sstay in Stevens Point noted that the weekends werelively and fun, with the Whiting Hotel providing “an oasis that we all enjoyed very much,” with win-ing and dining, dancing and, for “some more maturetypes maybe even a little romancing.” LaMere sug-gested that the young women of the Stevens Pointarea were very nice to the guests in the city, andsuggested that this perhaps was a reflection on thefact that many of the young men of the area wereinvolved with National Guard units that had beencalled into the war and that in some instances hadsuffered heavy casualties. Admitting that the mar-riages resulting from such experiences often did notwork out, LaMere suggested that most of the men“contented ourselves with the moment,” knowingthat “this utopian existence wouldn’t last....”

The college and the community worked to make thestay of the Air Corps members more enjoyable. Musicprofessor Peter Michelsen put together a small mili-tary band after successfully pleading with local citi-zens for loaner instruments. And, in December, 1943it was announced that the community had respondedwell by providing all of the unit members with invita-tions to Christmas dinner at private homes.

President Hansen’s concern with the presence ofthe unit and the potential impact on the reputation ofthe campus was made clear in a memo he directedto the faculty in which he urged those accepting theresponsibility for chaperoning events to remain forthe entire event. “Ordinarily, informal dancing par-ties close at 12:30 and the formal parties at oneo’clock. In case you are in doubt... find out by call-ing one of the deans.” Hansen told the faculty that“we do not want our campus parties to acquire aquestionable reputation which they might easily doif no chaperones are present, especially [during] thelast hour or two of the evening.”

Most of those in LaMere’s unit left Stevens Pointin early November of 1943 and were replaced bythe next group. By the time the program was endedin Stevens Point in mid1944, about 1,200 membersof the Army Mr Corps had spent from five to 20weeks on the Stevens Point campus, with the last

group leaving the city in May of 1944.President Hansen’s report on the experience was

mostly positive, as he noted that although the col-lege faced difficulties in providing enough staffmembers to operate the program, the program didhelp the college by bringing in about $80,000 tohelp meet college expenses. Overall, his conclusionwas that the “program went much more satisfactori-ly than.. . [I] expected.”

At the end of the war, a Navy V-S unit wasassigned to the campus for a two-year program.Those participating pursued a regular college educa-tion, subject to some requirements imposed by theNavy. Fifty-five students enrolled the first year andmost returned for the second year, after which theprogram was not renewed.

One positive campus highlight which occurredduring the war was the celebration of the college’s50th birthday in 1944. A series of activities was heldto commemorate the event, including a radio work-shop anniversary broadcast, a theater presentation of“Claudia,” a college homecoming tea, an alumnibanquet, a homecoming concert, a baccalaureateservice, and an all-school picnic at Iverson Park.The celebration concluded with the commencementactivities on May 30, 1944.

With the war’s end in August, 1945, Central StateCollege was free to turn its attention back to thelong-neglected problems of salary, building mainte-nance, and curricular improvement, but enrollmentpressures slowed that effort. The president’sChristmas greeting to the school’s staff inDecember, 1945, was reflective of renewed opti-mism, as Hansen’s note concluded that “prospectslook much better for 1946.”

Hansen’s optimism proved well-founded.Enrollments, which had hit a low point at 225 forthe fall of 1944, bounced back to 308 for the fall of1945, and just one year later, soared to 856.Fortunately for all concerned, the enrollment thenessentially stabilized for the remainder of thedecade, allowing the college to regroup. Not untilthe fall of 1954 would the enrollment climb above900 and it even declined briefly with the onset ofthe Korean War in 1950.

With the enrollment decline precipitated by theKorean War in 1950, a decision was made to releaseseveral faculty members, an action which caused a

great deal of consternation among the faculty andothers. A drop of 78 students for the fall of 1950 wasfollowed by a further decline of over 100 students ayear later. As a result, five faculty positions wereeliminated despite opposition by local teachers, stu-dents, the American Federation of Teachers, theStevens Point Chamber of Commerce, and the YoungRepublicans. Some of the faculty returned later whenthe enrollment again began its upward climb.

For most of the remainder of the Hansen years,the higher enrollment trend continued. Followingthe war in Korea, the upward pattern resumed, with932 students enrolled during the fall term in 1954.The college continued to grow, jumping to 1,188 f6rthe fall of 1955, and crossing the 2,000 student bar-rier for the fall of 1961. Growth was not alwaysorderly and was not without its own set of pressures.History professor Frank Crow noted what hedescribed as a near “crisis” mentality as the campustried to assimilate seven new faculty members in1957, a number which nearly equaled all of the newfaculty hired during the previous 10 years. In spiteof a depression, a world war, and the war in Korea,by the time that President Hansen retired in 1962,enrollment in the college had nearly tripled from thetime of his arrival. Unknown to those on the cam-pus, the greatest growth spurt was still ahead.

With the growth in numbers, the college was

forced to begin to address needed andlong neglected curricular changes.Earlier legislative action had set up therequirement that public school teachersin the state be prepared to provideinstruction in the conservation of naturalresources. As a result of that require-ment and of the intense interest ofProfessor Fred J. Schmeeckle, studentsat Stevens Point were required to takethree semester hours of study in conser-vation to meet the requirement. A pro-gram of study in conservation educationwas prepared and approval from theBoard of Regents was soon forthcom-ing. That proposal later became thebasis for a full major in conservation, aprogram later modified into a major inresource management within theCollege of Natural Resources. The lead-ership of the Stevens Point campus in

this area came early, and by the 1940s, Central Statewas already well ahead of most other institutions inthe development of course work dealing with thestudy of conservation, thanks to the efforts ofProfessor Schmeeckle. As the only member of thefaculty trained in the area, he was forced to buildthe program essentially from scratch.

President Hansen’s support of Schmeeckle’sefforts led to steady growth in the program. Withthe addition of Bernard Wievel in 1947, and aminor in conservation education which was estab-lished in 1949, the department grew steadily andhad six members by the time of Hansen’s retire-ment in 1962. Schmeeckle, who joined the col-lege’s faculty in 1923, led the program until hisown retirement in 1959 when he was succeeded aschair by Wievel. In addition to on-campus courses,the department began to offer programs and cours-es off campus, including summer sessions held instate parks and later at the Pigeon Lake field sta-tion which was owned by the Board of Regents.From these efforts of Fred Schmeeckle andBernard Wievel and the other conservation pio-neers, grew the foundation for the modern Collegeof Natural Resources at UWSP, a college with pro-grams which, by the late 1970s, had become amodel for other universities to admire and emulate.

Fred Schmeeckle and students taking soil samples

Other postwar program developments includedsome beginnings in the area of off-campus orextension teaching, an effort which grew out ofdissatisfaction with the work of UW Extensionand the decision by the State College Board ofRegents to allow some off-campus instruction.Although small in c6mparison to later off-campusprogramming, this development and the outreachof the conservation program began to spread thename and fame of the college beyond its tradition-al boundaries.

Home Ec6nomics, headed by Agnes Jones,began to regain its previous status on the campus.After nearly disappearing because of board actionin the late 1930s, the program rebounded andbecame fully certifiable for federally supportedvocational home economics teacher instruction.Unfortunately, with the near demise of the pro-gram in the late 1930s, and the other problems ofthe depression and war eras, Jones found a pro-gram sorely in need of upgraded facilities, some-thing for which she continued to strive throughouther career. Only after the program moved into theCollege of Professional Studies building in theearly 1970s did she rest her efforts in this direc-tion. Program development continued, however,with the addition of new options and areas to com-plement the basic programs.

The program in music, essentially a one personprogram until 1954, began to grow in 1948 andexpanded steadily during the 1950s. Offering amajor with work in voice, piano, organ, band,orchestra, and public school music, the programgrew, and in 1959 the Board of Regents authorizedthe granting of the Bachelor of Music degree, thefirst of its kind in the state colleges.

A major in business education was authorized bythe board in 1958, an action taken in an attempt tomeet a heavy demand for teachers in that area. Priorto that decision, such a program had existed only atthe Whitewater campus.

Speech, previously voluntary and extracurricu-lar, became an approved academic course of study.Under the leadership of Pauline Isaacson, a speechdepartment grew rapidly. Within that department,programs were developed that later spawned addi-tional new departments of communicative disor-ders and theatre and dance, along with a

Department of Communication with interests inthe various fields of mass communication as wellas in the traditional area of public speaking.

Since the primary reason for having teachers col-leges was to train teachers, the Campus LaboratorySchool continued as an important aspect of the workof the campus. A kindergarten program was addedafter World War II, but the rural education programwas dropped, a change which mirrored reality in thatthe demand for rural teachers declined sharply asschool consolidation picked up speed in the yearsfollowing the war. May Roach, one of the leaders inthe development of rural education on the campus,retired in 1956, and the program was last mentionedin the college’s catalog in 1958.

Programmatic and departmental changes led tostructural and administrative changes as the collegechanged to meet the needs of its rapidly expandingstudent population. During the days of PresidentSims, the college had been organized into divisionsand that basic organization remained intact whenHansen assumed the presidency in 1940, although

Agnes Jones

with the passage of time, the leadership of the divi-sions had changed. Sue Colman had succeededJames Delzell as primary director, and RaymondRightsell had succeeded Ernest Smith as secondarydirector when Smith was named to the presidency.

The first major break with the traditional organiza-tion came in September of 1947 when a JuniorCollege Division was established to provide a placefor entering students who had not decided upon anycertain area of teaching as a profession. The curricu-lum of the Junior College Division included therequired courses in English, science, mathematics,history, and social science. Students entering intothis division were limited in the amount of extracur-ricular activities in which they could engage, andstudents admitted on probation were denied all par-ticipation in extracurricular activities.

Although regent policy made it clear that the pres-ident had most of the authority over all matters onthe campus, those recalling the Hansen era note thatBill Hansen, more than most of his contemporaries,

believed firmly in faculty involvement in decisionmaking. As a result, committees were established toadvise the president on numerous matters, althoughunlike the shared governance committees whichcame later, the president, like those before him, saton many of the committees himself. GordonHaferbecker, a UWSP graduate and an economistwho served the campus long and well in numerouscapacities, including the vice presidency and the act-ing presidency, spoke positively of Hansen’s com-mitment to openness and democratic procedures. Henoted that the faculty also was so committed to equi-ty that when the Board of Regents decided it wastime to have ranked faculty, the Stevens Point facul-ty opposed this change for a time. Others echoedHaferbecker’s comments, including some whoattributed the president’s democratic mindedness tothe influence of his wife, Esther, a staunch supporterof liberal and humanitarian causes.

Despite these democratic impulses, Hansen contin-ued to conduct much of the business of the collegein the manner expected of him by the regents. Heillustrated clearly the dominant role of the presidenton the campus when he announced his decision tocreate the new Junior College Division and almostsingle handedly designed the rules which wouldgovern it. As dean of the Junior College Division, heselected Warren Gard Jenkins, a faculty member inhistory. Jenkins held that position until after the col-lege was granted the right to offer liberal artsdegrees in 1951, at which time Hansen again movedquickly and named Jenkins to be the first dean of thenew College of Letters and Science. The College ofLetters and Science then became the major providerof the basic courses for all of the students on cam-pus, from required English and history, to math, sci-ence, and the other social science and humanitiesfields to which college graduates were expected tobe exposed. It was decided that graduation require-ments in the new college would be exactly the sameas those in the College of Letters and Science at theUniversity of Wisconsin in Madison, a pattern whichwas continued until significant revisions were madein the late 1960s.

One alumnus of the Junior College Division whowould later distinguish himself was LawrenceEagleburger of Stevens Point. Eagleburger, whoserved as deputy secretary of state during the early

Warren Gard Jenkins

years of the George Bush administration in the late1980s and who became secretary of state during thelast year of that administration, attended CentralState in 1948-50. His mother, a recipient of a two-year diploma earlier, was also in attendance at thesame time. Lawrence Eagleburger transferred to theuniversity in Madison the following year andreceived his degrees there.

Further college development occurred in theearly 1960s, in response to the need to providenon-teaching options in programs that had previ-ously, at least in theory, been oriented totallytoward the training of teachers. With the establish-ment of a College of Applied Arts and Sciences in1961, the programs in home economics and thosein conservation, as well as others, were consoli-dated, while the programs in Education were putinto a separate School of Education to be headedby Burdette Eagon. Only a few years later, theCollege of Natural Resources split off from theCAAS which resulted in another reorganization.Along with a College of Natural Resources, aCollege of Professional Studies was created andbecame the administrative home for programs inhome economics, education, communicative disor-ders, physical education, and later, Army ROTC.

With growth, administrative restructuring, andrevitalization of the academic endeavor, interest ingraduate education and faculty research also devel-oped. Because of their special role in the preparationof teachers and the increasing demands for addition-al training being made on those teachers, the statecolleges had felt the need to offer graduate coursesfor some time. Although the Board of Regents hadbeen granted the right to authorize graduate work, ithad moved very slowly in this area. With the cre-ation of the Coordinating Committee (later, Council)on Higher Education (earlier in this work and here-after referred to as the CCHE), the issue of graduatework would be subject to input and possible objec-tion by the other parties involved with higher educa-tion in the state, so the support of the University ofWisconsin was essential. After rather extendednegotiations, an agreement was reached with theuniversity which allowed for up to half of the cours-es for a master’s degree in education to be taken onthe state college campuses with the other half to betaken at the university with the degree to be granted

by the university. The first courses in the graduateprogram were offered at Stevens Point during thesummer of 1960. Forty-seven students participatedduring that first summer, a number which jumped to69 by 1962, the year in which the campus was giventhe option of offering the entire program on campusin addition to continuing the shared arrangement.Graduate programs in areas other than educationwere started a few years later. Edgar Pierson, a pro-fessor of biology, was appointed as the first dean ofthe Graduate School and served in that role until hisretirement in 1968. He was followed by WinthropDifford, a geologist.

Another sign of the changing times and thechanged nature of the Stevens Point college was theappropriation by the state of money in the biennialbudget for 1961-1963 to support faculty research.The amount of $50,000 was earmarked for researchproject support for the more than 1,000 facultymembers at the nine state college campuses. Astatewide committee was established to evaluateproposals submitted by faculty, with Lee Burress,professor of English, representing Stevens Point onthe first committee. A memo from Burress to theteaching staff noted that $10,000 was available forthe first year of the program, and eight grants weremade to faculty at Stevens Point. From these ratherhumble beginnings, the interest of the faculty inscholarly research began to grow, and by the early1970s, research had become part of the way of lifefor many of the faculty, and was viewed increasing-ly as an essential part of the evaluation system.

Although diminished during the war years withthe decline in enrollment, some extracurricularactivities continued. The radio broadcasting programof the college was headed by Gertie Hanson of theDepartment of Geography, who had begun the“Radio Workshop” program in 1939. Aided by sev-eral faculty members, Hanson succeeded in puttingabout a half dozen programs on the air each week.Librarian Nelis Kampenga’ 5 “Books in War” andchemist (and long-time registrar) Gilbert Faust’s“The Symphonic Hour” were among the moreprominent programs heard during the war years.

The State Department of Agriculture first estab-lished a radio station to serve farmers in the centralWisconsin area in 1924. Originally located in theWhiting Hotel, the studio was moved to the campus

in 1937, and the station maintained a close relation-ship with the campus until 1951 when the statemade WLBL part of the overall state radio networkand ended independent programming from theStevens Point college. Despite a couple of interimattempts during the 1960s, it was not until 1968 thatserious, on and off-campus broadcasting wouldresume on campus, when a low-powered FM stationwent on the air.

Student publications, also hampered by wartimeconditions, continued. The Pointer, a weekly publi-cation for most of its life, became a bi-weekly paperafter World War II. The major force in directing thestudent publication efforts during this period wasBertha Glennon of the Department of English. Inaddition to The Pointer, other student publicationsappeared on occasion.

Athletics were seriously crippled by the manpowershortage during the war. In 1942, basketball games,which had been played at the P. J. Jacobs HighSchool gymnasium for about five years, weremoved back to the small campus gym, despite com-plaints by students. In 1944, after six team membersjoined the navy, basketball was officially dropped

for the duration, although a few pick-up games wereplayed with nearby schools. Football, likewise,could not survive the enrollment declines and wasdiscontinued until the fall of 1945. Recognizing theoverall problem, the conference suspended all offi-cial conference competition in 1943.

Both football and basketball were resumed in1945, although inadequate facilities for basketballcontinued to be a problem, with the campus increas-ingly dependent upon the local high school to allowthem to play home games in its gym. PresidentHansen expressed optimism that normal times hadreturned when he announced the resumption ofhomecoming activities in 1945, noting that “we canagain become interested in homecoming, and theathletics and other activities that accompany it.”Under the leadership of Coach Hale Quandt, thepostwar Pointer football teams fared well, winningthe unified conference championship in 1949.

When the former teachers colleges became state col-leges in 1951, the expansion of sports programs formen followed. The state college conference addedgolf, tennis, wrestling, baseball, cross country, gym-nastics, and swimming between 1955 and 1963, as

Student radio production in the 1940s.

increased state support accompanied the expansion.There were 10 conference-level (men’s) sports pro-grams when the campuses became state universities in1964. Stevens Point’s successes, challenged by allega-tions of rules violations during the 1930s, resumedafter the war. In addition to the championship year of1949, the football team won conference champi-onships in 1955 (the year in which Norbert “Nubbs”Miller returned and set many modern school records),and 1961. The basketball team won championships in1956-57 and 1960-61, and championships were alsowon in baseball, track and wrestling during the 1950s.

Intercollegiate athletic programs for womenwere still a few years away during this period. TheWomen’s Recreation Association sponsored teamsin basketball, swimming, and badminton duringthe 1950s and early 1960s, and some of theseteams actually did compete with teams fromneighboring campuses, although not in any recog-nized or organized fashion.

One highlight added to the athletic scene on thecampus was the presence of the Green Bay Packersfor about six weeks of preseason work during the

years 1955-1957. Living on campus, the team prac-ticed in Stevens Point, in preparation for its NationalFootball League seasons.

Athletic activities were not the only ones affect-ed by the shortage of men during World War II. In1943, Professor Norman Knutzen made an appealfor local men to help fill out his Men’s Glee Club.The appeal was apparently unsuccessful, as theGlee Club was disbanded and not resumed againuntil the fall of 1944.

One new campus activity began in 1960 whenthe first Winter Carnival was held. With a kingand queen contest, ice sculpting, beard growing,and other competition, the cold weather activitiesof Winter Carnival became campus fixture duringthe 1960s.

A major feature of the later Hansen years was theconstruction of several long-needed buildings onthe campus. As previously indicated, the ability ofthe state to provide for the state college campusesduring the years of the Great Depression and ofWorld War II was severely limited. Consequently,as the war ended, physically inadequate campuses

Norbert “Nubbs” Miller - No. 25

faced the onslaught of postwar students, not only atStevens Point but at the state’s other campuses aswell. Fearing a postwar depression as had occurredafter World War I, the state took a cautiousapproach toward spending monies on college facil-ities until it was clear that no depression was forth-coming. In the meantime, the pressure on the facil-ities continued to mount.

Dormitory space was critically needed. Within thestate colleges, only Stevens Point and Superior hadany dormitory facilities available. At Stevens Point,a mere 110 spaces were available to meet the needsof the more than 800 students in attendance duringthe fall of 1949. The first postwar building pushwas, therefore, an attempt to meet this need. In1951, Delzell Hall, named for long-time RegentWilson Delzell, was opened, with space for 80 men.Delzell’s basement served as the student union forthe campus until 1959, when the original section ofthe present University Center was built. The uniontook over the food service duties for the campus andbecame the meeting place on the campus after 1959.

In July of 1952, land at 1103 Main Street was pur-chased to use for home economics as the SimsCottages on Fremont Street were to be removed tomake room for a new college library. Library planswere unveiled in September and bids totaling morethan $600,000 were received. The new library,planned to hold 130,000 volumes, was estimated tomeet the needs of the campus for the next 50 years!Groundbreaking occurred in October, and the build-ing opened in 1954. Less than 10 years later, thelibrary was already inadequate for the rapidlychanging and expanding campus.

Discussion and action on the physical needs of thecampus continued during the remainder of theHansen presidency. In 1955, plans were drawn tobuild a fieldhouse to meet the needs of both thephysical education program and the expanded con-ference athletics program. Continued pressure fordormitory rooms and the need for a student unionslipped ahead of the fieldhouse plans in 1956. Theexpansion of Delzell Hall and the building ofSteiner (now South) Hall resulted as the campus

Ice carving during Winter Carnival.

attempted to meet the housing needs of its students.Pray and Sims Halls followed, opening in 1962.Finally in January of 1959, bids were opened for thenew physical education building. Ground was bro-ken that spring and the facility was ready for use inthe fall of 1960. That facility had the distinction ofbeing the first $1 million building on the campus.

Classroom needs remained severe, although sometemporary relief was provided when the library andthe gymnasium were moved out of Old Main. Planswere discussed as early as 1959 for a science build-ing and a general classroom building. During thelast year of Hansen’s presidency, plans for the con-struction of a new science building were approved,in January, 1962. With groundbreaking that summer,the building opened in the fall of 1963. Science wasthe first $2 million building on campus.

In September of 1961, President Hansenannounced that he would retire at the end of the1961-62 academic year. At the age of 70, he wasready to end his 22-year stint as the campus’ longesttenured president. In November, the Board ofRegents employed a psychologist to screen potentialcandidates for the vacant presidency at Stevens

Point as well as the presidency which had opened atWhitewater. After screening by the psychologist andby the board, and with no serious input from thelocal faculty, on April 12, 1962, the boardannounced that James H. Albertson, the executiveassistant to the president of Ball State College inMuncie, Indiana, would succeed Hansen. At 36,Albertson’s appointment made him the youngestpresident in the Wisconsin State College system.

The Pointer dedicated its issue dated May 4, 1962to President Hansen. It noted that although Hansenclaimed to be “a farm boy,” he had adapted well toproblems of enrollment (both small and large), ofbuilding pressures, and had even weathered a facultyprotest over the layoff of three faculty members asenrollments plunged with the onset of the Korean War.

During the long presidency of William Hansen,the college at Stevens Point did, indeed, changedramatically. When he arrived, he found a StateTeachers College of just over 700 students. He alsofound a campus that had been unable to achieveacademic accreditation for numerous reasons.Although he set out at once to make the necessarychanges to obtain accreditation, world events set

Main room of the new library that opened in 1954

back his efforts for the first few years. After thedramatic plunge in enrollment to just over 200 reg-ular students during the war, the campus grew rap-idly and enrollment stood at more than 2,100 stu-dents by the time of Hansen’s retirement. Thenumber of faculty members had increased fromabout 40 to 125 during this same period. Buildingphysical facilities to meet this expansion consumedmuch of his time in the later years of his presiden-cy, while academic programs also grew at a rapidpace. When Hansen arrived in 1940, Central Statewas recognized only as a teachers college. With thebroadening of the mission of the campus throughstate college status, the college was offering majorsin 10 subjects by 1953. Ten years later, whenHansen retired, a College of Letters and Scienceexisted alongside a College of Applied Arts andSciences, with well-established programs in educa-tion, natural resources, and home economics, andthe number of majors offered on the campus hadclimbed to 22.

Less noticeable to the outsider but of significanceto the campus were the more subtle changes whichtook place during Hansen’s tenure. Accreditation bythe North Central Association, denied shortly beforeWorld War II, came in 1951. Other recognition alsofollowed. Faculty qualifications, a prime aspect ofaccreditation, grew almost as dramatically as did thesize of the faculty and student populations. In 1951,only nine members of the faculty possessed the Ph.D.degree, but by 1958, 29 did, and by the end of theHansen years, that number had reached 50. Thesefactors, plus the growth of graduate offerings and fac-ulty research, contributed to the improvement of fac-ulty quality and morale. These changes helped thecollege gain full accreditation and better meet theneeds of its increasingly large student body.

Growth would continue for many years afterPresident Bill Hansen retired, but it was during histenure that the college took the steps necessary toexpand and meet the increased needs ofWisconsin’s citizenry for higher educational

Science Building, the first $2 Million building on campus

opportunities. When he was succeeded by JamesAlbertson, the stage was set for the next era in thehistory of the Stevens Point campus. Hansen’s role

in preparing the campus and community for thatnext developmental stage was significant. A higherquality faculty, improved facilities, and recogni-tion in the form of accreditation all helped preparethe campus for the onslaught of students from thepostwar “baby boom” years. Bill Hansen leftknowing that the college was ready to move into anew and more challenging epoch.

Personally, he was also ready to move to a newrole. In his very active retirement years, he wasable to continue a leadership role within theStevens Point community. After his 22-year presi-dency, Hansen returned to public service by serv-ing for a number of years on the Stevens PointBoard of Education, and for several years in theWisconsin State Senate.

Although Hansen served in a time period duringwhich the regents gave all power to the campuspresident (and expected that he would exercise it),Bill Hansen was, according to many of those whoworked with him, a democratic-minded person,who helped instill into the faculty a sense ofinvolvement in their own destiny. Though it isclear that most essential decisions were made inthe president’s office (with help, some have noted,from a small group of advisors which includedCarolyn Rolfson Sargis, the campus’s business

Carolyn Rolfson Sargis

Esther and Bill Hansen during their retirement years

manager who had served seven presidents duringher long career from 1919-1962), near the end ofhis presidency Hansen began to encourage morefaculty participation.

The new president, James Albertson, wouldquickly build upon the democratic impulses of BillHansen and would attempt to incorporate a greaterdegree of faculty governance within the campuscommunity. And, taking advantage of the rapidgrowth in enrollment, Albertson would continue todevelop many of the programs supported earlierby Hansen and would attempt to build othersaround them.

The feelings of many who had been involved withthe campus during the presidency of Bill Hansenwere expressed by Regent John C. Thomson wholauded Hansen at his last commencement on June16, 1962. Thomson said that “it has been the greatgood fortune of Wisconsin State College at StevensPoint to have this man as its president. The citizensof Wisconsin owe him a debt of gratitude.”

Chapter 8

From College to University:The Albertson Era, 1962-1967

When James H. Albertson came to WisconsinState College in 1962 as its eighth president, hebrought to the campus some of the freshness, youth,and energy that marked the national political scenein the early 1960s. The Board of Regents had namedAlbertson to the position after a four-month searchwhich produced 123 nominations and applications.Albertson, then just 36 years old, was serving asexecutive assistant to the president of Ball StateUniversity in Muncie, Indiana. The new presidentpossessed bachelor’s and master’s degrees fromColorado State University and a doctorate in highereducation administration from Stanford University.In the materials submitted in support of his applica-tion for the position, the new president indicatedthat he and his wife, Jan, and their five childrenenjoyed numerous activities together, includingmusic, sailing, traveling, photography, and reading.

Albertson assumed his new position on July 1,1962. In his first address to the faculty during thefall semester, he asked the faculty to consider creat-ing a new structure for increased faculty participa-tion in the formulation of policies in specific areasof the operation of the college. In light of a growingnational movement toward shared governance in thedevelopment of campus policies, Albertson found aresponsive faculty which welcomed his gestures inthis direction. Statewide, the Association ofWisconsin State College Faculties (later known bysuch abbreviated names as AWSUF, TAUWF, andTAUWP), an independent faculty-oriented organiza-tion, was already trying to work closely with theWisconsin State College Council of Presidentstoward the same goal.

The new president proposed to discharge 11 exist-ing “president’s committees” and he recommendedthat the faculty retain seven existing committees and

create two new policy formation councils. He sug-gested that one should be an academic councilwhich would have responsibility for policy determi-nation regarding academic programs, while the othershould be a student affairs council with responsibili-ty for policies governing cocurricular activities. Hestated his intent to reorganize the campus adminis-tratively into divisions of academic, business, andstudent affairs, and said that he would also appoint a“president’s advisory council.” In addition, he askedthe faculty to create two new advisory committees:one to formulate long range goals and one to work

President James H. Albertson, 1962-1967

on faculty personnel matters. Anticipating the direc-tion that most institutions of higher education wouldtake during the next decades, he also asked thatplanning groups discuss the formation of a Board ofVisitors and a Wisconsin State College-StevensPoint Foundation.

Throughout these and other similar requests, theassumption was that the faculty would continue tofunction as a committee of the whole in respondingto recommendations from the various committees orfrom the president. Albertson’s message seemed tobe an indication of his desire to see the facultyassume a more significant and vital role in academicand co-curricular matters, but it also quickly becameclear that the new president intended to maintaincontrol of personnel and budgetary matters. Evenwithin those limitations, it was apparent to all butthe most cynical that Albertson was proposing amuch larger role for the faculty in the governance ofthe institution than they had previously enjoyed, andas a result, most faculty welcomed the proposedchanges and cooperated with Albertson’s efforts tomake them happen. The chair of the faculty, HenryRunke of the Art Department, appointed a commit-tee of 15 to review the president’s proposals and thecommittee chose Gordon Haferbecker, dean ofinstruction, as its chair. The parent committee wasthen split into three subcommittees: one for academ-ic affairs, headed by historian Elwin Sigmund; onefor student affairs, headed by another historian, FredKremple; and an advisory committee headed by LeeBurress of English. Many issues and concerns wereraised during the next two months such as the usualquestions regarding the role of the faculty, theamount of time to be spent on governance matters,the role of students in policy formulation, and theoverall question of whether or not the faculty reallywanted to assume such an increased responsibilityfor the shaping of policy.

The Committee on Faculty Participation inPolicy Formation made its official report and rec-ommendations to the faculty in December of 1962,and that report occupied most of the agenda for thenext several faculty meetings. In endorsing most ofAlbertson’s proposals, the committee noted thatthis was an appropriate time to “enlarge the scopeof faculty action in a wide range of matters ofcommon concern” because of the recent and future

growth of the college. Final action was taken onthe report on January 30, 1963, and the result wasthe creation of “umbrella” councils for academicand student affairs under which were clusteredexisting committees in those areas. One exceptionwas the Curriculum Committee which continuedindependent of the Academic Affairs Council.Students were given a voice through the StudentAffairs Council. The new Long-Range GoalsCommittee was directed to begin to develop astatement of the purposes of the college, and toplan for its future development over the next five,ten, and fifteen year periods. (This was the first ofmany long range planning exercises undertaken bythe campus, as with many others campuses, duringthe next three decades.) The new advisory commit-tee on faculty personnel was to be known as theRAPTS Committee (recruit appointment, promo-tion, tenure, and salary) and was approved largelyas proposed by President Albertson. AlthoughAlbertson had distinguished between the policyformation role of the faculty councils and the advi-sory role of the RAPTS Committee, that committeesoon became as influential in its own area as werethe other two bodies. The faculty also authorizedChair Runke to appoint two temporary committeesto assist in discussion of and the planning for acouncil of visitors and a college foundation.

In addition to his role as chair of the subcommit-tee on academic affairs, Elwin Sigmund drafted thenecessary amendments to the faculty constitution.His influence was paramount in the determination ofthe definition of faculty for governance purposes, adefinition which defined “faculty” as those holdingone of the four recognized academic ranks.Previously, the accepted definition on campusallowed governance participation to anyone“engaged in educational service.”

Two years later, Albertson asked the faculty toevaluate this system of policy formation. A commit-tee of seven surveyed the faculty. About 35 percentof the faculty responded, with most indicating ahigh degree of satisfaction with the system and theresults obtained. The survey indicated a continuinginterest in the establishment of a faculty senate,which was often discussed, as well as ongoing con-cerns with the amount of time spent in governanceactivities. Other complaints noted the presence of

too many administrators on the faculty councils andthe shortness of administrative time lines whenrequesting advice or input from the faculty. Bettercommunication, spring elections to the councils, anda study of ways to improve student participationwere also recommended. With an indication of gen-eral satisfaction, the basic structure proposed byAlbertson, as modified by the faculty, served as thebasic structure of faculty governance until the adop-tion of a faculty senate in 1972.

Perhaps misled by the speed with which the facul-ty had responded to his proposal for reorganizingthe governance structure for the campus, PresidentAlbertson next requested a general reappraisal of theentire undergraduate curriculum. In his formal inau-gural address given on May 4, 1963, entitled “WhatKnowledge is of Most Worth?” Albertson noted thatthe existing curriculum had been established in anearlier and different era, and he asked the faculty toconsider changes that would integrate freshman andsenior course work, that would require all studentsto acquire some knowledge of non-western cultures,and that would have all faculty committed to theresponsibility for teaching students how to write.The president commended the faculty and staff fortheir successful review and revision of the adminis-trative structure on campus, and praised the faculty’senthusiastic participation in efforts to expand theconcept of shared governance as well. With thosegovernance changes made, he indicated his beliefthat the time had come for the college to turn itsattention to a reappraisal of the basic liberal artscurriculum. In developing a curriculum to deal withthe future to be faced by students of the 1960s, hecalled for “a plan of integrated educational experi-ences that will establish direction, unity, and createa sense of accomplishment for both the teacher andthe learner.” Echoing academic leaders both beforeand after him, Albertson urged the faculty to deter-mine what knowledge from the past should be pre-served and to determine what new knowledge wasvital to be taught. He asked the faculty to help him‘’winnow the excess [of knowledge] from the essen-tial, the frill from the fundamental.”

The new Academic Council, chaired by CliffordMorrison of history immediately became the focalpoint around which a swirl of activity began. TheLong-Range Goals Committee promised a draft by

fall; the college’s librarian, Nelis Kampenga, assist-ed by a committee headed by Pauline Isaacson,developed an annotated bibliography of curricularissues; plans were made for a retreat at the college’sPigeon Lake camp in late September. Thirty-fivepersons were invited to the weekend retreat, includ-ing those faculty and administrators most closelyconnected with the development of curriculum.Rather quickly, the group approved a draft of newlong-range goals which described the characteristicsof a graduate from Wisconsin State College-StevensPoint. They also developed a mechanism for imple-mentation of any changes, a timetable for theprocess of reappraisal, and they set the date forcompletion of the changes by June, 1965.

Some of the problems that would eventually post-pone that optimistic deadline by more than twoyears appeared early. Chief among these were con-cerns about academic “turf’ and assumed threats tothe security of faculty in various departments. In areport to the faculty a year after Albertson had askedfor the curricular review, committee chair Morrisonreported that only “small accomplishments” hadbeen made, and he pointed out that two interimdeadlines had already passed. He expressed guardedoptimism when he noted that “I think we have allbut abandoned the idea that departments or personalinterests are in jeopardy. I will not guess how faraway the breakthrough is on these difficult matters,but as I read the signs I think it is in the offing.” Ayear later, the Curriculum Committee receivednotice that the “laborious and drawn out procedure”by which each department had been asked to reviewthe courses it offered had been “out of all propor-tion” to its usefulness and had revealed “no basis orneed” for comprehensive curriculum review. Thesubcommittee which had studied the departmentalreviews asked, in effect, what next? One frustratedmember of the Curriculum Committee, mathemati-cian Edith Treuenfels, attributed the impasse to the“fruitless repetition of deliberation” and to theimpossibility of using the newly formulated long-range goals as a yardstick for evaluating specificcourses. Refusing to “plod along, angry and frustrat-ed, on a path ... [that] leads nowhere,” she suggestedthat the process should be started over from scratch.

A new subcommittee, headed by philosopherRobert Rosenthal, seemed to do just that after revis-

ing the timetable once again with an anticipatedcompletion date of June, 1967. A series of six gen-eral discussion meetings followed: one with stu-dents; one at which the five academic deans wereconsulted; and one with the faculties of each of thefour academic schools or colleges. The only specif-ic courses that came under attack during thesemeetings (as well as in the previous discussions)were the general degree requirement courses inAmerican history and physical education. Thelitany of familiar arguments was voiced: notenough electives; too much choice; majors are toolarge; minors are too small; traditional knowledgemust be preserved; students must be prepared forthe future; a broad liberal education is best for all;students must have specific, vocationally-orientedskills and training. A few new ideas, such as theneed for an experimental college, credit by exami-nation, an honors program, and an independentlyplanned major di4 emerge during the discussions,but the bulk of the time was spent in debating thetraditional items always debated by academicians.

Out of all this debate and discussion a new basiccurriculum finally emerged, with a set of generaldegree requirements not radically different fromwhat had existed and not at great variance with thesuggestions proposed by the president in his inaugu-ral address, four years earlier. The only significantchange was the added requirement of three creditsin nonwestern cultures, reflecting on the globalinterests issue as expressed by Albertson when, inhis inaugural address, he repeated his call for “apolycultural education.”

Part of the difficulty in addressing issues such ascurricular change was that the discussion wasundertaken during a time in which the campus wasgrowing faster than was desirable or manageable.With student enrollments rushing ever upward,departments added new faculty, often with newspecialties, to meet the demand. While the campuswas busy reviewing what it might keep and whatcould be deleted from the old curriculum, newcurricular offerings were being added at a hecticpace, often without thought given to any long-range plans or curricular revisions intended toeducate students for the future. Board of Regents’action in 1966 requiring each institution in theWisconsin State University system to prepare a

“mission statement” containing its goals for thenext five and 15 years further complicated theprocess and added to faculty insecurity.Unrestrained growth and the sometimes fearedprocess of setting long-range goals made basicinternal curricular review and revision much moredifficult than it might otherwise have been.

During Albertson’s nearly five-year tenure as pres-ident, several new majors were approved for thecampus. Supporting the president’s interest in cul-tural literacy, majors in American civilization,Russian and Eastern European studies, and LatinAmerican studies were added. Three majors directedtoward skills and job orientation were approved:speech pathology and audiology (now communica-tive disorders), physical education for women, andbusiness administration. In the liberal arts area,majors were added in philosophy, psychology,Spanish, and art. After a protracted debate withinthe CCHE and across the state, a major in forestrywas approved as well. That program, housed in theDepartment of Natural Resources (created in 1967out of the previous Department of Conservation),ran into opposition from those who felt that themain role of the CCHE was to prevent programduplication, and since the University of Wisconsinhad applied for a similar program, it was assumedthat one would not be approved for two differentcampuses. The solution ultimately granted anundergraduate program to WSU-Stevens Point anda graduate/undergraduate program to UW-Madison,a solution that was widely criticized at the timeand led to suggestions that the CCHE was unableto do its job.

Along with the seemingly unending growth inundergraduate enrollments, graduate educationalso grew at a rapid pace during the Albertsonyears. With the success of the cooperative gradu-ate program and an ever-increasing graduateenrollment, pressure followed for the right of theindividual state university campuses to grant theirown graduate degrees. WSU-Stevens Pointreceived the authority to grant graduate degreesand granted the first two degrees in 1964. In addition to the original program in education, theboard authorized a graduate program in home eco-nomics in 1966. By 1967,38 graduate degrees hadbeen granted by WSU-Stevens Point.

The lengthy curricular review made it easier forthe campus to respond to the request for five-yearand 15-year plans. Also, in the fall of 1966, theCCHE requested that each campus prepare a state-ment of its mission as distinct from the other insti-tutions of higher education in the state. PresidentAlbertson involved the departments, schools, theAcademic Council and the Long-Range GoalsCommittee in this process, and within three weeksa draft report was prepared. The report, reflectingmany of the goals of the president, was largelywritten by Albertson and Paul Yambert, dean ofapplied arts and sciences, and formed the basis forthe statement of “Long-Range Plans, 1966-1981.”Campus plans were reviewed by the Board ofRegents which then sent them on to the CCHE ina report entitled “Toward New EducationalHorizons: The Wisconsin State Universities Charta Course for the Future.” The document reflectedsome of the ongoing concerns of the campuses.For instance, it downplayed the interest of thecampuses in research, spoke out cautiously againsttalk of merger with the University of WisconsinSystem, and suggested that WSU-Oshkosh andWSU-Whitewater could meet any needs associatedwith the proposed new UW campuses being dis-cussed for the Green Bay and Kenosha areas.

For WSU-Stevens Point, the board’s optimisticreport included a number of possible new majorsand minors during the five- and 15-year periods.Some came into being soon, others later, and somenot at all. The report also anticipated continuedgrowth in the graduate program, suggested someadditional graduate programs, and even spoke ofthe possibility of an eventual cooperative doctor-ate with the University of Wisconsin. Other areashighlighted for possible future expansion includedan experimental college, an honors program, asabbatical program for faculty, and an overseasstudy program. With the rapid growth in both stu-dent body and faculty (adding about 1,600 stu-dents and 150 faculty during the most recent two-year period), it was difficult not to arrive at areport that sounded optimistic.

Changes in teacher education, both statewide andnationally, led to several significant modifications tothe training programs on campus. Sensing thatchanges were underway, Albertson sought to direct

the Campus Laboratory School more towardresearch and experimentation. Hoping that such aninitiative would help offset mounting criticism ofcampus schools, Albertson even expressed the hopethat a new building would be built eventually toreplace the one built in 1929.

Continuing pressures on teacher education plus thedevelopment of a new junior high school for theStevens Point community led to a decision to dropgrades 7 and 8 from the campus school program in1967. A decision to rename the Campus LaboratorySchool after Arnold Gesell, one of the institution’smost well-known alums, coincided with anannouncement in 1971 by Art Fritschel, dean of theCollege of Professional Studies, that the schoolwould begin to concentrate its efforts in the area ofearly childhood education. The subsequent changes,including the dropping of all campus school effortsother than the preschool program, led to the need forless space. A decision was made formally ending theregular campus school programs in the fall of 1973and in May of 1974, it was announced that theremaining programs in the Gesell Institute for theStudy of Early Childhood, for about 40 students,would be relocated into the College of ProfessionalStudies Building. At the same time, remodelingplans for the former campus school were developedto house the Division of Communication.

Children play in the snow outside the campus lab school

With James Albertson’s background in studentpersonnel work, it was inevitable that he wouldwork for the establishment of a strong StudentAffairs Division on campus. Believing firmly that acollege education consisted of much more thanclassroom work, Albertson and those he brought into head the student affairs unit began at once todevelop programs, provide support services, and ingeneral to serve as advocates for students. The cam-pus quickly became a leader in such programming,and that impetus carried over into later related pro-grams such as wellness, active student governance,and volunteerism. Student government, so activeduring the last quarter of the institution’s first century, gained its real start during this period.

Athletics, particularly for men, continued to developduring the 1960s. The completion of the BergGymnasium in 1960 finally provided the campus witha suitable arena in which to play conference basketballgames. The number of sports available continued toexpand, with the addition of cross country, gymnas-tics, and swimming during the early 1960s. WhenWSC-Stevens Point became WSU-Stevens Point in1964, there were 10 conference sports for men.

The 1960s were not free of accusations andintrigue where athletics were concerned. At onepoint, the conference’s faculty representativesinvestigated charges that the football program andcoaches Duame Counsell and Hale Quandt hadattempted “to induce” players from Platteville andOshkosh to switch to Stevens Point. Quandt andCounsell were censured but a later review led to aresolution that revoked the censures but voiced acontinuing concern by spokespersons for the con-ference that “unethical practices” had, indeed,been used. Further questions about the use of inel-igible players led Don Friday of the Stevens PointJournal and others to call for the employment of aconference commissioner to oversee the actions ofthe members of the WSUC in 1965. Such an officeeventually was established.

Women’s sports remained less developed thanthose for men. Several programs were either start-ed or restarted during the 1960s, including fieldhockey (first introduced on the campus in 1917),tennis, gymnastics, and swimming. The firststatewide track and field meet for college womenoccurred in 1965. For the most part, athletic pro-

Berg Gymnasium

grams for women developed slowly and relativelylittle attention was paid to them until later.

The Albertson years were a time of tumult on thenational and international scenes. The major CivilRights conflicts and protests; the Cuban missile cri-sis in October of 1962; the assassination of PresidentJohn F. Kennedy; the space race; conflict and contro-versy over medical assistance for the elderly; and,most significantly, the protests over the unpopularwar in Vietnam kept policy discussions lively.Campus turmoil should not, in that atmosphere, havebeen surprising, despite the placidity of the previousgeneration of college students. The disturbances, par-ticularly those over the war in Vietnam, continued

and even got worse before the decade ended. Thewidespread nature of the unrest ultimately led theExecutive Director of the Wisconsin State UniversitySystem, Eugene R. McPhee, to report on one occa-sion that the board office in Madison resembled “awar room, with maps... to keep track of where trou-ble would break out.”

In addition to the turmoil of those years, campus-es were forced to deal with a rapidly growing stu-dent population, an influx due to a number of fac-tors. First, the baby boomers, those children bornshortly after the end of World War II, came to be ofcollege age. And, in keeping with the times whichsuggested taking advantage of those opportunities

East face of the University Center

and benefits denied to the previous generation atleast in part because of the Great Depression andWorld War II, the younger generation was moredetermined to attend an institution of higher edu-cati6n. While about 15 percent of the nation’s 18 to22 year olds attended college in 1940, by 1965, 44percent did. And, the absolute numbers soared. Justbefore the beginning of American involvement inWorld War II in 1940, about 1.4 million Americansattended college, but by 1960, that number hadreached 3.2 million, and the real growth was stillahead. By the end of the frantic decade of the1960s, more than 6 million were enrolled in thenation’s institutions of higher education, placingpreviously unimagined pressures upon the facultiesand facilities of those institutions.

This phenomenon of stressful growth occurred atStevens Point as it did throughout the state and thenation, as students came to WSU-Stevens Point inrapidly increasing numbers throughout the Albertsonyears. From an enrollment of 2,407 in the fall termin 1962, the number leaped to 5,907 in the fall of1967, shortly after President Albertson’s untimely

death. Why did this dramatic growth occur?Students came to improve their social and economicstatus; they came to get better jobs; they camebecause their parents wanted them to come; theycame at times to avoid the unpopular war inVietnam; most of all, they came simply becausethey were. Whatever the reason, their presence putstrains on the previously placid little state collegecampus in Portage County. Plans drawn only a fewyears before were suddenly unworkable. Enrollmentestimates prepared by the Board of Regents indicat-ed that the campus should prepare for about 4,500 in1970-that number was surpassed already in 1966!And, projections hastily revised upward urged thecampus to plan for 7,000 by 1970, a number whichwas exceeded by almost a thousand in 1969!Planning for the future suddenly became planningfor today or yesterday.

In an attempt to meet the needs of an explodingstudent population, the campus added faculty andfacilities at a hectic pace; eight new dormitoriescentered around two food service buildings werequickly erected on the north end of the campus; the

Collins Classroom Center

new science building was completed and was dedi-cated in 1964; a 35,000 square foot addition to theUniversity Center opened in 1965, and in 1966, anew classroom building, later named the CollinsClassroom Center, opened on the north side of thecampus. By 1966, plans were being drawn toreplace the library (the one that was supposed toserve the needs of the campus for 50 years) withwhat ultimately became the Albertson LearningResources Center. Plans were also underway for theconstruction of a new Fine Arts Center.

The growth and expansion of the campus was notalways an orderly process. Tensions with the com-munity over building locations, planned street clos-ings, the removal of taxpaying homes from proper-ty tax rolls, and the ever-increasing cost to the cityfor police and fire protection and other services, allcontributed to a growing sense of alienationbetween town and gown. Although these pressuresand tensions were not dissimilar to those in othercampus communities, at times, the feelings werehostile and even bitter.

Land acquisition for the expanding campus causedthe most controversy. Campus planners feared thatthe campus would be permanently divided by homeslying between the old and new parts of the campus.Consequently, the university began to develop plansto acquire properties located within the quicklydeveloped “campus boundaries.” Attempts to securean area for the projected growth of the campusincluded several requests for street closings in orderto make the campus safer for pedestrians.

The largest single dispute arose during the springof 1966 when the university and a Milwaukee-baseddeveloper came into conflict over a 40-acre parcelof land at the northeast corner of Division andMaria Streets, an area the university sought tosecure for future housing, and on which theMilwaukee firm hoped to build a shopping center.The dispute centered on whether the city councilwould rezone the land for commercial use or keep itzoned residential. Friends of the developers workedto influence the State Building Commission to denythe university the funds for purchase of the landrequired for the proposed new library and Fine ArtsCenter until the dispute could be settled. An angrylegislator accused President Albertson and RegentMary Williams of Stevens Point of “wardheeler pol-

iticking” and said that the only way to stop the uni-versity was “to step on them.” Although theBuilding Commission ultimately did release themoney for the aforementioned land purchases, andalthough the city council voted to keep the land resi-dential, at least partly due to the adverse public rela-tions, the university refused to purchase the disputedland. Albertson backed away from the purchase andsaid simply that “We will have to live with it.”

The growing numbers of students required morethan places to eat, sleep, and attend classes. Theyalso needed more teachers. A faculty numberingabout 160 in 1960 grew dramatically to nearly 400by 1967. Approximately 100 new faculty memberswere added in 1965 and again in 1966. The pressureon the community for adequate housing for facultyand their families provided another irritant to therelations between the campus and the community.

While the city attempted to deal with a campusexpanding too rapidly for city services to keep pace,the Stevens Point Chamber of Commerce produceda study showing the positive impact of this growthon the city and the surrounding area. The rep6rtnoted that each 100 new faculty and staff wouldbring to the community 296 new residents, 51 newchildren in public and private schools, 107 addition-al cars, $590,000 in personal income, $270,000 inbank deposits, and would create the need for 175workers to serve the new population. The publica-tion of numbers such as these provided by thechamber clearly did help to soothe the city’s dis-comfort over the expansion of the campus!

As the campus grew, other changes occurred. Thenature of the faculty, formerly a small and cohesivegroup, changed. Fragmentation into departmentaland college units, a common problem in any cam-pus growth situation, led to a lesser sense of “com-munity,” or “family” among the faculty. Thisbreakdown of the “campus family” was discussedon several occasions by the adminstration, but withno apparent answer to a problem that was occur-ring on most university campuses across the nationduring this same time.

While these changes were occurring at home,President Albertson’s determination to increase theinternational involvement by the campus was alsobeing developed. As noted earlier, one of the curric-ular changes that Albertson had pushed was requir-

ing courses which would lead to a greater awarenessof non-western cultures. It was the president’s com-mitment to greater cultural awareness that led himto undertake a fateful mission to Vietnam, a missionwhich led to his untimely death.

By 1967, WSU-SP enrolled students from 12countries and its revised general curriculumincluded a requirement that every graduate of theinstitution complete at least three credits of workin the study of a non-western culture, a termbroadly defined as it was on other campuses toinclude Asia, Latin America, Eastern Europe andthe republics of the empire known at that time asthe Soviet Union. Sometime later, courses onNative American history and culture were addedto this definition. New majors in some of theseareas were added and the course offerings wereexpanded as faculty with the appropriate special-ties were hired.

In July, 1964, the Agency for InternationalDevelopment (A.I.D.) and the American Associationof Colleges of Teacher Education awarded WSU-SPa grant to support an international intern from oneof the several countries participating in the program,an intern who would visit the Stevens Point campusfor six to nine months to observe and to learnadministrative procedures. President Albertson trav-eled to the Philippines in October to interview can-didates, and chose Gregory C. Borlaza, dean ofinstruction at the Philippine Normal School inManila, to serve as the intern. Subsequently, DeanBorlaza came to WSU-SP in January 1965 andobserved for the next eight months.

The successful experience with the internshipprogram led to another A.I.D. grant in the spring of1966 when Albertson was asked to head a team ofseven American educators to travel to Vietnam tostudy the entire higher education system in SouthVietnam and to make recommendations for itsimprovement. With the highly unpopular war on,the offer led Albertson to serious “apprehension”and “soul-searching” but, he noted, “in the finalanalysis, I couldn’t say no.” It was, he believed,both a way to help stabilize the situation inVietnam and to make his personal commitment tothe need for such international educationalexchanges and greater cultural understanding clearto faculty and students alike.

Albertson left Stevens Point on January 3, 1967,going first to Chicago to meet with the othermembers of the team, which included academi-cians from Bemidji State, WSU-Whitewater,Gustavus Adolphus College, Harvard, theUniversity of Chicago, and WSURiver Falls.During the president’s absence, Vice PresidentGordon Haferbecker was named acting president,with Dean Paul Yambert named as acting vicepresident for academic affairs.

Five Vietnamese universities, both public and pri-vate, were visited by the A.I.D. team during theearly weeks of 1967. With about 34,000 studentsenrolled, the universities tended to emphasize themore classical French or continental curriculum,something Albertson quickly pointed to as a weak-ness. Early during the visit, Albertson suggested thatit would be of greater help to that beleagueredregion of the world to develop a curriculum that was“more applicable to meeting the immediate prob-lems of the developing country.”

During his first month in Vietnam, Albertson dic-tated periodic reports of his impressions and activi-ties and sent them to Bill Vickerstaff, the executivesecretary for the WSU-SP Foundation which wasthe contracting agency for the A.I.D. grant. Thememoranda, which included necessary financial andother data, were often filled with Albertson’s per-sonal reflections on the relationship between warand education. “I was told at my initial briefing thatthis [was] a country trying to do battle on twofronts-the military front and the reconstruction front.This morning I had a good example of these twofronts in operation for as we sat and listened... andhad a chance to learn more about the program (atthe Th Dac campus of the University of Saigon) inthe distance were flying American planes droppingbombs on the VC. The ground shook... and youcould see puffs of smoke go up. . . some eight ornine miles to the east of us. In the daytime [theyhave] an ongoing . . . viable instructional program....At night the V.C. move in and the Vietnamese haveto move out. So far there has been no damage....There are a few bullet holes in the windows and theVietnamese have several of their troops billeted inthat space that is reserved for faculty. .It will be a long time before I forget what I saw andlearned this morning.”

One week later, Albertson wrote Vickerstaff again,still trying to understand the circumstances in whichhe found himself. “In all of this I continue to beamazed at how much these people have been able toaccomplish in waging a major war... and at the sametime carrying on a program of higher education. If wehad as many people in the United States involved inthe military in proportion to our population as theyhave in Vietnam, it would mean we would have 14million men in the armed forces. You can imaginewhat that would do to the total country, let alone theimpact it would have on higher education.” He contin-ued to express surprise over the determination of thepeople of South Vietnam to support education despitethe difficult circumstances. Describing the scene inHue, after a visit to a university in that city, Albertsonnoted that “as I stood on the porch of the rectorate,two American tanks rolled by.... Crowded off the sideof the road as the tanks rumbled by was a boy herdingtwo caribou and a calf. Two Vietnamese girls werestanding along side the road and ... a Vietnamese mancame running by in a track suit.... The dust stirred upby the tanks settled over me, and yet my mind wasracing ... thinking about this strange war, the complex-ity of it, and the pitfalls that one identifies in trying togeneralize about it.”

Albertson returned to Stevens Point briefly inearly February to begin organizing a second educa-tional project for A.I.D., one which would studyelementary and secondary education in Vietnam.He hoped that the WSU-SP Foundation wouldagree again to serve as the contracting agent, andhe intended to appoint Burdette Eagon, dean ofeducation, as the leader of this new venture. Therequest for this second mission had come fromVietnamese Prime Minister General Nguyen CaoKy and his minister of education.

At a press conference prior to his return to Saigon,Albertson attempted to clarify the goals of the origi-nal, ongoing mission. He suggested that his team’srole was to survey the present conditions in highereducation, including curriculum, finances, facultyand programs; to ascertain the trained manpowerneeds of the country; and, to determine the projectedfuture needs for higher education in the country. Hesaid that he hoped a final report would be ready bythe end of February and that the project would becompleted by the middle of April.

Albertson’s return to Stevens Point coincided withthe Vietnamese celebration of Tet, the lunar New Year.Tet was, he wrote in one of his reports, a time of the“kitchen genie, flowers, firecrackers, new clothes,ancestors, and watermelons. . . . It seems to me thereis a great deal to be said for ... building a holidayaround the family and having a central concern forone’s relationships with one’s friends and associates.”

Upon Albertson’ 5 return to Vietnam, the surveyteam continued its visits to various sites and its meet-ings with higher education officials through the rest ofFebruary. On February 14 they visited Da Lat, whereAlbertson expressed his personal concern over thepresence of the National Institute for Nuclear Energy,built with funds from the American “Atoms forPeace” program. He questioned the “real value” of thenuclear energy program in a building that appeareddangerously neglected. He was also disturbed by thestatement of an American colonel at the MilitaryAcademy of Vietnam who proclaimed it to be “themost important institution in this country.” And, hewas not reassured by the comments of one officialwho said that “parts of. . . [Da Lat] are as secure asthe Viet Cong want it to be.”

Gordon Haferbecker

One month later, Albertson sent Vickerstaff 15copies of the survey team’s preliminary report fordistribution to Foundation members. He wrote thatthey were beginning to get some responses frompeople in Vietnam and that they planned to meetwith their Vietnamese colleagues at Saigon, Hueand Cantho beginning on March21. He expressedeagerness to obtain the responses to the report.This sense of optimism and accomplishment wasrepeated in a letter sent a few days later to KurtSchmeller, his presidential assistant at the univer-sity. He noted that “Our work here is progressingquite well and we are anxious to get responsesfrom the Vietnamese colleagues to our preliminaryreport. Then we redo-modify, etc. and draft thefinal report-then head for home!”

Early on the morning of March 23, which wasGood Friday that year, a phone call from the Agencyfor International Development awakened KurtSchmeller. An Air America plane carrying the entireHigher Education Survey Team had crashed 200 feetfrom the top of a small mountain north of Dan angthe day before. Although no one had yet been ableto reach the crash site, the assumption was that therewere no survivors, a sad assumption borne out thenext day when an air reconnaissance unit finallysighted the wreckage. The educational team hadbeen enroute to Hue but bad weather had forced theplane to return to Danang to refuel before making asecond attempt to reach Hue. All seven members ofthe educational team were killed along with anA.I.D. advisor and the plane’s pilot.

The next two weeks were full of anguish and con-fusion on campus and for all of those who hadknown James Albertson during his short but busypresidency. Expressions of sorrow flowed in.Governor Warren Knowles said that Wisconsin hadlost “a dedicated public servant.” Regent MaryWilliams noted Albertson’s “capacity for hard work,his idealism, his persuasive and enthusiastic person-ality.” The Executive Director of the WisconsinState University System, Eugene R. McPhee,praised the “great courage of those who gave theirlives for a cause in which they believed deeply.”Congressman Melvin R. Laird rememberedAlbertson’s “active participation in communityaffairs [which] resulted in much closer ties betweenthe community and the university.” The Stevens

Point Daily Journal called the death a “tragedy ofshocking magnitude,” and the editor describedPresident Albertson as “vigorous, imaginative,inventive, bold, resourceful, articulate, [and] he wasa model of personal integrity and individual highquality” who was, in the editor’s opinion, obviouslydestined to become a “national leader in education.”Even the Stevens Point Committee for Peace inVietnam suspended its weekly vigil in front of theStevens Point Post Office in respect to his memory.

Two memorial services were held in the communi-ty for James Albertson, one at St. Paul’s MethodistChurch where he was a member, and the other in theuniversity’s fieldhouse. Speakers at the servicesincluded two of Albertson’s brothers, bothMethodist ministers, as well as others. The com-ments of the various speakers were aptly summa-rized during the service in the fieldhouse by ActingPresident Haferbecker who noted that althoughAlbertson had been given only five years to servethe campus, that he had been able in that short timeto leave a “permanent imprint on ~very aspect ofthis university.”

Albertson’s death left a mission unfinished,though nearing completion. Dean Burdette Eagonleft Stevens Point on April 6 along with represen-tatives of A.I.D. and the Harvard Center forStudies in Education and Development toc6mplete the study Albertson’s team had been inthe process of finishing. Eagon, who had onlyrecently accepted the assignment to lead the sec-ond A.I.D. mission, expected this clean-up processto take about three weeks.

Meanwhile, the faculty governance agencieswhich Albertson had helped create and infuse withactive participation in governance of the campus,requested of the Board of Regents “the privilege andresponsibility... [of] meaningful participation” in theprocess of selecting a successor to Albertson. Theboard, already faced with filling a vacancy in thepresidency at Whitewater, added two more regents,Mary Williams and Norman Christianson, to theRegent Search Committee which had been seekingapplications for the Whitewater position. Theboard’s response to the request from the faculty atStevens Point was to suggest the formation of a fac-ulty advisory committee which would help set upguidelines for the national search, but the response

from the board made it clear that such a committeewould not be allowed to sit in on interviews and theearlier screening sessions. The board set a date ofJuly 1 for filling the two vacancies. With ActingPresident Haferbecker already in place and continu-ing to be strongly supported by the faculty, it wasassumed, as Regent Williams noted, that things wereunder control on the campus and with “the goodadministrative situation” the July 1 date was only agoal and not an absolute deadline. Haferbeckerremained on the job as acting president untilOctober, and he later mused that his term hadexceeded that of President Falk who had served foronly six months in 1938.

During the nine months of the Haferbecker presi-dency, the university faced several critical issues.Growth and the need for student safety led to some

difficult negotiations with the city over the pro-posed closing of portions of Stanley and FranklinStreets. City spokespersons argued that closing thetwo streets would interfere with regular traffic pat-terns, but more importantly that it would impedethe smooth flow of emergency vehicles within thecampus and city. Although the university wantedthe streets closed through the campus, a compro-mise settlement was agreed to because the StateBuilding Commission was eager to make final dis-position of building funds sought by the campus.The solution was a settlement acceptable to thecampus, the city, and to the neighboring St.Stanislaus parish. As a result, plans were continuedfor the development of the new library (theAlbertson Learning Resources Center as it waslater to be known) and the Fine Arts Center.

Governor Warren Knowles meets students during the 1967 “beer riot.”

In the meantime, ongoing development continuedon the campus with the opening of the DeBotResidence Center in February, 1967. The center,which was named for Elizabeth Pfiffner DeBot,dean of women from 19401965, was located in themiddle of a dormitory complex where it served asthe food service facility for students living in theresidence halls. It also contained a lounge, meetingrooms, and a room for reading and studying.

One incident during Haferbecker’s presidency thatconcerned him was the “beer riot” of May 22, 1967.The Stevens Point Journal reported that nearly 1,000persons-largely university students- on the WhitingHotel to confront Governor Warren Knowlesbecause of the governor’ ssupport for raising thelegal beer drinking age from 18 to 21. Although theJournal noted that there was no violence, the gover-nor was interrupted by jeers, boos, and laughter, andafterwards, the demonstrators built a bonfire at theintersection of Main and Division Streets. They alsolooted a beer truck and took an estimated 100 casesof beer, opened fire hydrants, threw eggs at policeand other spectators, blocked traffic, and damaged acounty squad car.

An investigation by the University’s Office ofStudent Affairs acknowledged the involvement ofstudents, but cautioned against sensationalizing theevent. The report noted that the demonstration hadnot been planned by students on campus, that it was,for the most part, orderly, and that only one univer-sity student had been arrested. Citing the overall“good naturedness” of the demonstrators, the reportnoted the participation of high school students,younger children, and non-student adults as well.Follow-up meetings between city officials, students,bar owners and others were held to discuss the inci-

dent and to attempt to head off more such demon-strations. No further serious demonstrationsoccurred over the issue at that time.

The campus search and screen committee, found-ed shortly after the death of President Albertson,recommended to the Board of Regents that GordonHaferbecker be named permanent president, butthe regents, who had made it clear that they werenot expecting the faculty committee to play a sig-nificant role, exercised their independence by nam-ing Lee Sherman Dreyfus, a professor of commu-nication at the University of Wisconsin inMadison, as the new president.

As Gordon Haferbecker prepared to return to thevice presidency, he noted his concern with theevents of May and his dislike for the sense of grow-ing militancy he noted among students, which wasbecoming evident in ongoing discussions of the pos-sible establishment of an Army ROTC unit on thecampus. He indicated his belief that the demonstra-tors had acted irresponsibly, although he also notedthat he felt that most students were responsible andlaw abiding. He suggested that the delicate negotia-tions with the city over future growth and develop-ment of the campus might have been jeopardizedhad the demonstrations continued and furtherinflamed relations between town and gown. With hisreturn to his former office, Haferbecker prepared toserve the university under his third president. Hisstrong support by the faculty and his record of openand fair service to the campus had helped make thetransitional period one of continuing campus devel-opment, and his willingness to help yet anotherpresident launch a new campus administrationresulted in a smooth transition for the new presidentwho arrived in October, 1967.

Upon the recommendation of the RegentPresidential Search Committee, the Board ofRegents appointed Lee Sherman Dreyfus as theninth president of Wisconsin State University-Stevens Point and he assumed the office on October2, 1967. The formal inauguration ceremony washeld on May 11, 1968. (Four years later, when themerger between the former University of WisconsinSystem and the former Wisconsin State UniversitySystem was consummated, President Dreyfusbecame Chancellor Dreyfus of the University ofWisconsin-Stevens Point. For consistency, he willbe referred to as chancellor hereafter, as will thosewho followed him in that position.)

One of the members of the Regent SearchCommittee, Mary Williams of Stevens Point, in aninterview years later, commented that Dreyfus was asurprise choice since he had become a candidatevery late in the process. Jim Dan Hill, the formerpresident of Wisconsin State University-Superior,had encouraged him to seek the position, a fact con-firmed by a letter sent by Dreyfus to Hill in whichDreyfus noted “I’m well aware of your role in mybeing in this particular position today. For this Ishall always be thankful to you.” He concluded thatHill’s support had been helpful, writing that “Agood deal of your efforts on the selection committeeobviously made this situation come about.”

Regent Williams also commented on the searchcommittee’s refusal to accept the faculty’s recom-mendation that Acting President Haferbecker benamed to the permanent position. She indicatedthat although the committee members wereimpressed with his leadership capability and thestrength of his on-campus support, they nonethe-less felt that Dreyfus, with a personality “a little

Chapter 9

“A Little Bit Out of the Ordinary Lee Sherman Dreyfus, 1967-1977

out of the ordinary,” was better suited to deal withthe independent spirit of the Stevens Point facultywhich she also characterized as being “a little outof the ordinary.”

As a professor of speech and radio-television atUW-Madison, the new chancellor had also servedas general manager of WHATV in Madison from1962-65. Dreyfus, with three degrees from UW-

Chancellor Lee Sherman Dreyfus, 1967-1977

Madison (B.A., M.A., Ph.D.), also sported animpressive vita filled with research, writing, andspeech-making.

Described by a Milwaukee Journal reporter as “astocky, forceful, 41-year-old cigar smoking. . . pro-fessor” whose strengths were his enthusiasm, inno-vation and drive, Dreyfus was eager to start his newduties. From the beginning, he determined thatWSU-SP would become a “twenty-first centurycampus,” and, in his words, the educational equiva-lent of “a Lawrence, or an Oberlin or an Antioch.”He suggested that this could be done by making cer-tain that the campus capitalized dn the new tech-nologies available. He noted that the current facultywas capable of meeting those expectations, and thathis role was to “arouse the whole damn faculty tothe enthusiasm I feel for this.”

Dreyfus restated his goals for the campus in hisinaugural address. He suggested that the StevensPoint campus should not provide “average programsfor exceptional students” but should instead develop“exceptional programs for average students.” Toachieve this goal, he urged his faculty colleagues toembrace “the new media for learning” which he sawas television and, further in the future, the computer.Echoing administrative themes familiar to most facul-ty members, he noted that the proper use of suchtools “can change the process of learning, improve itsefficiency, and enable us to do a better job with fewerfinancial resources.” Television, he argued, wouldmake the sharing of resources a nationwide phenome-non. And, on campus, Dreyfus said that the daywould come when every student could put “‘MissionImpossible’ on a network fed into a student dorm, sothat... [the student] can take his choice and hear it inGerman, French, or Spanish, as well as in English,thus combining language learning with recreationalexperience.” He predicted that the day was near whenevery student would be able to obtain an education athis or her own pace through the use of individualcomputerized instruction.

Regent Williams’ comment that Dreyfus was “alittle out of the ordinary” proved to be an under-statement. Unorthodox in his quest to make WSU-SP a dominant educational and cultural influence incentral Wisconsin, Dreyfus was also flamboyant inhis speech, dress, and manner. When talking to stu-dents or faculty, he attempted to speak in terms they

could understand, as in one early press conferencewhen he noted that “my initials are LSD and we’regoing on a trip together somewhere!” From earlyon, he appeared in public wearing a bright red vestor sweater, an item of apparel that became his trade-mark on campus and in his later political life. Hehosted student groups and visited local bars to deter-mine what the students were thinking. He chal-lenged students to be assertive, to set goals both per-sonally and for society, and he encouraged them toprotest societal wrongs responsibly. (Using a typical“Dreyfusism,” he suggested they always ought toseek to win the ball game, but that they should notdestroy the stadium in their efforts to do so.)

Dreyfus arrived on campus in the midst of therapid expansion of higher education both inWisconsin and across the nation. Enrollment hadmushroomed from 2,407 in 1962 to 5,907 in 1967.As indicated previously, the campus attempted tomake adjustments in both programs and physicalfacilities to keep pace, but was always about oneyear behind in both respects.

Despite some vocal faculty opposition and withlittle faculty input, Dreyfus announced a majoracademic plan of reorganization for the campus inAugust of 1970. He eliminated the College ofApplied Arts and Sciences and the College ofEducation (headed by Dean Burdette Eagon.Education apparently evolved from a “school” to acollege in 196566), and replaced them with aCollege of Natural Resources and a College ofProfessional Studies. These, along with theCollege of Letters and Science and the College ofFine Arts (which was later renamed College ofFine Arts and Communication with the addition ofthe Division of Communication) became the fourmajor academic units on campus and they haveremained as the basic academic heart of the cam-pus since that time.

The College of Letters and Science, with its coreprograms in the humanities, sciences and social sci-ences, remained the largest unit. Its growth throughthe 1960s continued into the 1970s with new pro-grams in comparative literature, public administra-tion, geology, religious studies, and several areastudies programs added to the traditional array pre-viously offered. Course offerings doubled over thedecade of the 1960s reflecting the broadening of

academic interest in new and previously unexploredareas, as well as the narrowing of the specializedtraining of many faculty. As the largest unit on cam-pus, responsible for most of the general degreerequirement courses, the faculty of the College ofLetters and Science comprised about half of thetotal faculty of the entire university. S. JosephWoodka, previously chair of the Department ofPolitical Science, was appointed by Dreyfus toreplace the original dean of the college, Warren G.Jenkins, when Jenkins retired in 1970.

The new College of Professional Studies wascreated in response to efforts to pull the profes-sional programs together. The college included theSchools of Education, Home Economics, andCommunicative Disorders, and the Department ofHealth, Physical Education and Recreation wasadded to the college in 1974. Specialized curriculain medical technology and chemical technology(pulp and paper) were also placed under theumbrella of this college, as were learning disabili-ties, early childhood education, the former campusschool (known alternately as the UniversityLaboratory School or the Gesell Institute), and themilitary science (Army ROTC) program. Arthur L.Fritschel was named dean of the college, and heremained in that position until his retirement in1985 when he was replaced by Joan North.

The College of Natural Resources was led origi-nally by John B. Ellery. Previously in the Collegeof Applied Arts and Sciences, natural resourceswas elevated to the status of a separate college inrecognition of the importance of the conservationprogram both in Wisconsin and the nation.Developed out of the early efforts of FredSchmeeckle who came to Stevens Point in 1923,the program began its move to prominence when,in 1946, a curriculum in conservation educationwas developed. That curriculum became a majorin 1951. Rapid change and growth in the programparalleled the growth of the university. Majors inforestry and wildlife were begun in 1968, with soilscience and water resources following the nextyear. Later on, the original conservation majorwas transformed into a resource managementmajor. As a result, when the national interest inconservation caught on, the university was wellpositioned to serve the needs of that movement.

At its creation as a separate college in 1970, theCollege of Natural Resources offered five under-graduate majors. A master of science program innatural resources was authorized in 1970, and aninterdisciplinary major in paper science (formerlypulp and paper developed by the Department ofChemistry and temporarily in the College ofProfessional Studies) was added to the college in1973. Research efforts within the college broughtabout cooperation with public agencies and privateorganizations. The college operated the CentralWisconsin Environmental Station and a game pre-serve. An Environmental Task Force made fieldstudies and laboratory analyses of various waterand soil problems in central Wisconsin.

In the fall of 1971, Daniel 0. Trainer replacedEllery as dean. Trainer, who came fromUWMadison, was a nationally recognizedresearcher of wildlife diseases. He led the collegethrough the next 17 years, helped plan and devel-op a completely new building which opened in1973 (and was later dedicated to him), helped the faculty gain the accreditation of several pro-

Daniel O. Trainer

grams, and witnessed the growth of the under-graduate program into one of the largest of itskind in the nation.

Originally created in 1964 from within the Collegeof Letters and Science, the College of Fine Artsreflected the continuing interest of the campus inproviding for teachers of the fine arts. Departmentsof Art, Music, Drama (with several later namechanges), and, later, Communication were includedwithin the college. The Communication Departmentwas created in 1969 by merging the curriculum andstaff of the Speech Department with courses andfaculty in journahsm and radiotelevision. Supportedby the dean of the college, William Hanford, thenew department strongly reflected the interests ofChancellor Dreyfus. Providing a cultural miheu forthe campus and community, the College of Fine Artsprovided art exhibits, musical concerts, theater, andan Arts and Lecture Series, all available to the resi-dents of the community as well as to those wholived on the campus. Plans were developed soon forconstruction of a Fine Arts Center.

Major changes in the graduate program structurealso occurred during the Dreyfus years. With sharedgraduate programs in teacher training beginning in1960, interest in the development of graduate educa-tion continued to grow. The first Master of Sciencein Teaching programs were accredited in the mid-1960s, and by 1971, master’s degree programs wereapproved in a number of areas including speechpathology and audiology (later communicative dis-orders), home economics, natural resources, andteaching degrees in biology, elementary education,English, history, music, social studies, and drama.Recognizing the increased role of graduate educa-tion on the campus, Dreyfus proposed the creationof a Graduate College in 1968. Throughout theyears of the Dreyfus chancellorship, graduate pro-gram development continued. By the late 1970s, anumber of additional programs had been developed.In 1977-78, more than 1,200 graduate students wereenrolled in UWSP’s graduate programs.

Dreyfus’ role in the changes noted above wascentral and, at times, not fully accepted by the fac-ulty at large. In an interview conducted years later,he noted that he was like a kid with a new toy and“Assuming I had the authority, I simply abolishedtwo colleges and created three new ones. . . .” In

regard to the creation of the College of NaturalResources and the hiring of Dan Trainer as dean,Dreyfus remarked: “By administrative directive,they became a college overnight, producing loudcries of anguish and ridicule from other faculty.Through a mutual friend, I learned of ... DanielTrainer. ... He was brought up... and we were onour way.

Another Dreyfus innovation came in 1969 when,in response to his belief that the university ought tobe more supportive of creative teaching, he createdthe Division of Educational Services andInnovative Programs (ESIP) under the leadershipof Dean Burdette W. Eagon who had held severalother administrative positions on the campus priorto this assignment. ESIP was the administrativehome for such areas as the Learning ResourcesCenter/Library, Archives, the Speech and HearingClinic, Extended Services (later ContinuingEducation), Instructional Data Processing, andInternational Programs. ESIP was also given thecharge to enhance student instruction through thedevelopment of experimental courses and theimplementation of innovative educational projectsand programs.

Although many courses and several programsresulted from the streamlined, innovative processunder ESIP, in fact, the faculty’s reaction was var-ied. The faculty’s Curriculum Committee spoke formany when it passed a resolution in which it“deplored” the actions of the chancellor in settingup a mechanism by which faculty could bypass theusual governance process in the establishment ofcourses and programs.

One result of the innovative and independentactions of Chancellor Dreyfus which did eventuallygain widespread faculty support was his establish-ment of an International Programs (IP) office in1969. Headed by Pauline Isaacson from theCommunication Department, IP was established totie together classroom and non-classroom activitiesinvolving international experiences, and to developopportunities for students to study abroad.

In fact, serious planning for a semester abroadprogram in England actually predated the formalestablishment of IP. Pauline Isaacson led a group ofstudents to London during the summer of 1962 andhad approached Presidents Haferbecker and

Albertson about setting up a semester-long program.She later recounted her frustrations in dealing withadministrators who applauded the idea but refusedto give it their approval. After a committee appoint-ed by Dreyfus had conducted a survey of a numberof American universities with such programs, thefaculty was persuaded in December of 1968 to sup-port the program, despite some faculty complaintsthat the committee established by Dreyfus hadundercut the regular faculty committee which wasworking on the question of additional internationalopportunities for the students at the university.

The request to establish an International Programsoffice and to sponsor semester abroad programs waspresented to the WSU Board of Regents whichapproved the request in early 1969. The first officialprogram sponsored by IP, the semester in Britain,began in the fall of 1969, with 41 students enrolled.It was the first program of its kind in the WSU sys-tem. Campus interest in the program and positivestudent response led quickly to the development ofadditional programs, including those in Germany(1971); the Far East (1973); Poland (1975); Spain(1977); India (1978); and the Republic of China(1978). Summer programs and a Soviet seminar dur-ing spring break were also developed as a result ofthis new approach to an idea which had been pushedearlier by President Albertson, that of international-izing the education of students at WSU-StevensPoint. As the university reached its centennial year,IP was celebrating its own twenty-fifth anniversary,and successful programs continued in England,Germany, Poland, and in Australia and the SouthPacific. In addition, several summer and short4ermprograms in the Black Forest, and in CentralAmerica have been added. The program’s founder,Pauline Isaacson, remained as director until 1982when she was succeeded by Helen Corneli from theEnglish Department, who was, in turn, followedlater by Robert Bowen of the School of Health,Physical Education, Recreation and Athletics.

Further support for internationalizationwas shown by the appointment in 1974 of MarcFang as Foreign Student Advisor. Although the uni-versity had welcomed the enrollment of foreign stu-dents since permission was granted to enroll them in1949, only a few enrolled as no special, concertedeffort had been made to recruit them. The appoint-

ment of Fang illustrated the commitment of campusleadership to international education, and with theestablishment of Foreign Student Programs, otherspecial programs for and involving foreign studentssoon followed. The Host Family Program wasbegun in 1975 and the International Dinner and theInternational Festival followed shortly thereafter. Asa result of these efforts, the number of students fromother countries increased, and at the beginning ofthe centennial year, the institution enrolled 187 stu-dents from about 30 countries.

Dreyfus’ interest in expanding the reach of thecampus manifested itself within Wisconsin as wellas abroad. In 1969, after a brief tussle with EauClaire, Stevens Point was given control over a newtwo-year center in Medford. With Russell Oliver asdean, the center opened with the expectation thatsome 300 to 400 students would enroll. Thoseenrollment expectations were never met and thecampus was later closed.

Another outreach project involved the establish-ment of a learning center in Antigo where freshman-and sophomore-level courses were offered througheither Stevens Point’s Extended Services office,UW-Marathon County, or North Central TechnicalInstitute. Although the expectation was that the stu-dents in the Antigo area could complete all or mostof their general degree requirements courses inpreparation for enrollment at WSUSP or anotherfour-year campus later, again, the Antigo enrollmentwas disappointing.

Innovation on campus during the Dreyfus era wasalso reflected in the development of educationalmedia. A pioneer in campus radio programming dur-ing the 1930s, the campus again became a leaderwhen, in 1968, student/faculty television came tothe campus. Small in its beginning (a single camera,one monitor, one audio unit, and a closet-sized stu-dio), programming was limited to programsdesigned to stimulate local interest in the universityand its activities. Despite its size, it was a begin-ning, and student directed educational television hascontinued and grown since that time.

With the opening of the Albertson LearningResources Center in 1970, the focus for universitytelevision changed to the university classroom,and by 1971, a new Instructional Media Servicesunit had developed the capability for cam-

puswide, closed circuit television distribution.Some community-oriented broadcasting over thelocal cable system continued, allowing students togain actual television production and broadcastingexperience. Television production was formallysplit off from the IMS in 1975 and given a sepa-rate identity as University Broadcasting and, in1976, University Telecommunications. In 1977,UT moved into its newly remodele4 headquartersin the Communication Arts Center (the formercampus school).

Campus radio operations were revived in 1968also when WSUS (later renamed WWSP) went onthe air on September 29 with a meager 10 watts ofpower. The station, 90 FM, as it became knownlocally, moved quickly to establish a place for itself.In the spring of 1969, the first trivia contest wasbroadcast to a small, mostly campus audience.Twenty-five years later, trivia had grown from itsoriginal 16 hours to 54 hours, and had becomewidely known and eagerly anticipated by thousandsof participants. In addition to trivia, the stationattempted to cater to student interests in music, with

contemporary rock and jazz,and in the mid1980s, itbegan the broadcast of Pointer hockey games. Asthe hockey program thrived, the station reaped thebenefits of its close association with that sport. Withits power increased considerably, the stationbecame, by the 1980s, a major player in the commu-nication business within Stevens Point and the sur-rounding community. A shared relationship withWisconsin Public Radio through station WLBL,started in 1986, ended in 1993 when the UWSPadministration rejected a combination of broadcastefforts which would have resulted in a significantreduction in WWSP’s local autonomy.

One development during the Dreyfus years forwhich the campus became known was the “weilness”concept brought to the campus in 1972. With theefforts of the Student Life Division and the persistentprodding of Gerhard W. (Bill) Hettler, who was hiredas a campus physician in 1972, the concept became,for a time, almost synonymous with UWSP. By themid-1970s, Hettler and staff employed a locally creat-ed Lifestyle Assessment Questionnaire as part of theuniversity’s promotion of a healthier lifestyle, and the

first National Wellness Conference washeld on the campus in 1976.

Dreyfus also encouraged the develop-ment of the Suzuki Institute on campus.Margery Aber who had retired from acareer as a string teacher for the DetroitPublic Schools, brought the Suzuki pro-gram to Stevens Point during the 1967-68academic year. Over the next 25 years,Aber and her successors made the campusthe North American center for Suzuki edu-cation, and twice brought the founder ofthe Suzuki method, Shinichi Suzuki, to thecampus. The mention of UWSP in manycorners of the U.S. evokes the associationof the campus with the Suzuki program.Well after her second retirement, Ms. Abercontinued to work with the annual summerSuzuki program on campus.

Although state and national concernsfor the education of minorities would gaingreater momentum later, the early begin-nings of programs aimed at increasing theeducational opportunities for minoritiesbegan during the time of Dreyfus’ chancel-WSUS-90FM on the air

lorship. The first real effort in thisdirection began in 1969, with the estab-lishment of the PRIDE (ProgramsRecognizing Individual Determinationthrough Education) office. Establishedto coordinate university services forculturally diverse students, PRIDE’smajor role on campus was as a supportunit for Native American students, thelargest group of minority students with-in the university’s service area. Otherefforts to ease the transition from highschool to college for minority studentsincluded Upward Bound and Ease-In,both programs overseen by PRIDE.PRIDE provided admissions assistance,financial aid counseling, advising, andtutoring. With help from NativeAmerican leaders such as Ada Deer andRobert Powless, the programs assistedabout 200 Native American youth dur-ing its first year.

Despite the fledgling PRIDE efforts,the campus was criticized by theNorth Central Association accredita-tion review team in its campus reportin 1970 for weak minority programs,particularly, according to the report,programs for African-Americans.Although the review team did recommend reac-creditation, its negative report concerning the roleof WSU-SP and minorities coupled with a 1971report entitled “The Black Student in theWisconsin State University System” which wasput out by the Wisconsin State Committee of theU. S. Commission on Civil Rights, did lead to aserious re-examination of the efforts and the roleof the campus in providing access and opportunityto the nation’s minority populations. (WSU-Stevens Point was not ~one, as all of the WSUcampuses were criticized by the latter report.)

As a result of these criticisms, Dreyfus created afaculty task force to investigate the situationregarding minority students on campus, and inJanuary, 1972, the task force recommended thatthe campus seek to recruit more minority studentsand to expand existing skills programs to helpinsure the retention of the recruited students. The

task force also called for the creation of a commu-nity wide human relations committee and forgreater attention to minority history, culture, andheritage in the university’s curriculum.

Other efforts were also made to improve theimage of the campus for minorities. Despite actionsby the Board of Regents intended to improve systemsupport for the recruitment and retention of minori-ties, and expanded efforts by PRIDE, only minimalchanges occurred. PRIDE’s work was cited in theNorth Central Accreditation team’s report in 1978 as“one of the institutional strengths” of the campus,but the fact remained that the number of minoritystudents remained low.

The issue of enrollment and retention of minori-ties was part of a nationwide debate about thecommitment of the nation’s academic communitiesto equal opportunity not only for minorities butalso for women, the handicapped, and other pro-

Margery Aber and Dr. Shinichi Suzuki

tected classes. Campus efforts in this area led tothe establishment of an Affirmative Action Officein 1973, and approval of an Affirmative ActionPlan by the faculty in 1974. These actions, cou-pled with those directed at minority studentrecruitment, succeeded in making the campusmore sensitive to the issues, but by the end of theDreyfus years, very little improvement was appar-ent in terms of minority enrollments, and the fac-ulty and staff remained mostly white and male.Major progress in this area would not come untiladditional efforts were undertaken during the late1980s and early 1990s.

The growth of the campus, so rapid during theearly 1960s, both in student numbers and buildings,continued during the Dreyfus administration. Fromabout 700 students in 1951 to just over 2,000 by theend of the Hansen presidency in 1962, the enroll-ment had risen rapidly and had reached 5,900 forthe fall term, 1967, Dreyfus’s first on the campus.During his chancellorship, that number rose sharplyat first, declined slightly from 1972-1974, and thenbegan to rise once more. By the end of the Dreyfusadministration in 1977, enrollment had climbed toover 8,900.

The enrollment declines between 1972-1974,coupled with inaccurate predictions of continueddecline, resulted in the layoff of several tenuredfaculty and the non-renewal of some non-tenuredfaculty and staff during the period. The layoffnotices were to become effective one year aftertheir issuance. In response to faculty pressures,the Board of Regents granted to ChancellorDreyfus a declaration of fiscal emergency for theStevens Point campus. This action “legalized” thelayoffs which had been given out. In summary, of27 persons who received such a notice at one timeor another, three were actually non-retained, threeresigned by agreement, two simply resigned, and19 were retained as tenured faculty, although in afew instances, after retraining or placement withina new department or other unit on the campus oron another campus. In retrospect, the wholeepisode appears to have been blown out of propor-tion, as the dire predictions for sharp enrollmentdeclines failed to materialize. For the 27 academi-cians who thought that their careers were about tocome to a sudden halt, it was not a minor incident,

however, and the damage to faculty morale lin-gered long after the immediate crisis had passed.

The dramatic expansion of campus facilities whichhad begun under President Hansen continuedthrough the mid-1970s. The initial focus of con-struction during the Dreyfus years was residencehalls to meet the needs of an expanding student pop-ulation. Three residence halls, already planned priorto Dreyfus’ arrival on campus, were dedicated in1968-Burroughs, Knutzen, Schmeeckle later, whenSchmeeckle’s name was placed on the reserve lands,that dorm was renamed Steiner Hall, and the formerSteiner Hall was renamed South Hall. The last ofthe residence halls built on campus were opened in1968 and 1969, with the opening of Watson andThomson Halls.

Academic buildings followed, with the Quandtaddition to the physical education facility, the FineArts Center, and the Albertson Learning ResourcesCenter all opening in 1970. In 1971, the College ofProfessional Studies building was completed andin 1973, the new facility for the College of NaturalResources was completed as was a major additionto the ten-year-old Science Building. The look ofthe campus also changed with the first of severaladditions to the University Center in 1972 and theconstruction of the Maintenance and MaterielBuilding in 1973.

Central to the educational mission of the campus,the Albertson Learning Resources Center opened in1970 with a declared philosophy of making allforms of educational media, including print andnon-print, freely accessible to all. The buildinghoused the University Library, a federal governmentpublications repository, a natural history museum, aself-instruction laboratory, a television studio, andother special collections and facilities. By combin-ing print and non-print materials and supported bythe latest in technology, Dean Frederich Krempleanticipated the development of a system of campuswide dial access retrieval of information, the devel-opment of a closed circuit television system, and thecomputerization of such library operations as acqui-sitions and circulation. These changes, he predicted,would “free the professional staff to concentrate onpolicy planning and improvement of resource serv-ices to the student and faculty patrons.” Much ofwhat Dean Kremple predicted did come to pass, but

Albertson Learnig Resources Center

Fine Arts Center

College of Natuaral Resources Building

College of Professional Studies Building

only after many years of budgetary difficulties, andnumerous debates over the direction that the LRCshould take. No one predicted a fifty-year life spanfor this library, and in a few short years a significantaddition to the building was needed and built.

The Fine Arts Center opened in 1970 although itwas not formally dedicated until 1971. Designed byWisconsin architect William P. Wenzler, the buildingfeatured the extensive use of precast concrete. Itcontained an art gallery, a theater later named inhonor of the first dean of the College of Letters andScience, Warren Jenkins, a concert hall named forPeter Michelsen, a large courtyard, numerousoffices, class and practice rooms.

The College of Natural Resources Buildingopened in 1973 sporting the energy-efficient andindestructible look of buildings planned and builtduring the energy crisis of the 1970s. In 1975, aproject to place a mosaic mural on the building’ssouth wall was begun. When completed in 1982, themural measured 53 by 150 feet, and contained286,000 two by two inch ceramic tiles. Designed byart professor Richard C. Schneider, the computer-translated ceramic mosaic was believed to be thelargest example of its kind in the United States.Images included in the mosaic were those directlylinked to the history of the state and the campus: thecupola of Old Main; historic Native Americanleader Black Hawk; the four seasons; the state bird,

flower, fish and deer; the Wisconsin River; andother scenes appropriate to campus, city, or state.All of the funds for the project (about $114,000)were provided through the UWSP Foundation, andvolunteers from campus and community providedmuch unpaid labor for the project.

In addition to buildings, the campus also expandedwith the addition and development of theSchmeeckle Reserve. The reserve, established onland acquired by the Board of Regents and theUWSP Foundation over a number of years, consistsof about 200 acres including a man-made lake, andserves as a nature conservancy, research and teach-ing laboratory, and public recreation area.Suggestions for developing a lake on the reservehad been made about six years before it actuallyoccurred. Creating a campus lake became morepractical when, in 1975, Sentry Insurance north ofcampus agreed to develop a 24-acre lake on theFoundation land in return for the sand it needed forits own project.

In 1976, Chancellor Dreyfus established a NorthCampus Planning and Utilization Committee of 14members and charged the committee with estab-lishment of guidelines and priorities for the devel-opment of the entire north campus area. Dean DanTrainer chaired the committee which was asked toconsider, among other possibilities, the develop-ment of a ski hill, tennis courts, a sports trail, and

Richard C. Schneider, designer of the computer-generated mosaic mural.

a possible site for a future chancellor’s residence.The committee’s focus, however, reflected anenvironmental rather than a recreational orienta-tion, and its final report submitted to Dreyfus inearly 1977 called for preservation of the wilder-ness and urged that the uses of the land be severe-ly limited. The committee also recommended athree-year moratorium on any development of theland until the lake had stabilized. Trainer’s person-al memo to the chancellor, sent separately fromthe official report, cautioned Dreyfus against cre-ating another “Jellystone Park.” Dreyfus’ responseindicated disappointment, frustration, and annoy-ance at the environmentalists. In his response toTrainer, he suggested that something in betweenthe two extremes ought to be possible.

In 1978 the Foundation donated its 50 acres to theuniversity and the university accepted nearly a quar-ter of a million dollars in Land and WaterConservation Fund grant money to set up the meas-ures needed to protect the area as a conservancy.The area named for Fred Schmeeckle thus became a

protected area in keeping with the mission of theCollege of Natural Resources.

A further step in the enhancement of the universi-ty’s environmental image came in 1975 with theestablishment of the Central WisconsinEnvironmental Station at Sunset Lake at the site ofCamp Chicagami, a Boy Scout camp leased by theUWSP Foundation. The center was ultimately desig-nated by the U.S. Department of the Interior as aNational Environmental Study Area, the first of itskind in Wisconsin.

One significant decision made during theDreyfus administration which would have a lastingimpact on the physical appearance of the campuswas the decision to renovate the central core ofOld Main. Opened in 1894 as the original campusbuilding, Old Main had been enlarged by the addi-tion of a west wing in 1901 and an east wing in1914. Although many changes and improvementshad been made over the years, the fact remainedthat it was an old building. Health and safety con-cerns had led to directives that the building’s upper

Man-made lake in Schmeekle Reserve.

floor not be used, a factor severely limiting whatcould be done with the facility. Various studiesconcluded that to save the building would be inef-ficient, and that the campus would be better served(and so, it was argued, would the taxpayer) withthe demolition of Old Main and its replacementwith a modern administrative building. The debateover what to do with Old Main continued through-out much of the Dreyfus period. The east and westwings of the building were ultimately razed in1979-80, but the center section-the original NormalSchool of 1894was saved. The long debate endedwith the decision to go ahead with a $2 millionrenovation project. Reoccupied in July, 1980, the“new” Old Main was formally rededicated inOctober of that year. Compromises between preser-vationists and those favoring the removal of theoriginal campus building were necessary to reachthis conclusion, as was the strong support fromarea legislators, William Bablitch and LeonardGroshek, and an apparent change of heart byChancellor Dreyfus. Dreyfus, originally convincedthe structure must go, would, ironically, later pre-side over the State Building Commission as gover-nor in 1979 when that body would give the renova-tion project its final approval.

The tradition of “shared governance” often men-tioned and occasionally disregarded by both facultyand administration, had begun to grow on the cam-pus with the stimulation provided by the variouscommittees and councils set up by PresidentAlbertson. The discussions of campus governanceusually got around to the question of whether or notthe governing ought to be done by the faculty as acommittee of the whole or through some sort of rep-resentative body or senate. Through the 1960s, sen-timent remained 6n the side of governance by acommittee of the whole, or, as its chief proponentsnoted, a “self-selected senate” composed of thosewith enough interest and initiative to becomeinvolved. A committee had been set up by PresidentAlbertson to investigate whether or not to changethe form of governance, but the committee was dis-solved after his death.

At a meeting of the faculty on January 8, 1970, asecond committee, established to review a possiblechange in governance, reported that although “thecreation of a Faculty Senate at this time is not

essential some reorganization is desirable.” Thefaculty then created a Constitutional RevisionCommittee which, after several months of work,concluded that some sort of senate organizationwas the best solution to the perception of ineffi-cient and ineffective faculty governance on cam-pus. A special faculty meeting was held onFebruary 24, 1972 and by a vote of 63 to 8, thefaculty adopted the committee’s recommendations,and an “unofficial” meeting of a newly elected sen-ate took place on May 15, 1972, to elect the firstofficers to preside over the new governing body.

On September 7, 1972, the process of sharedgovernance at UWSP changed when historyProfessor Frank W. Crow gaveled to order the firstofficial meeting of the UWSP Faculty Senate.Since that date, faculty governance has operatedwith a faculty (or university) senate which iselected at large and which elects its own presidingofficers. Membership in the senate is open to allfaculty and academic staff with half-time orgreater appointments. Students and classified staffwere later added to those eligible for service onsome of the committees established by the senate.A faculty constitution, regularly amended andupdated, is the operational document defining thework of the senate and its committees.° Curricular growth, building expansion, innovativeprograms, a new form of shared governance, facultylayoffs-all these formed part of the Dreyfus years. Inaddition, that period was the time in which the U.S.(and particularly many college campuses) agonizedover the nation’s involvement in the war in Vietnam.Consequently, when Dreyfus arrived on campus, heinherited a campus on which there was a growingopposition to the U.S. military presence in Vietnam.Weekly peace vigils of students, faculty, and towns-people, organized in 1966 by James Missey, anassistant professor of English along with others,continued outside the city’s post office. Other anti-war activities including discussion groups, pamphletdistributions, and such also continued.

Antiwar protests provided a severe test for Dreyfus’often professed belief in free speech and open cam-puses. As antiwar activities became intertwined withmovements for student rights, free speech, and aca-demic freedom, the Board of Regents moved to setlimits. Designed to prevent antiwar violence in the

Wisconsin State University System, the regents pro-hibited unauthorized student occupancy of campusbuildings and other acts of civil disobedience thatmight impede vehicle or pedestrian traffic, or, in anyway, interfere with instruction. Local officials wel-comed the rulings. State Senator (and former WSUpresident) William C. Hansen saw the measures asnecessary to “control” and to “discipline” studentactions. Dreyfus, himself, did not see the actions ofthe regents as a threat but rather as a compromisemeasure-prodding reluctant administrators to respondto excessive student actions while also offering guide-lines to prohibit excessive administrative restrictionson such activities.

On campus, the regent action was met with angerand with the formation of a local chapter of SDS,Students for a Democratic Society, which calledfor repeal of the Regents’ Code and for greater stu-dent participation in campus governance. SDS, anational student organization founded in June,1962, originally intent upon attacking the issues ofpoverty and racism, became a major symbol of the

war protest across the campuses of American col-leges and universities. Local chapters were formedat Wisconsin State University campuses at LaCrosse and Eau Claire in 1966 and 1967, but thepresidents of both campuses denied the requestsfor charters by the groups and the WSU Board ofRegents upheld these actions, with only RegentWilliams of Stevens Point voting “no.”

In May, 1967, a resolution was introduced at thegeneral faculty meeting by historian Robert Ziegerdeploring the actions of the presidents at La Crosseand Eau Claire, as well as the “prior censorship” ofthe board action. The faculty adopted the resolutionafter first removing some of its more inflammatorylanguage. Some faculty later suggested that it wasthe failure of acting President Gordon Haferbeckerto quash this resolution that led the regelits toappoint a new president who was “a little out of theordinary” later that fall.

In December, 1967, a group headed by studentPaul Capener, with English instructor William Lutzas faculty advisor, requested official recognition of

Meeting of the Faculty Senate chaired by Frank Crow (left on stage).

SDS on the Stevens Point campus. Student senateapproval of the request followed, but Dreyfus with-held his approval, pending court response to anaction against the president at La Crosse. In July,1968, Dreyfus finally took action effectively ban-ning SDS from the campus, acting on the basis ofRegent Resolution 3161 adopted in June which, asinterpreted by Eugene R. McPhee, the ExecutiveDirector of the WSU System, meant that SDS couldnot be recognized at any of the campuses of the sys-tem. During the fall of 1968, the faculty, the localchapter of AWSUF, and the student body all passedresolutions asking that the ban be overturned, but allto no avail. During the spring and summer of 1968,the local SDS chapter sponsored an undergroundcampus newspaper, protested the campus visit byVice President Hubert Humphrey, and demonstratedagainst the attempts to establish an Army ROTCunit on the campus.

Despite the decision denying a charter to SDS, theprotests continued as did the unpopular war inVietnam. A Vietnam Moratorium called for October15, 1969 was judged to be successful by its sponsors,as many on the campus responded to the call for a haltto “business as usual” and attended a teach-in to dis-cuss the war and its implications. About 500 persons,including Dreyfus, attended the teach-in. Additionalattempts to continue the activities of the moratoriumand teach-in contributed to further increases in thelevel of awareness on campus. About 300 persons par-ticipated in a march on the local draft board office in

March, 1970, and a sit-in at Nelson Hallfollowed the escalation of the war intoCambodia and the killing of four studentsby national guardsmen at Kent State inOhio, in May.

The sit-in targeted Nelson Hallbecause it had become the headquartersfor the Army ROTC unit on campus.Campus debates over the establishmentof such a unit mirrored those on othercampuses, with proponents arguing theneed for college trained “citizen soldiers”educated in the liberal arts tradition,while opponents argued that universitiesas symbols of free speech and expressionshould play no role in fostering furtherprofessional militarism. Although thefaculty had, somewhat reluctantly, voted

to sustain the application for a unit made prior toDreyfus’ arrival on campus, the student senate votedagainst it and The Pointer angrily denounced theaction of the faculty. The army approved the requestduring the fall of 1967, and after further facultydebate, the local curriculum was approved and theunit began its work in September, 1968.Subsequently, the local ROTC unit became a symbol-ic target for antiwar protestors during the remainderof the Vietnam War. Unfortunately for the protestmovement, the bombing of the Army Math ResearchCenter in Madison and the killing of an innocentresearcher caused many to reconsider their commit-ment to the protest movement. Although efforts per-sisted, and the weekly peace vigils continued unabat-ed, the campus gradually returned to a more normalatmosphere, and after the U.S. ended its active partic-ipation in the war in 1973, the weekly vigil recededfurther into the background as essentially the onlyremaining sign of the antiwar movement.

Throughout the years of tension, many urgedstronger measures. On the protest side, some spokelater of talk of burning down Nelson Hall (a sug-gestion sometimes attributed without evidence to“visiting students from Madison”), and there werereported efforts to set fire to Old Main as well.Meanwhile, Dreyfus was under almost constantpressure from local citizens as well as state anduniversity system officials to take stronger actionagainst those who were believed to be disruptive.

Protest march that lead to a sit-in at Nelson Hall in 1970.

William Stielstra, vice president for student affairs,personally supportive of much of the protest,argued strongly that the protestors should be treat-ed humanely, as students with valid societal criti-cisms who should be taken seriously so long asthey did not turn violent. Some years later, Dreyfusacknowledged the persuasiveness of the argumentsmade by Stielstra, and noted that it was contrary tosome of the more hard line advice he was receivingfrom others. Most of those interviewed later aboutthe difficult days of the antiwar protests voicedtheir basic approval of the handling of the inci-dents by those responsible on the campus.Likewise, the changing public attitude toward thatlong and costly war helped soften the image of theprotestors. Some criticism was aimed at local lawenforcement officials, but many of those inter-viewed praised the patience of the campus securityforces headed by Claude Aufdermauer.

A summary of the events of the Dreyfus yearswould not be complete without a discussion of therole of Dreyfus in the action of the legislature whichmerged the former Wisconsin State UniversitySystem with the University of Wisconsin System ashis role was very significant. The details of themerger, itself, have been recounted earlier (ChapterOne), but the role of Chancellor Dreyfus meritssome additional attention here.

Dreyfus was one of the original proponents ofthe merger of the state’s two university systems.Charging that the two systems were producing awasteful duplication of resources, Dreyfus attempt-ed to persuade both state officials and those facultyon his own campus who were dubious of the needfor merger. On campus, some worried openly aboutthe impact of such a change upon WSU-SP.Dreyfus attempted to reduce those concerns anduncertainties by noting the inequity of funding andsalaries between the two systems and the obviousbenefits that the expected fairer treatment within amerged system would produce. In so doing, he cre-ated an illusion among not only the faculty andstaff at WSU-SP but many others statewide thatmerger would end the distinctions in funding,salaries, and teaching workload between the twoformer competing systems. The failure of theBoard of Regents of the newly-merged Universityof Wisconsin System and of the legislature to pro-

vide the equity that many felt had been promisedwould lead to further discussion and division overthe issues of equitable funding and salaries. Muchof the acrimony that went with the debates over“catchup” pay during the 1980s could be directlytraced back to frustrated expectations of facultyand staff in the former WSU institutions.

Dreyfus’ strong stand in favor of merger, both onand off campus, put him in the forefront of themovement. As a personal friend of DemocratGovernor Patrick Lucey, he found himself in a posi-tion to influence the policy makers, and as a campusadministrator, he was able to put his own faculty inthe middle of the discussion. As indicated earlier,his role in the process was considerable.

As the movement toward merger gained momen-tum, on May 17, 1971, the faculty at WSU-StevensPoint voted 59-8 in favor, but added reservationsabout reviewing that decision when the final legisla-tive proposal was made public. The faculty, voicingmany of the concerns expressed by AWSUF and thefaculty on some of the other WSU campuses, urgedthat any merger legislation include the retention ofthe right of faculty governance; the maintenance ofseparate campus mission statements with adequatefunding to meet those separate missions; the reten-tion of local campus initiatives in making changesin campus missions; a guarantee of due process infaculty tenure decisions; and the assurance that stu-dent and faculty representatives and local chancel-lors all have access to the proposed new Board ofRegents. Successfully completed in 1971, the newUniversity of Wisconsin System (and a new UW-Stevens Point) became fully operational in 1974. Asrecounted in Chapter One, the role of ChancellorDreyfus and Stevens Point’s Regent Mary Williamswere substantial in this process.

Shortly before leaving the chancellorship tomake his successful run for governor in 1978,Dreyfus was asked by Governor Lucey to indicatewhat he believed had been the benefits and the dis-appointments of merger. In his reply, Dreyfusnoted several successes, including a greater equityin salary and work load, fairer hiring procedures,more equitable funding and an increase in prestigeand status for the former WSU campuses. At thetop of his list was the preservation and clarificationof the institutional mission statements which,

Dreyfus felt, had eliminated much of the unneces-sary and costly institutional competition in pro-gram development. Dreyfus’ list of items whichwere most disappointing to him included the con-tinued allegation of institutional bias and elitismregarding the acceptance of transfer credits withinthe system, the poor distribution of students, andthe increase (as opposed to the anticipateddecrease) of system staff personnel. He also indi-cated that two of the expected limitations of merg-er had, indeed, proved such: the loss of some cam-pus autonomy, and an excessive amount of paperwork particularly that associated with data collec-tion in the name of “accountability.” On the whole,not surprisingly, Dreyfus proclaimed that merger ofthe two university systems had been a major tri-umph for higher education in Wisconsin.

The period of the chancellorship of Lee ShermanDreyfus saw the campus mature in numerousways. A time of campus turmoil, not unlike that onmany other university campuses, had been experi-enced and survived. Program and building changescontinued, it seemed, almost unabated. The growthin student enrollment, though experiencing a slightdownturn in 1972 and a larger one in 1973,resumed by 1975, and continued upward until thenext decade when systematic efforts would bemade to control the enrollment on all campuses ofthe UW System. The agonies of the faculty layoffsprecipitated by the downturn in 1972-73 createdsome difficult times for Dreyfus and the campus.The advent of the modern electronic campus,though far from what it would later become, reallybegan to have an impact during this period.Curricular and academic maturity, including a newstrength in international programming, movedahead during the time of Dreyfus’ chancellorshipat UWSP. In short, what Dreyfus began asWisconsin State University-Stevens Point becamethe University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point in fact,as well as in name, during his chancellorship.

Athletics, for both men and women, moved for-ward also during the 1970s. The football team, somewhat quiet since the days of Coach DuameCounsell, made news under the leadership of CoachMonte Charles. “The aerial circus,” as Charles’passing game became known, came to UWSP in1973, and although the team’s record was a modest

three wins and five losses in his first season at thehelm, the passing offense was ranked number oneby the NAIA. With Reed Giordana at quarterback,the Pointers were a threat to go deep or score onvirtjially every play. Giordana, the most prolific pro-ducer of yardage in Pointer history with 10,665yards, led the team to a conference championshipand a national playoff bid in 1977

Hockey emerged from its lowly status as a clubsport and became a varsity sport in 1974, but lack ofneighboring teams to schedule and the ultimate clos-ing of the Iceodrome led to the discontinuance ofthe sport in 1976. It was restored as a varsity sportin 1981 when the new community facility, theKenneth B. Willett Arena, was opened. Rebuildingthe sport proved difficult, and the team struggled forthe first few years of its renewed existence. It wouldtake coaching changes and time for the program tomature. By the end of the decade of the 1980s, thehockey program had become the premier programamong nonscholarship schools nationally.

Basketball, with conference championships in1960-61 and 1968-69, also changed when the reign-ing Wisconsin high school “Coach of the Year,”Dick Bennett from Eau Claire Memorial, wasnamed to succeed the retiring Bob Krueger in 1976.Bennett’s style included a smothering defense thatquickly led the Pointers to national recognition.Again, it took some time to build a program to playthe style of game that Bennett employed, but withina few years, the team responded with a series ofconference titles and NAIA tournament appearancesin the 1980s.

Women’s athletics also gained momentum duringthe Dreyfus years, partly in response to federalrequirements for equal access for women. A numberof programs for women were either started or givenmore visibility during the 1960s. A sh6rt-livedwomen’s gymnastics program began, as did longerlasting programs in tennis, swimming, field hockey,softball, and track and field. All of these, with theexception of field hockey, have continued to devel-op and most have reached very successful levels.

Until the appearance of Title IX, which requiredmore equitable treatment between athletic and otherprograms for men and women, little systematicattempt bad been made to provide equality. Astatewide intercollegiate track and field meet was

held at River Falls in 1965 which is believed tohave been the first such meet for women. In the fallof 1970, those interested in further development ofwomen’s sports met and formed an organizationwhich became known as the Women’s.Intercollegiate Athletic Association (WWIAO).From that point on, more information is available asthe new conference required that each institutionkeep better rec6rds In the early years of theWWIAC, UWSP won state championships in soft-ball in 1972, and in track and field in 1976.Volleyball received a berth in the national finals inCalifornia in 1979, the first such appearance for awomen’s team from UWSP.

Reviewing the situation in 1977, the outgoing andincoming women’s athletic directors acknowledgedthe growth in field hockey, tennis, swimming, vol-leyball, basketball, and track and field, all of whichinvolved about 250 women. Yet, they also agreedthat athletic programs for women were still notequal to those for men in such fundamental areas asfunding, publicity, and access to facilities. Efforts inthese directions were continued throughout the1980s but by the time of the university’s centennial,still were not completed.

As reported by accreditation reviews during the1970s, the campus made positive strides in mostareas. Reaccredited by the North CentralAssociation in 1970, the campus was cited as hav-ing numerous strengths, but also several weakness-es. Among those were high faculty teaching work-loads, particularly in those departments offeringboth graduate and undergraduate courses; inade-quate clerical help for departments; budgetary con-trols which restricted departmental flexibility; a lackof technicians to service the new electronics oncampus; overcrowded residence halls; inadequatestudent health center staffing; low numbers ofminority students; and, a lack of adequate studentinput into campus governance.

Many of the concerns noted in the 1970 report hadbeen addressed by the time of the next visit byNorth Central in 1977. Again, accreditation wasgranted. The review team stated that the overall edu-cational climate of the campus was “most positive,”citing in particular the enhanced physical facilities,campus collegiality, forceful administrative leader-ship, significant academic planning, the internation-

al program opportunities, and an excellent faculty.The team indicated that most of the negatives con-tained in the 1970 report had been addressed satis-factorily, though it noted that student participation incampus governance was still limited.

The North Central Report in 1977 might beviewed as a report card for the Dreyfus administra-tion. If so, the grades would seem to have been quitesatisfactory. At least, that is what the chancellor andhis administrative team concluded.

For Dreyfus, himself, ever restive in his pursuit ofnew challenges, the time appeared right to take on anew role. In the fall of 1977 he announced that hewould seek the Republican nomination for governorthe next year, and requested and received from theBoard of Regents a leave without pay to make thecampaign. Successful in that endeavor, first defeat-ing highly favored Robert Kasten in the Republicanprimary and then defeating the incumbent actingGovernor Martin Schreiber, he took the oath ofoffice in January of 1979, being sworn in on thefront steps of UWSP’s Old Main.

When Dreyfus was granted a leave of absence in1978, Vice Chancellor John B. Ellery was namedacting chancellor on April 17, 1978. With previousservice as assistant to Dreyfus, as a dean, and in sev-

Quarterback Reed Giordana

eral leadership roles on the campus, Ellery was veryknowledgeable about the campus. Consequently,while serving in the role of acting chancellor, Elleryviewed himself as the legitimate campus head andnot as a caretaker. His administrative agenda waslarge, and he involved himself directly in importantuniversity business such as budget planning anddecision making. Fiscal constraints and projectedenrollment declines in the 1980s (declines whichnever materialized) suggested the need for carefulcampus planning. As an early advocate for improvedfaculty salaries, Ellery anticipated the clarion callsof later Chancellors Marshall and Sanders on thisissue. He noted that the salaries of faculty at UWSPwere among the lowest of the former WSU campus-es, and he stated that “the greatest threats to [highquality faculty]... are found in the areas of equitablesalary and tenure... There’s no way of maintainingquality education without offering equitable salariesand providing appropriate job security.”

Among the other items on the acting chancellor’sagenda were the recruitment of more black students;furthering the plans for the addition to the LearningResources Center (the addition was completed in1985-86); securing approval for an addition to thephysical education facilities (the HealthEnhancement Center did not open until 1990); fur-thering the mural project on the Natural ResourcesBuilding (completed in 1982); and working on theongoing effort to save and remodel the center sec-tion of Old Main (done 1979-80). Seeking the chan-

cellorship on a permanent basis, he pro-ceeded as if there would be no interrup-tion in leadership. Consequently, hedecided to continue the planned searchfor a new graduate dean, and in January,1979, he appointed a Special Advisor tothe Chancellor to head the AffirmativeAction office.

Behind the activist role pursued byJack Ellery was his belief that he wasthe most logical candidate to assume thepermanent position. With Dreyfus’selection as governor, Ellery applied forthe position of chancellor. He believedthat his strengths included his knowl-edge of UWSP, of the UW System, andof state government, and he was inter-ested in serving. He told a reporter for

The Pointer that “If I didn’t think I was the bestqualified candidate I wouldn’t have applied for thejob, and though it is possible that someone elsemight get the job, I think it would be a terrible mis-take not to give me the job permanently.”

Two major developments occurred on campuswhile Ellery awaited the decision by the searchcommittee and the Board of Regents. A grant of$88,000 (subject to annual review) led to the estab-lishment of the Native American Center which hadas its function the coordination of services forWisconsin’s Indian tribes. In announcing the grantin January, 1979, Ellery explained that the centerwould be a clearinghouse “so institutions of highereducation, agencies and organizations can shareresources to better serve Native Americans in theirvarious expressions of self-determination.”Specifically, the center would attempt to draw uponthe expertise of the UW System, the vocationalschools, private colleges, and agencies dedicated toNative American affairs. The center would benefitUWSP by involving faculty and professional sup-port staff in instructional and other programs associ-ated with Native American projects.

The second major development involved Ellery’sannouncement in July, 1979, of a campuswide cam-paign to improve basic student reading and writingskills. The project was an outgrowth of a two-yearstudy by a Student Literacy Task Force which hadbeen appointed by Dreyfus in 1977. Ellery stated

Lee Dreyfus being sworn in as governor by Judge James Levi on the front steps of Old Main.

that the program would undertake “the most aggres-sive attack on literacy problems that has been takento date in Wisconsin higher education.” Elleryregretted the need for such a massive program ofremedial assistance but refused to assign blame toeither the high schools or to UWSP. “The simplefact is,” he said, “that the problem exists and it ismore important now to provide a solution thanestablish the blame.”

Illustrative of the significant progress toward trueshared governance, one of the results of merger, acampus search and screen committee headed by his-tory professor Justus Paul, was assigned the task ofimplementing the search for candidates and screen-ing the applicants. Ultimately, the committee sub-mitted its unranked list of six finalists for the chan-cellorship to the Board of Regents late in the springof 1979. Although Ellery’s name was among thenames submitted, the selection committee of theBoard of Regents bypassedthe acting chancellor and recommended to the fullboard that Philip R. Marshall, executive vice presi-dent of Eastern Washington State University atCheney, be named as the next chancellor of UWSP.Philip Marshall assumed the office on September 4,1979, and Ellery returned to his most recent formerposition as Vice Chancellor for Academic Affairs.

John B. Ellery

Philip R. Marshall was appointed chancellor of theUniversity of Wisconsin-Stevens Point in July of1979 and assumed his duties on September 1. Aphysical chemist by training, he became UWSP’sfirst leader with an academic background in science.

During his 10 years as chancellor, Marshallfocused his efforts on several specific areas of cam-pus and faculty improvement. Much of his effortwent into the struggle to improve faculty salaries notonly at UWSP but throughout the University ofWisconsin System. In the area of academic and pro-gram development, he made two major decisions.During his first full year as chancellor, he supportedcampus efforts to take a leadership role in studentwriting programs. And, in 1986, he made the deci-sion to move the campus into a frontline position inthe development of computing.

Marshall’s style, unlike that of his predecessor orsuccessor, was to work closely on campus with theday-to-day management of the institution. With hisfull support, UWSP became a leader in all of the areasmentioned above: its leadership was the most vocaland consistent voice in the struggle to restore facultysalaries to a competitive level; secondly, the campusbecame known as a Center of Excellence in Writing;and, thirdly, statewide envy followed the quick acqui-sition of computers made available to any facultymember who chose to have one. Marshall’s participa-tory style made him (along with his wife, Helen) high-ly visible at most campus activities. This was particu-larly true in the case of athletics, where his stronginterest was evident by his presence and support forthat program at UWSP. This interest, along with thechancellor’s encouragement and assistance to studentswho helped guarantee state support for the building ofthe Health Enhancement Center, was a significant fac-tor in the decision to dedicate the new center, whichopened in 1990, to Phil and Helen Marshall.

Chapter 10

The Marshall Years - 1979-1989

Marshall’s role in the struggle to enhance facultysalaries was so crucial that it is appropriate to dealwith that issue first. In his first formal address toUWSP’s faculty, Marshall noted that the tasks fac-ing the university included the need to prepare fordemographic changes, including the projecteddecline in the number of students. Other concernsvoiced by the new chancellor included the follow-ing needs: to actively apply affirmative action tothe hiring of faculty and staff, and to the recruit-ment and retention of minority students; to

Chancellor Philip R. Marshall, 1979-1989

improve the knowledge of all students (and facul-ty) in the rapidly-changing area of computing; todevelop a sense of community and commitment toimprove the quality of the university community;and, to work toward the improvement of thesalaries of UWSP’s faculty. He noted that thosesalaries were the lowest among the UW Systemcampuses and although he acknowledged thatsomeone always had to be last, he suggested thatnow “it’s someone else’s turn!”

Anticipating the fight that lay ahead on thesalary issue, Marshall quickly displayed his abilityto deal with numbers by noting that UWSP had“the lowest average for full professors and thelowest average for associate professors. We arenext to last for instructors, one higher than that forassistant professors. Yet one thing we apparentlydo not do is to go to Madison and demand our fairshare.” That posture changed during Marshall’syears as chancellor.

Marshall explained that over the years a conserva-tive hiring approach at the campus had resulted insalaries which fell below those of other UW institu-tions. Where efforts were made to alter the systemof hiring, the entire operation was so ingrained thatchange had proved to be very difficult. The resultwas that in 1979 the average starting salary for newfaculty at UWSP was $1,300 below the averagestarting salary for the “university cluster” campuses(the former WSU campuses, and Parkside andGreen Bay). Marshall noted that one year earlierthat average had been $1,100 lower and two yearsprior it had been only $900 lower.

Throughout his tenure as chancellor, Marshallcarried on the fight for improvement of facultysalaries. Although his original effort had beenaimed at the betterment of salaries at UWSP, hesoon became convinced that the entire system hada salary problem and that the solution to UWSP’sproblem would be possible only through a system-wide improvement of salaries. Consequently, hebecame the champion not only for local salariesbut for those of all of the UW System campusesAfter his retirement, two fellow chancellors pri-vately praised the leadership shown by Marshall on this issue, and one acknowledged that he hadnot received the support he deserved from his col-leagues in the other chancellors’ offices.)

Reflecting his belief that the solution to UWSP’ssalary woes lay in a system solution, most ofMarshall’s subsequent pronouncements followed thattack. He argued repeatedly that the quality of the UWSystem had suffered with the erosion of salaries andthat it would be restored only when the buying powerof the faculty and staff had been restored. In a letter toUW System President Robert O’Neil, Marshall point-ed out the depth of the problem locally and appliedthe implications to all of the campuses. He noted thatthe campus was having difficulty hiring and retainingfaculty in several fields due to the laws of the marketplace and stated that “If we raise the starting salariesfor new faculty, we create inequities within thosedepartments. The older faculty with lower salaries can(and do) easily go out on the market and obtain higheroffers... . Our only solution is to redirect base funds tothose areas with the greatest need.”

In 1981, Marshall argued that the quality of the fac-ulty of the University of Wisconsin System was beingeroded. He wrote that “The number and quality of thestudents being attracted to a professional career inacademe is decreasing and current faculty who havestrong records of achievement and excellence arechoosing to leave the university.” He noted that at thesame time the university was failing to be an attractivecareer choice for quality students, current faculty wereleaving to accept positions in industry and govern-ment. As an example, he remarked that UWSP hadrecently lost half of its computer science faculty toother institutions offering greater salaries.

Salaries, stated Marshall, were the prime source ofcareer dissatisfaction among the faculty. He noted that“the decline in purchasing power for faculty was realand the disparity between what was being received byfaculty members and those in other vocations hadattained alarming proportions.” Moreover, the declineat the University of Wisconsin System was consider-ably greater than the decline nationally and the dispar-ity was larger. He commented that while “facultysalaries [at UWSP] increased by only 45.3 percent”between 1972 and 1981, “the CPI [Consumer PriceIndex] increased by 100 percent” resulting in a loss ofbuying power for faculty of 27.3 percent.

In a paper titled “Legislative Intent Negated,Faculty Salaries Slashed,” Marshall argued that themethod of salary control used in the University ofWisconsin System was not equitable because a con-

trol was applied to individuals rather than to theirpositions. Therefore, “when salary increases arecontrolled in terms of a given percentage of salaryfor continuing employees, the same percentageincrease will not result in equal treatment for vari-ous employee groups.” According to Marshall,while the period noted had resulted in an actualsalary loss of 33 percent for faculty, it would take a50 percent increase to return them to salary levels of1972. The problem, he suggested, directly affectedmorale by leaving the faculty with no anticipation ofhigher salaries while experiencing a continuingdecline in purchasing power.

In addition to his criticism of the methodology ofsalary control, Marshall was also critical of attemptsto create equity by means of peer group compar-isons, particularly “loaded” peer groups. For theUW cluster institutions, the chosen peer group was alocal peer group which eliminated higher payinginstitutions on the East and West coasts. In otherwords, the cluster institutions were not being com-pared with all comparable institutions with whichthey were actively competing for quality faculty.Nor were nonacademic competitors being taken intoconsideration. Marshall’s analysis of this methodwas clear: he suggested that “Efforts to constructpeer groups seem to be of questionable value sincepeer group comparisons are of dubious validity....Such comparisons do not take into account thetremendous losses suffered by these peer groups andthe fact other universities constitute only a part ofthe competition for faculty members.”

In response to the efforts of Marshall and others,the UW System administration unveiled a plan forpay raises in 1984 totaling $190 million for facultyand academic staff. The plan included nearly $45million in “catch-up pay,” an inclusion which set offmany months of internecine quarreling between thecluster institutions, the center campuses, and the twodoctoral institutions. The original plan proposed bysystem administration was to grant catch-up increas-es of 15 percent for Madison and the center campus-es, 11 percent for Milwaukee, and 9 percent for thecluster campus faculties (up from an early trial bal-loon proposal of 4 percent for the cluster campusfaculties). Angered by the original suggestion thatonly 4 percent was needed for the cluster campusfaculties, UWSP’s faculty reacted to the official pro-

posal as did the other cluster campus faculties, byfinding it unacceptable. Faculties from the formerstate university system campuses argued that thetiered proposal being suggested would not solve thesalary problem at UWSP and the other campuses,but would, instead, contribute to an even greater dis-parity within the system.

In addition to the regular administrative pay plan,the Board of Regents and Governor Anthony Earlendorsed a catch-up package as indicated above.The Faculty Senate at UWSP joined others in thecluster in urging support for a compromise packageproviding a catchup split of 15-12-10 percent.Ultimately, and after many months of frustratingbargaining between the various parties, the planwhich finally emerged compared favorably with thatproposed as a compromise. The results of these dis-cussions, however, split the system badly, andcaused much legislative and public resentmentagainst the dissatisfied faculties.

Marshall’s unrelenting commitment to facultysalary enhancement stemmed from his belief thatlow faculty salaries were the major contributing fac-tor to the problems of higher education. In “HigherEducation at Risk,” he noted that faculty membersat UWSP received only 44 percent of the amountearned by comparable professionals in business andindustry in 1984, down from a 68 percent level in1972-73. This led him to ask: “Can we really expectto compete for such professionals in the future? Canwe expect to interest students in graduate work andcollege teaching with the certain knowledge thatthey would earn significantly less after several yearsof further study than they could immediately withonly a baccalaureate degree?”

There is no question that faculty were discouragedand concerned about their salaries. Governor Earl,elected with the support of many UWSP facultymembers, had succeeded in getting a biennial budg-et passed for 198384 and 1984-85 which providedfor no salary increase in 1983-84 and a 3.84 percentincrease for 1984-85. Earl, who met with facultyleaders around the state in an attempt to convincethe faculties of the appropriateness of his action,succeeded instead in generating even greater facultyanger. An illustration of the faculty’s outrage overthe governor’s “zero percent” pay plan was anadvertisement placed in the Wall Street Journal by a

number of UWSP faculty. The ad read: “Professors -Many professionals in all academic disciplines areavailable for an honest wage at universities withcommitment to quality education. Contact depart-ment chairs at University of Wisconsin campuses.”The ad was not well received by UW System staff,members of the Board of Regents, the governor, ormembers of the legislature.

A faculty survey taken at UWSP indicated that 79percent of the respondents suggested that the pay situ-ation had caused them to be less effective. Facultymembers refused to take on any “extra” duties: profes-sors refused student requests for independent study orresearch projects; advising of any other than thoseassigned directly to the faculty member was rejected;faculty committees went begging for members.Overall, about two-thirds of those responding to thesurvey said they were pessimistic about the future ofhigher education and more than 30 percent said theywould actively seek alternative employment.

The next biennial budget included the catch-uppackage described earlier, but did little to diminishthe sense of frustration the faculties felt toward thegovernor and others. In an attempt to rectify somespecific past inequities, the 1985-86 compensationpackage did provide an additional sum for the facul-ties at UWSP, UW-Stout, and UW-River Falls, thosewith the greatest historical salary disparities. A 6percent salary increase was approved along with thecatch-up plan which was to be phased in with threeinstallments over the biennium. Four categories ofconsideration for distribution of the catch-up paywere required, including one for meritorious per-formance. Before a faculty member could receiveany catch-up pay, his/her department first had todeclare the individual to be “meritorious.” Thosedenied catch-up on this basis later filed grievancesagainst the individual department or the university,and in those cases brought to completion, most ulti-mately received back pay.

With all of the grief that attended the “catchup”crisis, the most unfortunate aspect was that the solu-tion was at best a stopgap measure. Failing to followthrough with adequate pay raises for the long-term,the system began to backslide competitively almostimmediately. Other states gave salary increases inthe next few years that offset much of the gain madeby catch-up in Wisconsin.

Marshall did not relax his efforts to improve facul-ty salaries. As evidence of the need for continuedimprovements, he noted that funding for K-12schools in the state, financed primarily by local prop-erty taxes, continued apace, as did that for vocationaleducation. He also pointed out that when comparingUW-Madison, a world-class research institution, withother well-known tax-supported research institutions,only two were more poorly funded. He observed thatwhile local taxpayers, albeit reluctantly, were moregenerous with K-12 funding, legislators worked tokeep state taxes down, thus funding the UW Systempoorly. Marshall’s frustrations with the state and theUW System over salary equity led ultimately to hisdecision to retire early. He announced his plans toresign as chancellor on January 6, 1989, commentingthat he did not want to go through another bleak leg-islative session and witness further erosion of theinstitution’s support. Some system officials werepleased with Marshall’s decision, as they had foundhim much more resistant to capitulation or compro-mise on this one issue than they had expected. Someof those close to the scene later suggested that mem-bers of the Board of Regents had put pressure onMarshall to resign, but that has never been acknowl-edged. It is clear that he was frustrated with what heperceived to be a lack of interest in equitable fundingshown by system officials and the Board of Regents.Marshall indicated his own unhappiness with thelevel of success achieved in this area in an interviewfor the centennial project. In that interview, he restat-ed his belief in the importance of the salary equityissue, stating that “I am reasonably certain that youcannot continue this level of funding and maintainthe quality” of the educational system.

Although Marshall left without seeing his numberone concern fully resolved, he did leave behind acampus and a system much more aware of the prob-lems facing higher education in the area of fundingand faculty morale. He challenged both his own fac-ulty and his administrative superiors to look realisti-cally at the situation which had been created by manyyears of benign neglect and greater concern for thetax rate than for the quality of higher education in thestate. And, he provided much of the ammunition usedby all of those involved in this struggle. As he hadcommented early in his chancellorship, “I have a tal-ent for looking at numbers and recognizing relation-

ships other people have trouble with.” Marshall’snumbers became the source of arguments by many ofthe parties to this controversy. And, those numberswere seldom challenged directly. His mathematicswas never an issue; his ability to compromise as agood team player sometimes was, at least in theminds of some.

Assessing his other achievements as chancellorin an interview taped for the centennial, Marshallmentioned his support for the improvement ofbasic skills in writing and mathematics. Upon hisarrival at the campus, he found the recommenda-tions of a UW System Task Force on Basic Skillsdirected at the evaluation of the writing, reading,and math skills of incoming students. The responseof UWSP to the recommendations of the task forcecame quickly: a group of faculty was sent to theUniversity of Michigan to study that school’s pro-gressive program for improving student literacy; afreshman writing assessment program was institut-ed at UWSP to require all incoming students towrite an essay which was to be evaluated forplacement purposes; an experimental reading andwriting module program was begun which offeredfaculty across the campus an opportunity to teamup with a member of the English Department in theinterests of improving student literacy; publicschool teachers and administrators and campusrepresentatives were invited to a language arts conference on the subject of student literacy; alocal literacy board was established; a vehicle forencouraging faculty writing, “Faculty Forum,” wasestablished; and, in 1982, a $100,000 grant fromthe Mellon Foundation helped establish the WritingAcross the Curriculum program which trained par-ticipating faculty members to add a writing compo-nent to their classes in all academic areas.Ultimately, the faculty adopted a requirement thatall students must complete two of these “writingemphasis” (WE) courses as part of the generaldegree requirements for graduation from UWSP.

“Every teacher is a teacher of writing” was theessence of the approach of the campus to theimprovement of writing. High school teacherswere encouraged to become writing teachers,regardless of discipline, and with the WE pro-gram, many UWSP faculty with training in manydifferent academic fields also became writing

teachers. The success of the program with the highschools brought early benefits, as the number ofentering freshmen needing remedial Englishdeclined significantly.

Changes in student placement in math coursesalso were made. In the fall of 1982, lower divisionmath courses through the levels of analytic geome-try and calculus were offered for two credits insteadof four, and the courses were offered in eight-weeksegments rather than the traditional 16 weeks.According to the Institutional Self-Study developedfor the North Central accreditation visit in 1987, theresult of these changes was that “the student is bet-ter able to be assigned to the proper course leveldetermined by the entrance test and by more effec-tive counseling without having to take eight weeksof familiar material.” Another benefit was that astudent who fared poorly in an eight-week mathcourse would be able to repeat that course duringthe second half of a semester rather than losing anentire semester of work.

While there was considerable debate with respectto the merits of the salary packages discussed, andsome spirited campus debate over the WE program,there was virtually no debate regarding the merit ofMarshall’s interest in bringing computing to thecampus. With help from the U.S. Department ofEducation in the form of a Title III grant in 1983which helped stimulate computer literacy andawareness, and a couple significant grants fromAT&T, the campus made a quantum leap into dis-tributive computing in 1986-87. With the support ofAT&T, the installation of microcomputer labs in allmajor academic buildings began, and workshopswere held to train university employees at all lev-els. With help from the telecommunications giant, adecision was made to link the campus through adistributive network rather than via a mainframecomputing environment. Grants from AT&T provid-ed some equipment and the ability to replace theuniversity’s telephone system with an InformationSystems Network, a fiber optic based, local areanetwork for voice, data, and video transmission.UWSP became a beta site for AT&T, which meantthat the campus would be used for test program-ming and as a showcase campus. All areas of thecampus were included in the plans to make the uni-versity ‘’computer literate.”

As a result of arrangements with AT&T, and theenthusiastic support of Chancellor Marshall, depart-ments were offered a chance to purchase computersfor all faculty offices at an incredibly low price, inthe chancellor’s words, of “less than $500.”Departments eagerly responded and the campus veryquickly established itself as a leader in computingwithin the UW System. Workshops in word process-ing programs, spreadsheet usage, and most otherfacets of computing were held for the next severalyears. Faculty attended the workshops in significantnumbers, and the computers were quickly put to use,much to the surprise of some traditionalists who hadargued that most faculty would never turn them on!

The Marshall years were years that brought contin-ued growth in enrollment but a decline in funding, afactor in the salary discussions covered earlier, butwith implications for the overall management of thecampus. Enrollment at UWSP reached 9,497 in thefall of 1985, in line with record numbers at most ofthe UW System campuses. Budget stringencies led toa decision in 1986 to begin a program of “enrollmentmanagement,” to attempt to limit and control theenrollment at the various campuses within the system.At UWSP, enrollment was targeted for controlledreduction, and the campus set tighter admissions stan-dards in an effort to control enrollment and raise thequality level of the student body as well. New fresh-men were required to place in the upper 50 percent oftheir high school graduating class or earn at least a 21on the ACT (American College Testing) exam.Enrollment peaked in the fall of 1986 at 9,555, andthen declined as scheduled to 9,388 in 1987, 9,318 in1988, and 8,878 in the fall of 1989. The enrollmentmanagement program was extended for an additionalthree years and was, at the time of this writing, beingreviewed for a clear sense of direction for 1995 andafter, a time when additional students were expectedto apply for admission.

Despite rising enrollment during the first half ofthe Marshall era, federal support for student assis-tance declined. Student debt, long a problem,became a much more serious one for many studentsas the decade progressed.

One consequence of the budgetary stringenciesof the 1980s was a decline in the pace of thebuilding and remodeling of campus facilities. Anexpansion project for the Albertson Learning

Chancellor Marshall with computers aquired with AT&T grant.

Resources Center, which cost about $8,300,000,was the major effort during the early 1980s.Completed by the fall semester of 1986, theAlbertson Center was expanded by the addition oftwo side wings and an entirely new sixth floorplaced over the existing structure. Remarkably,there was almost no loss of library service duringthe entire construction period. While the projectincluded much new library equipment, a majorchange in the way the library provides patronaccess was completed in 1988 when a six-year

effort to replace the card catalog with computerterminals was finished. Nearly all of the previous-ly cataloged materials were converted to the newonline system.

Construction of a $2 million paper science addi-tion to the Science Building occurred in 1988, thesame year in which the previously refurbished OldMain building received a new roof. In 1989, a FireScience Center was developed and approval forthe long sought Health Enhancement Center wasfinally granted. Otherwise, construc-tion projects were limited to those sup-ported by non-state funds. Treehaven,UWSP’s natural resources facility nearTomahawk, built on land donated tothe UWSP Foundation by Jacques andDory Vallier, and supported by fundsprovided by the Valliers, was devel-oped to include a classroom building, alodge, faculty housing, and two studenthousing units. Used primarily by natu-ral resource students, the facility hasalso been used by faculty and othersfor workshops and retreats. During thissame period, the Schmeeckle ReserveVisitor Center was opened in 1985closer to the campus. And, the mosaicmural project, directed by ProfessorRichard Schneider, was completed in

1982 with the attachment of the286,000 two-inch square tiles to thesouth exterior wall of the College ofNatural Resources Building.

Long a leader in the wellnessapproach to health and lifestyles, stu-dents, faculty, and administration hadmade combined efforts to convince thelegislature to provide funding for aphysical education wellness recreationfacility for several years, with little suc-cess. After a number of setbacks anddelays, and with a student commitmentto pay up to 30 percent of the cost, thelegislature finally gave the green lightfor the project in 1987, and constructionbegan in September of 1989. WhenChancellor Marshall announced hisintention to retire at the end of the fallsemester, 1988-89, a decision was made

on campus to dedicate this planned new facility tohim and his wife and partner, Helen, in a show ofappreciation for his support for the project as wellas the Marshalls’ joint and enthusiastic support forboth men’s and women’s sports. The dedication wasannounced at a special “going away” celebrationheld to commemorate the pending retirement.

With fiscal retrenchment and enrollment manage-ment, less effort was expended on program develop-

Albertson Learning Resources Center after $8.3 million expansion

Paper Science wing on the southwest corner of the Science Building.

ment. Yet, several significant changesdid occur during this period. A major incomputer information systems wasapproved in 1983; programs in homeeconomics were redirected into two newdivisions of human development andnutritional sciences and fashion andinterior design; a major in public admin-istration and policy was begun as was aminor in women’s studies.

In addition to the traditional academ-ic programs, several new service pro-grams were also initiated. Among thesewere programs for Gifted and TalentedEducation, Youth in College, CollegeDays for Kids, and, the campusbecame the state center for theOdyssey of the Mind program.

In 1980, the campus was asked towork with the UW Center Campus atBaraboo to provide an educational program for thefederal penitentiary at Oxford. As a result, UWSPbecame the degree-granting home for a limitednumber of students who sought a bachelor’s degreewhile at that federal facility. Because of the travelinvolved and other limitations, the program wasdeveloped as an individually planned major withmost of the courses offered in psychology, businessadministration, and sociology. The two-yearBaraboo Center campus provided the basic coursesfor general education purposes.

An English Language Institute was established in1983-84 in an effort to facilitate academic successamong foreign students. The program, housed in theStudent Life Division, provided basic Englishinstruction for a number of students during the next10 years. In 1993, the program was changed andplaced under the jurisdiction of the EnglishDepartment and renamed the English for ForeignStudents program. The training of teachers to teachEnglish as a second language continued within theDepartment of Foreign Languages.

A Weekend College with an associate degree pro-gram was established in 1982 in an attempt toattract and retain Native American students. Theprogram, administratively housed in the NativeAmerican Center, provided basic college courses onFridays and Saturdays for students from the state’s

reservations. Later opened to other students as well,the program was moved to the Collins ClassroomCenter in 1989 and placed under the jurisdiction ofthe College of Letters and Science. Course work ingeneral degree requirements was offered through theWeekend College, along with electives in naturalresources, food and nutrition, business, and NativeAmerican studies. Although well received by thosestudents who participated in the weekend program,growth remained considerably slower than anticipat-ed, and the arrival of significant alternative educa-tional and job opportunities for Native Americans(such as the College of the Menominee Nation) ledto terminating Weekend College at the end of the1993-94 academic year.

The opening of Weekend College as well as otherefforts by the campus to broaden the educationalopportunities for all Americans reflected the aware-ness of campus leaders of the need to diversify thecampus. Even before the UW System’s general“Design for Diversity” plan was inaugurated, UWSPwas making significant efforts to enhance education-al opportunities for minority populations. Theseefforts were an attempt to respond to genuine needsfelt by the minority populations and to the need toshow the majority population the need for and thejustice of equal opportunity.

Several racial incidents marred life on the campusduring the early 1980s, reinforcing the determina-

Treehaven field station near Tomahawk while under construction.

tion of the campus to provide equal access tominorities. The most difficult incident involvedthree Nigerian students who were beaten at a localnight club in July, 1982, but other incidents, manyof them verbal, also occurred. As a result of thebeating of the Nigerian students and in recognitionof the need to promote tolerance and diversity, a cit-izens group, the Minority Action Council, wasformed later in 1982. A joint effort between campusand community, the members of the MAC wereappointed by the chancellor and the mayor. Thegoals of the MAC were to investigate complaintsand gather information, to educate the public, and torecommend action on problems involving racialconnotations. After several meetings, the groupestablished a procedure and a regular time for hear-ing complaints of a racial or discriminatory nature.

Although the number of minority students wassmall, the numbers did remain steady during the1980s. Several other efforts weremade by the university to meet theneeds of the minority populations. ANative American Education andDevelopmental Center, actually estab-lished in 1978, continued to provideon-reservation training programs fortribal employees. A significant numberof Native Americans were ultimatelyinvolved in training programs in self-assessment, goalsetting, management,and a wide range of similar programs.With help from a federal grant, a pilotproject to train Native Americanarchivists was begun in 1982. Several

programs for Native Americans in thefields of natural resources were devel-oped. And, in 1988, a new position,that of Associate Vice Chancellor forAdvancement of Cultural Diversity,was created in the Academic Affairsoffice. Loretta Webster, a lawyer bytraining, and a member of the Oneida tribe, was selected for theposition. The new office was chargedwith the responsibility to provideessential services for NativeAmericans in Wisconsin both on andoff of the campus.

In an effort to improve the educa-tional opportunities for Hmong students, a summerprogram was established in 1987 to provide aneight-week intensive language developmentcourse. The goal of this program was to improvethe oral and written communication skills of theHmong students. Several Hmong students contin-ued on at UWSP after successfully completingthese programs.

With the adoption of the UW System’s “Designfor Diversity” program in 1988, more systemwideeffort and support followed, and as the campusapproached its centennial year, significantprogress had been made toward the goal of adiverse campus, although much remained to bedone. Diversity among the faculty and staff oncampus had been enhanced, but the number ofminonty students remained low. It was clear thatthis would be one of the major concerns forUWSP as it began its second century.

Hmong students participate in a language development course.

Another goal scored for UWSP championship women’s field hockey.

Excitement and disappointment say it all forUWSP’s athletics programs during the 1980s. Theprograms for both women and men reached newheights of success. The 1986 women’s basketballteam won the NCAA Division III national champi-onship. Additional sports were added for women asthe university attempted to improve its compliancewith federal regulations such as Title IX. In 1980,softball and cross country were added, and in 1987,soccer attained varsity status. Immediate successcame for the softball teams which won the WWIACthe first three years in which they competed. Thewomen’s cross country teams were very successful,reaching national competition on several occasions,while the volleyball team won the WWIAC confer-ence championship in 1981 and reached playoff com-petition on three occasions during this period. Theaward for consistent excellence should be given tothe field hockey team. Under Coach Nancy Page’sleadership for the years from 1973-86, the team com-piled a record of 179 wins, 75 losses, and 5 ties. Theteam dominated the WWIAC during the first half ofthe 1980s, and gained berths in regional or nationalplayoffs in most of those years. Ironically, just afterthe team’s best national finish ever, in 1985, the sportwas dropped due to the difficulty of finding enoughteams to play within a reasonable distance.

The men’s teams were also successful. The bas-ketball team, coached by Dick Bennett, gainednational attention when the Pointers won their thirdsuccessive conference championship in 1984 andadvanced to the final game at the NAIA nationaltournament in Kansas City. Although ultimatelylosing in overtime to perennial small college powerFort Hays State by a typical Bennett score of 48 to46, Pointer Terry Porter was named the tourna-ment’s most valuable player and caught the eye ofnumerous professional scouts. After almost makingthe 1984 Olympic team, and following anothersuccessful year with the Pointers, Porter was draft-ed by the National Basketball Association’sPortland Trail Blazers in 1985. How did Porterhappen to play for a Division III, non-scholarshipbasketball program? According to at least one localsports authority, it has been reported that Porter’shigh school team, Milwaukee South Division, wascompeting against a team with a player beingwatched as a possible recruit by Coach Bennett. It

Basketball coach Dick Bennett.

Terry Porter (30) during his Pointer days.

was his wife, Ann, who noticed the young man onthe other team who could pass, handle the ball, andwho had a very athletic body which would enablehim to compete in an increasingly physical gameof basketball. Major recruiters had not been inter-ested in Porter, and when approached by the per-suasive Bennett, he agreed to play for UWSP. Therest, as they say, is history.

Sports Illustrated featured Porter in itsNovember, 1984 issue. The article noted how hehad been the only Division III player invited tothat year’s Olympic tryouts in which he survivedall but the final cut despite coming down with acase of chicken pox in the midst of the trials. Oneof the coaches for the Olympic team called Porter“the surprise of the trials.. . .” He suggested thatthe coaching staff “sat around and second-guessedourselves a little after letting Terry go.”

Named a first team All-American by the NationalAssociation of Basketball Coaches, Porter also playedin two prestigious college all-star games. In his lastyear with the Pointers, he was again named confer-ence player of the year, NAIA All-American, and ledhis team to another conference championship and areturn trip to Kansas City. Upon completion of hisPointer playing career, Porter signed a contract withPortland and became a star at another level of thegame. Selected in the first round of the draft, a rare

achievement for a Division III, non-schol-arship player, Porter performed so wellthat he negotiated a new six-year contractin 1989 which made him one of the high-est paid players in the NBA at that time.

Overall, the basketball team won aschool record six consecutive confer-ence championships during the period1982-87, under Coach Bennett and, forthe last two years, Coach Jay Eck whoreplaced Bennett when the latter decid-ed to try his skill at coaching at theDivision I level. Not again until 1991-92 and 1992-93 would the basketballteam attract as much attention. CoachBob Parker, who replaced Eck afteronly two years, faced a rebuilding chal-lenge which did not result in anotherchampionship until 1992.

Bennett’s departure in 1985 endedan era in Pointer basketball. During his

nine years as head coach, Bennett’s teams com-piled a record of 174 wins and 79 losses, includ-ing an incredible record of 101 and 19 during hislast four years. The record included four confer-ence championships, and three NAIA District 14titles. For the second place NAIA finish in 1984,Bennett earned the NAIA’s national coach of theyear honor.

Coach D. J. LeRoy’s Pointer football team wonback-to-back conference championships in 1986 and1987. In the latter year, the team, ranked fourth inthe National Association for Intercollegiate Athletics(NAIA) Division II rankings, and advanced throughthe playoff process to the national championshipgame in which it tied with Pacific Lutheran, 16 to16. Since the NAIA did not provide for overtime intied games, the teams were declared co-champions.UWSP’s joy was short-lived, however, as evidencewas discovered that two transfer students, playing forUWSP, had previously used up their eligibility. Thus,they were declared ineligible to participate andbefore the NAIA took action, Chancellor Marshallinformed them that UWSP would voluntarily acceptforfeitures of all games in which the ineligible play-ers had participated, including the national champi-onship game. While conference officials and thosefrom the NAIA complimented UWSP for its prompt

Hockey action under the coaching of Mark Mazzoleni

and open confession and forfeiture, Coach LeRoy,apparently knowledgeable of the previous status ofthe two players in question, was relieved of hiscoaching duties on May 12,1988.

LeRoy sued for damages from UWSP and the casewas settled out of court. LeRoy contended that hewas being made a scapegoat by the university, argu-ing that “I’m not responsible for eligibility. I’mresponsible for coaching and taking care of the play-ers.” In reply, Chancellor Marshall responded, say-ing “I’d say that what has happened to him is aresult of his actions and not anyone else’s. Maybe tosome extent he is a victim of players who used thisinstitution, this team. But he was also a victim of hisown desire not to lose anything.” Marshall, anardent Pointer fan, wistfully concluded that “It’shard to give up a national title.”

Successes in hockey threatened to dwarf those inthe other sports. The hockey program, first estab-lished as a varsity sport in 1974 but dropped in1976, returned in 1981. After several years ofrebuilding, a new era in Pointer hockey began in1985 when Mark Mazzoleni was named head coach.An excellent recruiter and coach, Mazzoleni’s goalwas to develop a program that would compete withthe best of the non-scholarship Division III schools.He quickly took a team that had shown little successand made it a contender in the WSUC and, after1986, in the Northern Collegiate HockeyAssociation (NCHA). Mazzoleni’s teams wonNCAA Division III national championships for threesuccessive years, 1989, 1990, and 1991. When heleft to become an assistant coach at the Universityof Minnesota after the 1990-91 season, his assistant,Joe Baldarotta, was named head coach and pickedup where Mazzoleni left off. A national champi-onship eluded the Pointers in 1992 when theyslipped to second, but the team rebounded to win itall again in 1993.

In addition to team successes, a number of indi-vidual successes also occurred on the Pointer athlet-ic fields. Distance runner Arnie Schraeder’s NCAAIII championship in the 5,000 meter run in 1987 wasone such example which was followed by a similarachievement by Tom Moris just one year later.Other standout athletes included Pointer womenrunners Carlene Wilikom and Carrie Enger, and highjumper Michelle Riedi who earned All American

status, as did Tim Naegeli and Sonja Sorensen inbasketball. At the end of their eligibility, bothSorensen and Naegeli held the scoring records fortheir respective UWSP teams.

Athletic triumphs and disappointments, enroll-ment growth and enrollment management, highercosts and less state and federal support, and a con-tinuous struggle over faculty compensation bothwithin the UW System and with forces outside ofthe system provided the highlights for the decadeof the 1980s. As the decade neared its end, it wastime once again to take stock, to prepare for a suc-cessful decennial review by the accreditation teamfrom the North Central Association. The NCA teamreviewed the documentation prepared by many andput together by a committee headed by AssociateVice Chancellor Douglas Radtke, and spent severaldays on the campus visiting with faculty, students,and administrators. They were, apparently, quitesatisfied with their findings, as UWSP scored wellon the accreditation review. In renewing the uni-versity’s full accreditation status in 1988, the NCAinformed the institution that its accreditation teamhad found that UWSP “has shown an ability todeal constructively with concerns and is clearlyorganized and administered in such a way that theteam has confidence that it can continue to deliverhigh quality academic programs. ...” The reportwent on to commend the strong “sense of commu-nity” which it found at UWSP, and noted thatdespite sincere faculty concern over workloads,many classes remained small and most credit hourloads were normal. The report also noted the num-ber of outstanding, nationally prominent academicprograms present on the campus. Their list includ-ed wellness and health promotion, naturalresources, writing emphasis (supported by theAcademic Achievement Center), exemplary studentlife programs, and strong ancillary programs suchas the American Suzuki Institute and the NationalWellness Institute.

In a sense, the successful North Central reviewwas a tribute to a spirit of campus community thatChancellor Marshall had struggled to engender. Hebelieved sincerely that a strong sense of communitywas critical to the quality of higher education. Hisefforts to enhance the life and morale of his facultyand staff through the improvement of compensation

was the most visible of his efforts to that end, buthis desire to involve faculty and staff fully in thegovernance process on campus was also a signifi-cant contributor.

During his first year in office, Marshall named aspecial committee to consider a major academic andadministrative restructuring for the campus. As aresult of that effort, several major realignments werecompleted, and a chancellor’s cabinet, complete withfaculty and student members was created. The cabinetoperated openly and worked to arrive at a consensuson the issues facing the campus. Although there werethose who felt that faculty concerns were not given anadequate hearing, it seems clear that the role of facultyand of students in the process of institutional gover-nance was greater during the years of the Marshalladministration than it had been at any prior time sincethe trend toward greater involvement had begun dur-ing the Hansen and Albertson administrations.

Administration of the colleges changed duringthe Marshall years as well. David Staszak wasnamed dean of the Graduate School in 1980 andPaul Palombo was named dean of the College ofFine Arts in 1982.Palombo’s premature death in1988 led to the appointment of Gerard McKennaas dean in 1989. Retirements led to the appoint-

ments of Joan North, College of ProfessionalStudies, and Alan Haney, College of NaturalResources, as deans in 1985 and 1988 respectively.In the College of Letters and Science, HowardThoyre was named dean in 1980 and he, in turn,was replaced by Justus Paul in 1986. JamesSchurter was appointed to the position of dean ofAcademic Support Services in 1985.

Early in his years as chancellor, Marshallexpressed his views regarding the essential compo-nents of a high quality higher education. He statedthat “the most important factor in improving theinstruction of a given faculty . . . is the develop-ment of a sense of community and commitment. It is within such an atmosphere that enthusiasticteaching is commonly found....” He noted his firmbelief in the primacy of teaching, suggesting that“Teaching leads to knowledge and skills whichcontribute, in the larger society, to what has cometo be called the quality of life.”

Marshall left the chancellorship in January,1989. He returned, as agreed, to teach in theDepartment of Chemistry during the fall semestersof 1989, 1990, and 1991. He left still believing inthe need for an institution to have a sense of pur-pose and a sense of community. And, he leftbelieving that the North Central Association’saccrediting team was correct in praising the cam-pus for having developed that sense of community.Reflecting on his chancellorship, he noted thatdespite obstacles which included inadequate fund-ing, UWSP fared as well as it did because it had astrong sense of community. This, he believed,helped UWSP to move forward in such areas ascomputing, writing, forestry, and other programsof high quality.

Although the campus honored Phil and HelenMarshall by dedicating the new HealthEnhancement Center to them, it was not untilMarch 11, 1989 that the Board of Regents passed aresolution honoring the Marshalls. The resolutionnoted that during the Marshall years UWSP “sus-tained and enhanced its reputation as a higher edu-cational institution of excellent quality.” NotingMarshall’s “commitment to academic quality,” theresolution also recognized his “commitment toshared governance within the university, for hisspecial interest in student activities and for hisHelen and Phil Marshall

achievements in the area of community service.”Helen Marshall was cited as “an active and loyalpartner in these endeavors ... [who] contributedmuch to the advancement” of the university.

Vice Chancellor Howard Thoyre was appointedby the Board of Regents to serve as acting chan-cellor until the search process produced a newchancellor. Thoyre, a math educator by training,professor and former department chair and deanof the College of Letters and Science, had arrivedat UWSP in 1962. Widely respected by membersof the faculty and staff, and knowledgeable of the

workings of the campus and the system, hisselection insured a smooth transitional periodbetween chancellors.

A search and screen committee, chaired by chem-istry professor Eugene Johnson, proceeded with itstask. After the usual several month process, the com-mittee presented the Board of Regents with its list ofacceptable finalists for the position. From that list, theboard selected Keith R. Sanders, dean of Fine Artsand Communications at Southern Illinois University-Carbondale, as the next chief administrator for UWSP.

Keith R. Sanders was selected as the eleventhchief executive officer (third chancellor) of UW-Stevens Point from more than 100 candidates whohad applied or been nominated for the position. TheSearch and Screen Committee, chaired by ProfessorEugene Johnson of chemistry, screened the appli-cants and submitted its slate of finalists to the Boardof Regents which announced the appointment ofSanders in January of 1989.

Born in Benton, Illinois on July 31, 1939, Sandersgraduated from Benton High School and went on toSouthern Illinois University Carbondale where, in1961 and 1962, he received bachelor’s and master’sdegrees. He served as an assistant professor ofspeech and debate coach at George WashingtonUniversity from 1962 to 1967, and returned to SIU-Carbondale in 1967 as a member of theCommunications Department. He worked his waythrough the ranks and became a full professor in1977. He received his Ph.D. degree in communica-tion from the University of Pittsburgh in 1968.Sanders took time out from teaching to serve as thegovernmental relations officer for the SouthernIllinois University System from 1980 until 1983, theyear in which he was selected as dean of SIU’sCollege of Communications and Fine Arts. Heremained in that position until his selection as chan-cellor of UWSP, with the exception of a six-monthleave in 1988 when he took on an assignment direct-ing a statewide campaign to boost revenues for edu-cation in Illinois. He returned to his position as deanupon completion of that effort.

In the field of communications, Sanders’ researchinterests were directed toward the emerging sub-field of political communications, an area which he

Chapter 11

Toward the Second Century: UWSP at 100The Sanders Era, 1989-1994

Chancellor Keith R. Sanders, 1989-

and others helped develop, and the area in whichhe felt he had made his most important profession-al contributions. Sanders and his collaborators cre-ated a new division in a professional association, ajournal, a bibliographic series, two edited volumeshelping to define and focus the new sub-field, and

a single volume reference work entitled TheHandbook of Political Communications. AmongSanders’ more significant scholarly works was abook that he coedited with others entitled MediatedPolitics in Two Cultures: Presidential Campaigningin the United States and France, published after hisarrival at UWSP.

Although his appointment as UWSP’s chancellorwas not scheduled to begin until June 1, Sandersdid not wait to get started. In a statement to thepress at the time he accepted the appointment aschancellor, he noted that his style was to serve asan “advocate for education,” and as education’sadvocate, he pledged “to build the best and mostcompelling case and take it to those people whocan make things better.” He visited the campus onseveral occasions and worked closely with ActingChancellor Howard Thoyre to lay the groundworkfor his new administration. In subsequent state-ments to the press, Sanders appeared to take upwhere Philip Marshall left off on issues such assalary improvement for faculty and staff as hepledged his continued efforts to that cause,although he indicated early that his approach tothe problem would be different from that taken byMarshall. He also noted the need for significantincreases in private and corporate support forUWSP, and a parallel expansion of the campus’sefforts in the area of grantsmanship. His interestand experience in the area of political communica-tions implied that his approach to the problems ofsalary compression and adequate financial supportwould be different from that of his predecessorwho had relied on persuasion by numbers ratherthan by the more delicate approach of politicalpersuasion. Sanders also said that he was preparedto make substantial internal reallocations to salaryif it became necessary to do so.

Keith R. Sanders officially assumed his duties aschancellor on June 1, 1989. In his address to thefaculty and staff in September, 1989, at the start ofhis first semester on the campus, he spoke ofundertaking an all-out planning effort to reviewthe curriculum and all other facets of the campusin an attempt to prepare for the 1990s and beyond.The campus would, he said, develop a detailedplanning guide for the years immediately aheadand in preparation for the twenty-first century.

Inaugural festivities were not scheduled until Mayof 1990, and during the period of time between hisarrival and that event, the new chancellor was ableto gain wide campus support for a strategic planningprocess. A large planning group, consisting of mem-bers of the Faculty Senate, major administrativeleaders on campus, and several local citizens, beganits work soon after the chancellor’s call. The “gangof 90” (as the chancellor frequently referred to theplanning group) gathered throughout the 1989-90academic year to discuss goals and aspirations forthe future. Their work was preceded by an outside“cultural audit” of the campus which resulted in areport which noted that UWSP “has the ability tobecome a national model of quality, caring andinnovation.” The report praised the faculty and staffand stated that “the [UWSP) community has everyreason to feel good about itself, and even moreimportantly should be optimistic about achieving itsgoals in the coming decade.”

In April, 1990, the first draft of the planningreport, “An Action Agenda for the ‘90s,” was dis-tributed. In its vision statement, the report noted thatthe goal was to prepare the campus for the 1990sand beyond so that “by the year 2000, it will beclear to all informed observers that, in 1990, UWSPtook the next logical step in its natural evolution.”The stated hope of the authors of the report was thatobservers of UWSP would say that “it respondedbetter than most other universities to the uniquechallenges and opportunities . .. and as it entered thenew millennium, it found itself among the very frontranks of teaching universities.”

Among the specific objectives set out by the plan-ning group were the recruitment and retention of themost qualified faculty and students, and the determi-nation of the most essential content, knowledge andskills needed by students and graduates of the 1990sand beyond. Indicating themes that would recurthroughout the next few years, the report called for aculturally diverse campus “where equity for all isassured” by the year 2000, and for the further devel-opment of external partnerships both communitywide and worldwide in nature. Agreeing withSanders that the campus needed new and enhancedsources of funding, the planning report also urged astudy of the feasibility of a major capital funds cam-paign. And, as a step toward all-round campus

enhancement, it called for making every reasonableeffort to improve both the academic and physicalimages of the campus.

In his inaugural address given on May 6, 1990,Sanders spoke about the planning activities that hehad initiated and overseen during his first months aschancellor. He noted that in preparation for its cen-tennial and second century, the campus was engagedin the development of a vision for the future. Heelaborated on the priorities which were emergingfrom the discussions and noted that these includedcommitments to increased educational efforts in theareas of internationalization and the environment, toimproved collaboration with local schools for theimprovement of educational opportunities at all lev-els, and to cooperation with local business andindustry to provide services to those groups as wellas to enhance the opportunities for UWSP’s studentswithin local businesses and industries. These efforts,he said, would be important steps toward broaden-ing the institution’s awareness of and its commit-ment to the development of students’ comprehen-sion of the interconnectedness between the educa-tion they received and the world in which theywould live and work.

Sanders also spoke of the continuing need for“institutional relevance” as the university faced thedecade of the ‘90s and beyond, and he called uponthe faculty to take the lead in providing guidance insuch areas as teaching an understanding of ethicalbehavior, communication skills, and environmentalawareness. Reiterating the importance of diversity,he urged the university community to continue itsefforts to diversify its faculty, staff, and studentbody. In a direct reference to the University ofWisconsin System’s “Design for Diversity” pro-gram, he stated that one of the goals of higher edu-cation must be to insure that all persons would bebrought into the mainstream of American life. Thiseffort, he said, should work toward the provision ofa hospitable campus and community climate forwomen and minorities.

Pointing to the projected retirements of a largenumber of faculty at UWSP during the upcomingdecade, Sanders noted that the openings createdwould provide an opportunity to refine and rede-fine what it meant to be a faculty member atUWSP. Citing studies which suggested that the

market for quality faculty would become verycompetitive during the decade ahead, he urged theimprovement of salaries, a review of faculty work-load, and the establishment of a more attractive cli-mate on the campus. In a direct reference to thepreviously published Carnegie report on teachingand research, he noted that the local definition offaculty research needed to be reviewed and rede-fined to include in its explication the scholarship ofapplication and integration.

To those who questioned his vision of the futureand its costs, Sanders stated that all change requiredsacrifice, and that UWSP was prepared “to reviewevery academic and every non-academic program....Some we will enhance, some we will maintain, andsome we will reduce or eliminate, and put the dol-lars saved into higher priority programs.”Anticipating the anguish of faculty and staff thatoften accompanied such proposals, he acknowl-edged that the process would, at times, be slow andpainful, and he asked for the patience and support offaculty and staff. The results sought, he indicated,would provide the ultimate reward for the time andeffort invested in the university’s future, when, itwas hoped, UWSP would “become the best under-graduate state university in Wisconsin.”

Once the academic year began anew in the fall of1990, renewed efforts were made to flesh out theplans drawn by the “gang of 90” during the previ-ous academic year. In his address welcoming facul-ty and staff at the start of another academic year,Chancellor Sanders called for the appointment of aCurriculum Task Force. He noted that the role ofthe task force would be to draw the campus com-munity into the national debate on “what ought tobe taught at predominantly undergraduate universi-ties.” He directed the task force to review datafrom alumni, employers, and graduate schoolsattended by alumni of UWSP to help identify themost essential knowledge and skills that graduatesof UWSP ought to obtain for successful lives andcareers in the 1990s and beyond. Once again,Sanders suggested some of the topics that the taskforce should consider, including environmentalawareness and education for ethical behavior.

Shortly thereafter, Robert Knowlton, historianand chair of the Faculty Senate, called for nomi-nees to serve on a Curriculum Task Force.

Appointments were made and Jack Reed, the chairof the Department of Chemistry, was chosen tohead the group which promptly began the task ofarticulating the skills and knowledge needed bygraduates of UWSP.

In early October, the chancellor called for areview of all non-instructional programs on thecampus. He asked for the creation of another taskforce to attempt to identify savings or consolida-tions that might yield support for internal realloca-tion to any new or enhanced programs whichmight be designated as a result of recommenda-tions from either of the two task forces. RobertBaruch of the Department of Theatre and Dancewas selected to chair the second task force whichalso began its duties promptly, and often heldmarathon, all-day Friday meetings.

As the task forces began their work, concern wasvoiced by a number of persons on the campus aboutthe ultimate results of the process. Although such areaction was not unexpected, Sanders made an effortto reduce those uncertainties by speaking to aninformational meeting in January, 1991. He pointedout the long-standing need to improve salaries andto review and reduce faculty teaching loads on thecampus. He acknowledged that making significantgains in these areas would necessitate that the cam-pus become somewhat smaller, but he stated cate-gorically that no one would be laid off as a result ofthis planning exercise, or any reallocations, programreductions or eliminations brought about as a resultof that process. Despite these and other assurances,some doubts lingered, and when systemwide budg-etary reductions through the Quality ReinvestmentProgram cast a shadow on the viability of the localplanning effort, Sanders continued to reassure thosewho feared layoffs. He also told his cabinet thatthey must keep faith with the faculty and all thosewho had invested so much time and effort into theplanning exercise and begin soon to implement asmuch of the plan as was possible in spite of systemprograms and requirements that at times seemed tobe in conflict with local plans.

While UWSP was looking for ways to trim itsbudget in order to generate money for new orenhanced programs, the state legislature continuedto react unenthusiastically to the budget requestsfrom the University of Wisconsin System.

Subsequently, system officials announced a plan tofurther reduce access to the various campuses and touse the money saved by enrollment reductions forinternal reallocation to the areas of greatest need, inparticular but not solely faculty salaries. A March 1,1991 memo from UW System President KennethShaw noted a projected budgetary shortfall of about$40 million, and proposed further downsizing as apossible alternative. This option, as he described it,would require the reduction of 1,400 more studentsacross the system than had been planned in the con-tinuing Enrollment Management Program. Such areduction, the system president noted, would allowfor the gradual elimination of about 700 faculty andstaff positions, with the money saved to be reallo-cated internally to improve faculty salaries or other-wise directed to high priority needs. Reacting swift-ly, Sanders asked his cabinet to set aside the expect-ed $400,000 campus share such a program wouldrequire. The cabinet responded promptly and did so.Since the campus had already planned to set asideabout $450,000, through the strategic planningprocess, there was little difficulty in finding the$400,000 required by the system. But the questionimmediately asked was what would happen to thelocal planning effort if that money so designatedwere diverted to take care of the system mandate?The answer, given after extensive deliberation, wasreflected in the statement of the chancellor notedearlier about keeping faith with those who had madethe effort at the campus level, and to attempt to doas much of the local plan as circumstances wouldallow. Since both the system plan and the local planfocused on salary needs, substantial reallocations forsalaries followed. Those parts of the local plan thatwere not in consonance with the system plan wouldhave to be deferred or deleted.

The Curriculum Task Force worked steadilythrough most of the next two academic years, andarrived at a set of guidelines containing 14 compe-tencies which included “essentially what the taskforce thinks students should be trained in beyondthe particular requirements of a major.” No mentionwas made of any specific course requirements orrecommendations in this report which was presentedto and approved by the Faculty Senate in May of1993. Any modification of general educationrequirements or course content was left for later

Assistant Chancellor Helen Godfrey

consideration by the various departments and by thefaculty through its regular committee processes.

Meanwhile, the Academic Support Programs TaskForce (ASPRTF as it became known), essentiallycharged with reviewing all other aspects of campuslife, presented its extensive report which grouped itsrecommendations concerning the programs studiedinto areas of immediate priority and action, short-term priority and action, and those items whichcould be reviewed down the road a bit. One of theirrecommendations, concerning the revamping of theStudent Life Division, resulted in the elimination ofStudent Life as a separate division and its mergingwith University Relations and with AcademicAffairs. Six of the units from Student Life wereshifted to the renamed Student Development andUniversity Relations Division, headed by AssistantChancellor Helen Godfrey, and the remainder shift-ed to Academic Affairs headed by Vice ChancellorHoward Thoyre. Another significant change resultedwhen University Telecommunications was removedfrom the former University Relations Division and

placed administratively under Continuing Educationand Outreach. Numerous other recommendationswere also accepted and undertaken.

At the time of this writing, it was too early toassess fully the results of the strategic planning exer-cise which continue to be implemented through theadoption or modification of specific items containedin the reports from the two task forces, but a numberof changes could be cited. In addition to those highlyvisible changes noted above, significant strides insalary upgrading were made, starting with the groupmost out of line with peer groups, the assistant pro-fessors. This improvement made it easier for thecampus to compete for high quality new faculty inthe national market. In addition to the improvementof salaries, computer access was enhanced and thecampus began the move toward the second genera-tion of personal computing during the 1993-1994academic year; other new initiatives, both internaland external, also were undertaken. Suffice it to saythat with systemwide budgetary pressures and anuncertain economy, not all of the goals expressedwere attained as soon as had been anticipated, and itis likely that some never will be realized fully. But,the campus made many adjustments in the way inwhich it conducted its day to day business and, in theprocess, reviewed thoroughly nearly every instruc-tional and non-instructional program on the campus.Clearly, the campus had begun its adjustment to thenew political and economic pressures which facedhigher education in the 1990s.

State and national budget uncertainties also contin-ued to affect the way UWSP (and other institutionsof higher education) were able to do business, andthose uncertainties appeared likely to continue tohave such an impact for some time to come. Theresulting budgetary limitations did have an impacton the campus and its ability to meet the needs ofstudents and faculty. In addition to frequent and usu-ally unexpected or unplanned economic vacillations,other commitments continued to restrict the state’sability to fund fully the needs of higher education.Increased funding demands for prisons, medicaid,welfare, and the needs of local school districts allcut into the share of the state’s resources availablefor funding institutions of higher education.Consequently, over a period of time, the state’s levelof support for the University of Wisconsin System

“Classroom 2000” in the College of Professional Studies Building.

declined. For example, at UWSP, as recently as1973-74, the state provided 50 percent of the fund-ing needed to run the institution. In the 1992-93budget, the percentage of direct state assistance haddropped to 40 percent. As the state’s other commit-ments increased, the share of thestate’s total general purpose revenue expendituresgiven to higher education also declined from about14.5 percent to about 11 percent during the sametime period. Given other societal needs, the compe-tition for state support was understandable, but theoutcome may, over the long haul, prove to havebeen most unfortunate for the state’s highly respect-ed system of higher education. It may also haveunforeseen financial consequences for the state,since recent studies have suggested a direct correla-tion between the tax revenues received by a stateand the educational levels attained by its citizenry.

Enrollment management programs, begun in 1986,were implemented in an attempt to manage the uni-versity’s budget shortfalls by reducing the numberof students admitted. For UWSP, the result was aplanned but still rather dramatic overall drop inenrollment from a high of 9,555 in 1986 to 8,615 in

1993. Most of the decrease came by limiting theentrance of new freshmen and transfer students.Admission standards were raised to accomplish thisresult, and the new, higher standards were closelymonitored. The size of each year’s freshman classwas reduced and reached a target of about 1,375 forthe fall of 1993, the smallest freshman class atUWSP in nearly 30 years. And, each year found thedoors being closed earlier to new enrollees, with the“no vacancy” sign (except for students in the top 10percent of their high school classes) out as early asFebruary in 1993.

At UWSP, enrollment management along withsome internal initiatives did raise the academic lev-els of incoming students. For example, for the fallsemester of 1993, 17.8 percent of the new fresh-men ranked in the top 10 percent of their highschool graduating classes. Twenty-eight valedicto-rians enrolled for the fall of 1993 compared withonly a very few just three or four years earlier.However, the management of enrollment producedsome unintended although not unexpected results.Some previously qualified students were unable togain admission or had their admission deferred for

a semester; a number of dormitory rooms wentunfilled because of the decline in student admis-sions, particularly among freshmen and sopho-mores. Some part time adult students found thedoors of the university more difficult to enter thanbefore, although steps were taken later to ease thisoutcome of enrollment management.

Both the UW System’s Quality ReinvestmentProgram, which called for the investment into facul-ty and staff salaries and other needs of approximate-ly $26.5 million of savings obtained by not fillingvacant positions, and UWSP’s own strategic plan-ning effort did provide significant improvement infaculty and staff salaries. However, as expected, thechanges required some costs and some pain. A num-ber of academic departments were not allowed tofill vacant positions; summer session offerings werereduced; the summer theatre program was, at leasttemporarily, eliminated; the Carlsten Art Gallerycurator’s position was left unfilled after a resigna-tion; several programs, including business, commu-nication, elementary education, and biology weredownsized; several administrative positions wereeliminated or at least temporarily left vacant; cam-pus funding for such outreach programs as the Ritesof Writing was reduced or eliminated. System widelateral reviews were conducted in the areas of pro-fessional programs to attempt to determine the needfor or unnecessary duplication of such programs,resulting in 1993 in the elimination of some optionswithin the programs of the College of NaturalResources. Similar, system wide processes also wereundertaken to review programs in education, busi-ness, allied health fields, and most of the other pro-fessional training areas.

While the Curriculum Task Force was focusing itsefforts on curricular development and reformthrough the strategic planning process, academicdepartments continued to work as before in thedevelopment and maintenance of their programs.One of the least understood aspects of faculty gov-ernance is the faculty’s role in the continuousreview and evaluation of its curriculum, an effortwhich takes up many hours each year, and results ina significant number of new and revised courses,options, minors, or even majors every year.Curricular planning by a faculty which is informedand current, is a never-ending process, at the depart-

ment or program level, and within the overall gover-nance process on the campus. Many examples ofsuch regular curricular changes might be cited. Forexample, the Board of Regents made permanentUWSP’s major in computer information systems in1990; a new major in exceptional education andnew minors in tribal sovereignty and environmentaleducation were approved in 1991; later, additionalminors in rural and native American social work andin safety/health protection were added, as was agraduate program combining natural resources andwork in the Peace Corps. New emphases in theforestry and water resources majors provided for theaddition of courses and programs in wood utiliza-tion and marketing and aquatic toxicology. Namechanges for departments which were part of the for-mer School of Home Economics were approved. Agrant of equipment from AT&T in 1991 providedthe basic support for the Collaborative ScienceLaboratory computing proposal. Among the moreinnovative new courses or course sequences under-taken in the early 1990s, was the sequence in mathe-matics which provided for an actuarial scienceoption within that major, a course on NativeAmerican treaty rights, and a Menominee languagecourse which was offered during the spring and fallsemesters in 1993.

“Growth by substitution,” the euphemism for trad-ing existing programs or courses for new ones,required UWSP to evaluate constantly what it wasoffering that might no longer be appropriate. Systemapproaches, such as the lateral reviews of profes-sional programs, offered specific suggestions forplaces to cut or reduce what appeared to be duplica-tive or overlapping programs between the campusesof the UW System. Locally, strategic planning andthe demands of the Quality Reinvestment Programboth required departments to review their curricularofferings with an eye to greater efficiencies andeconomies of scale. Other changes in such areas asthe exploration of alternative modes of delivery ofknowledge such as that involved in distance learn-ing, a concept which evolved with the increased useof classroom technology, were also being explored.Even without these major efforts, however, UWSP’scurriculum, like that of other successful colleges anduniversities, evolved steadily over time, as facultyinterests grew and as societal needs changed. Even

without system and local strategic planning exercis-es, it is clear that many of these changes would haveoccurred, although perhaps in a less global manner.

Other, sometimes more subtle, programmaticchanges continued. The early 1990s witnessed thedevelopment of several supplemental campus pro-grams which further enhanced the reputation ofthe campus. These included the Wisconsin Centerfor Environmental Education, the NationalInformation Center for Undergraduate PolymerEducation, the Center for Economic Education,and several others. These additions, along withongoing successful programs such as Odyssey ofthe Mind, the National Wellness Conference, theannual Suzuki summer encampments, and others,assisted the campus in meeting part of its strategicplanning goals: enhancement of the image of thecampus, locally, statewide and nationwide. Theseand other programs, along with a continuouslyevolving curriculum, projected a positive academ-ic image for UWSP.

In addition, some further efforts in the areaof internationalization, including such agreements asthose with Magdeburg Technical University inGermany and East China Normal University, lentfurther credence to UWSP’s claim to be an institu-tion concerned with the preparation of students forliving in the ever-smaller world of the twenty-firstcentury. Along with continued overseas opportuni-ties for its students through the various programsoffered by the International Programs office, and agrowing major in international studies, the campuscontinued to fulfill its commitment to internationaleducation, a commitment made as early as the 1950sand 1960s, and successfully enhanced during eachsucceeding decade.

In an attempt to further diversify the faculty andstaff of the campus early in his tenure at UWSP,Chancellor Sanders announced the creation of apool of five positions to be used specifically for therecruitment of culturally diverse faculty and staff.This action was in keeping with both the “Designfor Diversity” program of the UW System, and ofUWSP’s own strategic plan. The designated posi-tions were successfully filled, contributing to thefurther diversity of the faculty. At about the sametime, the campus also renewed its commitment to adecision made earlier which determined that Native

Americans would be the primary target for UWSPin the diversification of its student body. To that endthe campus had continued to support and developthe role of the Native American Center and hadestablished the position of Associate ViceChancellor for Cultural Diversity. Several otherattempts to support the educational opportunities forNative American students and to promote increaseddiversity at UWSP followed, including cooperativeagreements with Haskell Indian Junior College(Kansas) and with the newly-founded (1993)College of the Menominee Nation.

Also adding to the claim of excellence and to theimage of UWSP as a high quality teaching universi-ty was the establishment of the first three distin-guished professorships on campus, all in the Collegeof Natural Resources, and all partially supported byboth the UW System and by private gifts. The pro-fessorships, along with the increasing emphasisupon environmental education, helped further thepush for expansion of the facilities for the Collegeof Natural Resources, a movement that appeared tobe headed toward the desired goal of a major addi-tion to the building and facilities of the college. Atthe time of this writing, most of the necessaryapprovals were in hand for the project which wouldultimately cost about $11.7 million for the plannedcollege facility enhancement.

For the most part, the early years of the 1990s sawcampus renovations and updating rather than thebuilding of new facilities. A UW System workingpaper entitled “Infrastructure for the 1990s,” issued inMay, 1990, stressed the problem faced by many of thenation’s campuses in obtaining sufficient funds tomaintain and modernize the buildings on those cam-puses. The UW System and UWSP were not exemptfrom this dilemma. While a program of laboratorymodernization, which began in 1984-85, had providedsome relief in the area of science and other laborato-ries, classroom facilities lagged behind until the exten-sion of that program to include classrooms in 1992, anaction which did begin to provide needed assistance inthe upgrading of the classrooms on campus. Yet, heat-ing plants, plumbing, carpeting, lighting, elevators,and other basics were often neglected, resulting indecaying physical facilities. Much of the “building” ofthe decade was, therefore, addressed to meet this situ-ation. A program of dormitory remodeling was begun,

Native American and other minority students have been served through Weekend College and other “Design for Diversity” programs.

the food service centers were modernized, and discus-sions were begun concerning possible renovation ofNelson Hall, the second oldest building on campus.Approval for the upgrading of the older section of theScience Building, long under discussion, came in1993. Plans were made for the construction of a newstorage facility, additional parking, and new campussignage. Much of the credit for the success of thecampus in obtaining the support needed for theseimprovements was due to the increased efforts putinto both physical planning on campus and theimprovement of governmental relations externally.

Supported by private contributions, the construc-tion of the Wisconsin Conservation Hall of Fame atthe Schmeeckle Reserve Visitor Center was finishedin 1991, completing plans that were formulated bythose who developed the Hall of Fame idea duringthe 1980s. This, too, added to the statewide visibili-ty and reputation of the campus. Among thoseinducted into the Hall were Senator Gaylord Nelson,the “father” of Earth Day. To this end, the “earthflag” now flies in front of Old Main, signifying theongoing commitment of UWSP to conservation edu-cation and to the environmental movement.

Groundbreaking for the new Health EnhancementCenter occurred in July, 1989, and by late fall of1990, the facility was ready for occupancy. Thebuilding, which cost over $7 million (with studentsagreeing to pay a fee of $6 per semester until theirshare of the cost-about$1,060,000 was paid off), contained classrooms, a multi-purpose area ringed by anindoor track, an Olympic-sized pool and a therapeuticpool. The facility providedmuch-needed indoor recre-ational areas for students andothers, as well as a site formany athletic events, from’high school conference tour-naments to NCAA Division IIInational championship events.

The Health EnhancementCenter, dedicated to Phil andHelen Marshall because oftheir support for the projectand for athletics, provided a

major boost to athletic programs already known fortheir consistently high quality. For example, CoachLynn “Red” Blair’s swimming team finished secondin the National Association of IntercollegiateAthletics competition in 1992, and with the newfacility, would continue to provide a quality pro-gram. Track programs for both men and womenwere made much more attractive to prospective par-ticipants with the addition of an indoor facility ofsuch quality. Other sports also benefited, includingfootball, tennis, softball, and baseball, all of whichwere able to schedule some of their practice ses-sions and workouts in the new facility.

Programs in athletics, which flourished duringthe 1980s, continued to do so as the 1990s pro-gressed. Football provided excitement for Pointerfans, although the team did not quite equal itsnational tournament performance of 1987. Seniorquarterback Kirk Baumgartner, who completed hisUWSP career in 1989 and played in the SeniorBowl game in January, 1990, set some 59 NCAAIII and NAIA passing and total offense recordsduring his four years at UWSP. Included among hisfeats was an amazing string of 139 straight passeswithout an interception.

Men’s basketball, after a brief letdown followingthe string of six straight conference championshipsduring the 1980s, returned to prominence with back-to-back Wisconsin State University Conference

Gaylord Nelson at Schmeekle Reserve.

Health Enhancement Center and Quandt Gym at west end of the physical education facility.

championships and trips to the NAIA national tour-naments during the 1991-92 and 1992-93 seasons.Shortly after (but unrelated to) the 1993 trip, whichended with a disappointing first round defeat, it wasannounced that the basketball program would jointhe other WSUC schools in playing in the NCAADivision III championship series in the future, thussevering the last ties in a long basketball relation-ship with the NAIA.

Groundbreaking for the new Health EnhancementCenter occurred in July, 1989, and by late fall of1990, the facility was ready for occupancy. Thebuilding, which cost over $7 million (with studentsagreeing to pay a fee of $6 per semester until theirshare of the cost-about $1,060,000 was paid off),contained classrooms, a multi-purpose area ringedby an indoor track, an Olympic-sized pool and atherapeutic pool. The facility provided much-neededindoor recreational areas for students and others, aswell as a site for many athletic events, from highschool conference tournaments to NCAA DivisionIII national championship events.

The Health Enhancement Center, dedicated to Philand Helen Marshall because of their support for theproject and for athletics, provided a major boost toathletic programs already known for their consis-tently high quality. For example, Coach Lynn “Red”Blair’s swimming team finished second in theNational Association of Intercollegiate Athletics

competition in 1992, and with the new facility,would continue to provide a quality program. Trackprograms for both men and women were mademuch more attractive to prospective participantswith the addition of an indoor facility of such quali-ty. Other sports also benefited, including football,tennis, softball, and baseball, all of which were ableto schedule some of their practice sessions andworkouts in the new facility.

Programs in athletics, which flourished duringthe 1980s, continued to do so as the 1990s pro-gressed. Football provided excitement for Pointerfans, although the team did not quite equal itsnational tournament performance of 1987. Seniorquarterback Kirk Baumgartner, who completed hisUWSP career in 1989 and played in the SeniorBowl game in January, 1990, set some 59 NCAAIII and NAIA passing and total offense recordsduring his four years at UWSP. Included among hisfeats was an amazing string of 139 straight passeswithout an interception.

Men’s basketball, after a brief letdown following thestring of six straight conference championships duringthe 1980s, returned to prominence with back-to-backWisconsin State University Conference champi-onships and trips to the NAIA national tournamentsduring the 1991-92 and 1992-93 seasons. Shortly after(but unrelated to) the 1993 trip, which ended with adisappointing first round defeat, it was announced that

the basketball program would join the other WSUCschools in playing in the NCAA Division III champi-onship series in the future, thus severing the last ties ina long basketball relationship with the NAIA.

Hockey, coached by Mark Mazzoleni, successfullydefended its NCAA III national championship of1989 by repeating as national champions in 1990and again in 1991. After three straight championshipseasons, Mazzoleni, who only one year earlier hadadded the athletic director duties to his assignment,left the program to become an assistant coach atDivision I University of Minnesota. He was suc-ceeded as head coach by his assistant, JoeBaldarotta, who picked up right where Mazzolenileft off and guided the Pointers to another NorthernCollegiate Hockey Association championship and asecond place NCAA III finish in his first year, andthen followed that feat with the Pointers’ fifth con-secutive NCHA conference championship, and theirfourth NCAA Division III championship in fiveyears, in 1993. Achieving an honor denied to hispredecessor, Coach Baldarotta was named NCAAIII hockey coach of the year in 1993.

With strong showings in the fall and winter sports,including their first conference wrestling champi-onship since 1959, the Pointer men captured theWSUC all-sports championship for 1992-93, theirfirst overall championship since the 1986-87 year.Other men’s athletic teams and individuals contin-ued to excel. The swimming team, led by NinoPisciotta and Juan Cabrera, finished second in theNAIA national tournament in 1990. Wrestler BobBerceau, who captured the first individual nationalchampionship won by a Pointer in that sport in1989, finished third nationally in 1990.

Pointer women’s athletic teams also remainedhighly competitive. Although several sportsachieved high levels of success, the most notableduring the early 1990s was the soccer team coachedby Sheila Miech. Miech’s teams won state titles in1989, 1990, 1992, and again in 1993. The team’s 19and 2 record in the 1992 season was its best ever,but the team was disappointed by its failure toreceive an invitation to the NCAA playoffs. With atougher schedule and another WWIAC champi-onship in 1993, the team did receive a play-off bidbut lost in the final round of the western regionals,and ended the season with a record of 16-5-1.

Other noteworthy women’s athletic activities duringthe early half of the 1990s included a WWIAC cham-pionship and play-off bid for the Lady Pointer softballteam in 1990, a high finish in the NCAA III nationalcross country meet, and continued success in swim-ming, tennis, and in track and field. Track successesincluded NCAA III winning performances by BethMears in the indoors shot-put in 1990, and by JessieBushman in the outdoor 800 meter run in 1993.Although the pressure remained to provide equitybetween athletic opportunities for men and women,progress remained slow.

As in each of the previous eras, some problemsdominated the early years of the 1990s. Budgetarylimitations and enrollment management pressuresand related problems have already been discussed.As the campus neared its centennial year, those andthe other problems faced by and on the campuswere often reflective of the society in which theinstitution and its people found themselves.

Sexual harassment charges, a factor of concern onmany campuses and in other institutions during the1990s, also appeared at UWSP. A series of chargeswere lodged against a number of campus officialslate in the summer of 1991. The charges, includingthe accusation that key administrators knew ofalleged problems and failed to take action, werestudied by a committee on campus which concludedthat the allegations were essentially unfounded. Inreports to the faculty early in 1992, Vice ChancellorHoward Thoyre noted that the committee foundinsufficient evidence to support the charges againstall except one former university employee. The com-mittee also found no evidence that the institution hadfailed to respond promptly to the early allegations.Subsequent court actions in May and June, 1993, andfindings by the State Personnel Commission resultedin dismissal of all formal charges, thus vindicatingUWSP of the charges including the charge that highlevel administrators had known of the alleged prob-lems and failed to take timely and appropriate action.Despite the university’s “victory” in this situation,the episode caused distress and uneasiness on thecampus, and detracted from planning efforts andother budgetary issues and concerns.

In commenting upon the successes and failures,joys and disappointments of his first years in office,Chancellor Sanders noted that this series of accusa-

Recruitment and retention of minority students isone goal of “Design for Diversity.”

tions provided his greatest sense of frustration anddisappointment during his early years on campus.He lamented the time and effort required to respondto the charges and to obtain the ultimately favorableresults, and noted that the state was forced to spendsubstantial amounts of money on legal services todefend the university and its leaders against theunfounded allegations.

Other problems faced during the early years of theSanders’ administration included the restructuring ofthe Student Life Division. Although it was neversuggested that any deliberate wrongdoing wasinvolved, it was discovered that some student fundswere being used inappropriately to support pro-grams for which state funds should have been usedand the campus was forced to review its entire oper-ation in that area and to reallocate funds to replacethose that had been diverted. Ultimately, followingthe review by the Academic Support Program TaskForce, it was decided to eliminate the Student Life

Division by assigning major parts of the unit toAcademic Affairs and to University Relations asnoted previously.

Sanders summarized his view of progress towardmeeting the plans drafted in the strategic planningexercise in his fifth opening address to the campuscommunity in September of 1993. He posed thequestion: “How well have we kept the promises wemade to ourselves?” His answers were mostly posi-tive. He summarized the advances made in raisingthe salaries of faculty and teaching academic staff tothe midpoint of the university cluster campuses, bythe internal reallocation of more than $1.2 million,and suggested that by the end of that current bienni-um the salary goals would be reached.

Insofar as goal two, improving the quality of theundergraduate student body at UWSP, the chancellorreferred to statistics which clearly documented thesuccess of that effort. He stated that in 1986, whenthe Enrollment Management Program began, 68.9percent of UWSP’s incoming freshman class camefrom the upper half of their high school graduatingclass, while in 1993, it was estimated that 90.1percent would come from the upper half of theirrespective classes. Overall, the classes (1986 and1993) ranked in the 61.6 and 71st percentile of theirrespective graduating classes. And, while the fresh-man class of 1986 had contained 13.2 percent ofthose who had finished within the top 10 percent oftheir high school classes, by 1993, that number roseto 17.2 percent.

Goal three, providing for the relevant curriculumfor the 1990s and beyond was being addressed bythe Curricular Task Force, the academic depart-ments, and the university’s regular governanceprocess. The task force’s recommendation of 14knowledges and skills needed by UWSP’s studentswas, at the time of this writing, on its way to reviewby the General Degree Requirements Subcommittee.Departments were assigned the job of reviewinghow the courses in their major offerings met thegoals set forward by the task force, and the taskforce and the General Degree RequirementsSubcommittee were reviewing the role of generaleducation courses therein as well.

In addition to the normal curricular processes, andthat of the task force, other factors were also at workin the 1990s which would have an impact upon the

quality of the faculty and the curriculum. Outcomesassessment, one of society’s newer demands placedon institutions of higher education, was mandatedby both Board of Regents and by the regionalaccrediting agency, the North Central Association.Consequently, much effort was spent during the1993-94 academic year developing policies and pro-cedures to comply with those directives. New effortsto further refine post-tenure faculty review werealso being undertaken, again in response to politicaldemands for accountability.

Efforts to increase the external funding availableto the campus were also beginning to bear fruit bythe centennial year. The campus’ endowmentincreased between 1988 and 1993 from about $1million to about $2 million; the number of donorsmaking contributions to the campus had beenenlarged from about 4,400 to over 8,500 during thesame time period. The launching of a $5 millioncapital funds campaign in concert with the celebra-tion of the centennial appeared certain of success.Likewise, campus efforts to secure grants and con-tracts from external forces had nearly doubled overthe five-year period.

The record in the area of increased campus diver-sification was not as favorable, although Sandersnoted that the campus was “one of few” to meetUW System “Design for Diversity” objectivesregarding the recruitment of minority students, andthe hiring of academic staff. Nonetheless, gains inminority enrollment (up to 3.6 percent of the studentbody in 1993) and in minority faculty (7 percent in1993) were slower than had been desired, andSanders promised additional efforts in this area not-ing the recent hiring of a new affirmative actionofficer to insure full compliance and greater efforts.

External partnerships continued to be sought asthe campus completed its one hundredth year. Closeties with the local schools were strengthened; rela-tionships with local businesses and industries wereenhanced; and, the signing of articulation agree-ments with the technical colleges in the area andwith the College of the Menominee Nation wereoutward signs of successful efforts in this direction.

Sanders noted the increased efforts that had beenmade to improve communication with the UWsystem, with the legislature, and with the generalpublic, and he pledged continued progress in these

Vice Chancellor Provost Howard Thoyre

areas. He suggested that the success of the internalplanning process on campus was directly responsi-ble for the improved public response to the requestfrom the campus for additional external supportand cooperation.

Finally, in regard to the goal of image enhance-ment, the chancellor pointed to capital improve-ments under way and planned for the campus, andnoted the renewed efforts to improve the physicalappearance of the campus. He proclaimed that visi-ble progress had been made toward reaching thisgoal, with many trees and flowers planted, withimproved traffic patterns around the campus, bettersigns, and a general appearance of a fresh and vitalcampus. The campus was being prepared physicallyfor its 100th birthday celebration.

Chancellor Sanders concluded his address to thefaculty who were about to begin the 100th year ofthe institution in September, 1993, by suggestingseveral challenges which remained unfinished. He

Old Main in it’s 100th year.

stated that he had instructed Vice Chancellor Thoyreto propose new reward system guidelines for facultyand staff and to clarify what was required for facultyto attain tenure and promotions at UWSP in theyears to come. He called also for increased attentionto faculty development through the internal realloca-tion of funds to programs which would enhance thedevelopment opportunities for faculty and teachingacademic staff. And, emphasizing a theme whichwould likely become more pronounced as the cam-pus entered its second century, Sanders pointed to

the improved technology available to faculty andstaff and urged a greater effort to use that technolo-gy for more efficient instruction, and to makegreater use of the knowledge obtained through tech-nological means to reduce the time to graduation forstudents and to communicate with alumni and othercampus constituencies.

As UWSP completed its first century, there wasmuch to celebrate. Yet, with the challenges facing itand all of higher education, it was equally clear thatthe beginnings of the second century would require

continued vigilance, diligence, and commitment.“The world is ours” remained a vital and significantpart of the life of UWSP, but as with so much of therapidly changing world of the 1990s, to remain ontop would require continued hard work during the

years to come. The first century should be judged tohave been a positive and successful one. Time andfuture historians will have to judge the institution’ssuccesses and failures in meeting the demands of itssecond century.

Chancellor Sanders contemplates UWSP’s second century.

As the campus completed its first century, it wasclear that those early supporters of higher educa-tion in Stevens Point, if they were still around,would feel that their efforts to obtain a normalschool for the community had been most worth-while. The normal school they sought had survivedand succeeded, despite two world wars, a majoreconomic depression, and several changes in nameand mission. As times and public needs changed,the campus’ name and mission changed from nor-mal school to teachers college, state college, stateuniversity and, finally in the early 1970s, toUniversity of Wisconsin. And, as Wisconsinbecame one of the national leaders in the provisionand maintenance of higher education, the StevensPoint community was able to share in that success.

A review of the historical and economic recordsreveals that the community and the region werewell served by the placement of the campus in thecity. The presence of the campus brought much tothe community. An incalculable infusion of dollars,brought to the Stevens Point area by students andfaculty, has had a major and lasting impact on thegrowth and development of the community. A uni-versity campus brings more than money to a com-munity, however, as evidenced by the many culturalevents and athletic activities provided to the citi-zens of the central Wisconsin region. Concerts, the-atrical performances, championship hockey andbasketball, the many and varied speakers brought tothe campus, the political debates during the late1960s and the 1970s, and other discussions anddebates held on the campus, all helped provideunique experiences normally unavailable to com-munities which do not have a college or universitynearby. The ability to work with the public schoolsof Stevens Point and the surrounding areas, and theexternal partnerships with local businesses andindustries also provided a mutually beneficial partof the relationship between the region and the uni-versity. All considered, these contributions are sosignificant overall that their value is nearly incalcu-lable. Put simply, central Wisconsin without thenormal school, teachers college, state college/ uni-versity, and UW-Stevens Point would have devel-oped very differently over the past century and

would be a very different place in which to livetoday.

From those early, fierce jousts with neighboringWausau over the location of the state’s sixth normalschool to a well-established and highly respectedmember of the University of Wisconsin System, theStevens Point campus has traveled a great distance.From an enrollment of 366 (including preparatorystudents and students enrolled in the model/campusschool) in that initial year, 1894, to an enrollmenthigh of 9,555 in 1986, the campus under enrollmentmanagement restrictions ended its century with astudent body of about 8,600. The faculty and staff,which numbered 13 in 1894, had grown to over 500faculty and academic staff and almost 400 classifiedstaff by 1993. This growth was reflected in thechanged nature of the institution. Today, a high per-centage of faculty members have Ph.D. or Ed.D., orother appropriate terminal degrees as compared withthe early faculties in which the members sometimesheld no degrees at all. The curriculum, originallyaimed at a very limited audience of prospective orreturning teachers, has been expanded, broadened,and fine-tuned to include a broad component of lib-eral arts and sciences, a large undergraduate pro-gram in natural resources, an outstanding programin the fine arts, and a group of professional pro-grams, some of which have gained state or regionalacclaim. Included in this latter grouping is a greatlyexpanded program of teacher training, far differentfrom that envisioned by the founders of the StevensPoint Normal School back in 1894.

The faith and the efforts of those who made thedecision to locate the school at Stevens Point havebeen well rewarded. A strong faculty, dedicatedadministrative leadership, and a continuallyimproving student body all helped lead the campussuccessfully through its first 100 years and pre-pared it well as it set about to enter its second cen-tury. Strong faculty governance, particularly duringthe last quarter of the school’s first century, andincreasingly involved student government havealso contributed to the growth and maturation ofthe institution. And, the significant communitysupport, so vital at the very creation of UWSP,appeared stronger than ever as the centennial year

Epilogue

was celebrated throughout the campus and commu-nity. That community support has become evenmore significant over the years as the universityhas been forced to seek support beyond that pro-vided by the state of Wisconsin.

“The world is ours” remains a viable and visibletheme as the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point concludes its first century. Withnumerous opportunities for overseas experiencesreadily available for students and faculty, with the

interconnection of nations and continents by elec-tronic means, and by virtue of the efforts made tobroaden the scope of higher education for its stu-dents throughout its first 100 years, UWSP awaitsits second century of students and offers to theman ever more challenging commitment to the slo-gan of that fateful telegram. “The world is ours”remains the clarion call to students as theUniversity of Wisconsin-Stevens Point begins itssecond 100 years.

At commencement each May nearly 1,000 graduates say farewell to the world they knew at UWSP.

Bibliographic sources for this study included bothprimary and secondary materials. Of great impor-tance were materials held by the UniversityArchives at the University of Wisconsin-StevensPoint. Archivist William G. Paul provided continuedand invaluable support throughout the gathering ofinformation. That support was essential in obtaininginformation for this book.

For the discussion of the overall development of higher education in Wisconsin (Chapter 1), anumber of sources were used. Walker Woman'sHistory of the Wisconsin State Universities (1968)was an extremely important place to begin. Statehistories, such as Robert Nesbit and WilliamThompson’s Wisconsin: A History (2nd edition,1989) also provided basic structural information.In addition, a number of histories of other cam-puses of the University of Wisconsin System wereread and used as appropriate.

Numerous state and university reports werereviewed, including the report of the KellettCommission (“A Forward Look: Final Report of theGovernor’s Commission on Education”), annualreports of the Department of Public Instruction, theState Superintendents, the Normal School Board ofRegents (and later boards as well), and various reportsand papers prepared by the presidents/chancellors ofthe campus. Many of these are available at the StateHistorical Society of Wisconsin’s fine library, whilesome are also found in UWSP’s archives. Newspaperswere used as needed, with the greatest amount ofinformation provided by the Stevens Point Journal andother local and regional papers, and the student news-paper, The Pointer. President William C. Hansen’stypewritten account of the history of the campusthrough his period of service was also consulted.

In addition, several doctoral dissertations haveextensively reviewed some aspects of the develop-ment of higher education in Wisconsin, particularly inregard to the merger of the two university systems inthe 1970s. Two master’s papers provided some of thebasic information regarding athletics at UWSP.

Finally, personal reflections were provided bymany persons. The archival holdings at UWSPinclude a series of videotaped “CentennialInterviews” prepared for the celebration of the

centennial. UWSP’s archives also contains thepapers of many individual faculty members andadministrators, as well as the records of most cam-pus committees and administrative offices. Severalindividuals spoke directly to the author or provid-ed written recollections about various aspects ofthe university’s past. Among the most detailed ofthese was Albert LaMere’s accounts (see Chapter7) of the experiences of those who served in the97th CTD on campus during World War II.

Selected Bibliography

I. General Works on Higher Education in Wisconsin

Daggett, Clay J., ed., Education in Wisconsin. Whitewater, WI: 1936.

Farmer, A. N., Conditions and Needs of Wisconsin’s Normal Schools: Report of Cooperative Survey. Madison: 1914.

Kittle, William, A Brief History of the Board of Regents of Normal Schools of Wisconsin, 1857-1925. Madison: 1924.

Kittle, William, History of the Special Departments in the Normal Schools of Wisconsin, 1914-1925. Madison: 1925.

Kittle, William, The Rise of the Summer School System in the Normal Schools of Wisconsin, 1907-1925. Madison: 1925.

McKenny, Charles, Educational History of Wisconsin. Chicago: 1912.

Paltridge, James Gilbert, Conflict and Coordination in Higher Education: The Wisconsin Experience. Berkeley: 1968.

Patzer, Conrad E., Public Education in Wiscons~n. Madison: 1924.

Salisbury, Albert, Historical Sketch ofNormal Instruction in Wisconsin. Madison: 1893.

Stearns, J. W., The Columbian History of Education in Wisconsin. Milwaukee: 1893.

Wyman, Walker D., ed., History of the Wisconsin State Universities. River Falls: 1968.

Bibliographic Note

II. Histories of Individual UW Campuses

Bogue, Allan G., and Robert Taylor, eds., The University of Wisconsin: One Hundred and Twenty five Years. Madison: 1975.

Bohi, M. Janette, A History of Wisconsin State University Whitewater, 1868-1968. Whitewater, WI: 1967.

Carter, Hilda R., and John R. Jenswold, The University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire: A History, 1916-1976. Eau Claire, WI: 1976.

Curti, Merle, and Vernon Carstenson, The University of Wisconsin: A History, 18481925.2 vols., Madison: 1948.

Gamble, Richard D., From Academy to University, 1866-1966: A History of Wisconsin State University-Platteville. Platteville,WI: 1966.

Gilkey, George R., The First Seventy Years: AHistory of the University of Wisconsin La Crosse, 1909-1979. La Crosse, WI: 1981.

Hansen, William C., “WSU-SP, From Normal School Through State College Years, 18941962.” Typewritten manuscript: 1964.

King, James T., and Walker D. Wyman, Centennial History: The University of Wisconsin-River Falls. River Falls, WI: 1975.

Klotsche, J. Martin, The University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee: An Urban University. Milwaukee:

1972.Specht, Ellen L., ed., “History of the Wisconsin

State University at Stevens Point.” Stevens Point: 1961.

III.Dissertations and Theses on Subjects Related to Higher Education in Wisconsin

Bailey, Richard Paul, “The Wisconsin StateColleges

1875-1955 with Respect to the Function of Preparing Secondary Teachers.” Ph.D. thesis, University of Wisconsin-Madison: 1959.

Carothers, Otto M., Jr., “The Merger of the University of Wisconsin with the Wisconsin State University System.” Ed.D. thesis, Indiana University: 1974.

Guiles, Roger Earl, “A Study of Practices,

Conditions, and Trends in Relation to the Function of the Wisconsin State Teachers Colleges.” Ph.D. thesis, University of Wisconsin-Madison: 1949. 164

Herrmann, William H., “The Rise of the PublicNormal School System in Wisconsin.”Ph.D. the-

sis, University of Wisconsin-Madison: 1953.

Kelly, Gale Loudon, “The Politics of Higher Educational Coordination in Wisconsin, 1956-1969.” Ph.D. thesis, University of Wisconsin-Madison: 1972.

Page, Nancy, “Women’s Athletics at University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point 1894-1940.” Master’s paper, University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point: 1979.

Rost, Joseph C., “The Merger of the University of Wisconsin and the Wisconsin State University Systems: A Case Study in the Politics of Education.” Ph.D. thesis, University of Wisconsin-Madison: 1973.

Schallert, R. Dale, “A History of Intercollegiate Football at Wisconsin State University, Stevens Point, 1894-1964.” M.S. thesis, Winona State (MN) University: 1966.

Smith, Ronald A., “From Normal School to State University: A History of the Wisconsin State University Conference.” Ph.D. thesis, University of Wisconsin-Madison: 1969.

IV. Miscellaneous Sources

Allen, Bessie May, “A Half Century of Home Economics at Central State College, Stevens

Point, Wisconsin 1902-1952.” Typewritten manuscript: 1952.

Bradford, Mary D., Memoirs of Mary D. Bradford. Evansville, WI: 1932.

Klotsche, J. Martin, Confessions of an Educator: My Personal and Professional Memoirs. Milwaukee: 1985.

Missey, James, “The Eve of Revolution: An Antiwar Memoir.” Stevens Point: 1985.

Nesbit, Robert, and William R Thompson, Wisconsin: A History. 2nd edit., Madison: 1989.

Smith, Ronald A., “Athletics in the Wisconsin State

1967- Ackley, Richard1969- Allen, C.Y1913-52 Allen, Bessie May1967- Anderson, John1966- Anderson, Ray1953-85 Anderson, Robert T.1947-85 Anderson, Sidone1960-89 Andrews, Oliver A.1969- Aylesworth, Don1966- Bailiff, John1947-80 Bainter, Monica E.1962- Baird, Mary Ann1956-86 Barnes, John W.1963- Barnsdale, Patricia1967- Baruch, Robert1966-93 Benz, Donald1963-90 Biddlestone, Mary Lou1966- Billings, John1965- Blair, Lynn A. (Red)1959-89 Blocher, Allen F.1968- Bloom, Patricia A.1968- Bloom, Tom1965- Bodzislaw, Julie1966- Bowen, Robert1956-83 Brodhagen, Eugene E.1966- Brown, Kenneth1966- Buggs, Mary Jo1960- Burling, Gerald1958-88 Burress, Lee A.1966- Burroughs, Jane1920-58 Burroughs, Leland1967- Busch, Robert1962- Cable, William J.1969- Callicott, Baird1969- Canfield, James1965- Carlson, Ann D.1965- Carlson, Stanley L.1923-61 Carlsten, Edna1964- Carpenter, Donna1963- Cates, Mark1966- Chander, Jagdish1968- Chander, Jyotsna1962-93 Chappell, Gerald E.1968- Chesebro, Judy1968- Chitharanjan, David1964- Christie, Darrell A.

1969- Cincera, Marie1969- Clark, Bonnie1968- Clark, Eugene1969- Clark, William1894-1937 Collins, Joseph1964- Conlon, Richard L.1964- Copes, Frederick A.1962-90 Corneli, Helen M.1947-82 Crow, Frank W.1957-88 Counsell, Duame K.1894-24 Culver, Garry1968- Davidson, William1952-77 Davis, Doris V.1928-70 Davis, Mildred1940-65 DeBot, Elizabeth Pflffner1968- Dehlinger, Patricia1968- De Smet, Imogene1923-54 Diehi, Leah L.1962- Dorgan, Ruth E.1962- Doxtator, Richard W.1969- Drefcinski, Earl1962-93 Duberstein, Richard1950-83 Eagon, Burdette W.1968- Eckholm, David1965- Elsenrath, Dennis E.1965-93 Engebretson, Lolita1954-83 Engebretson, Melvin1946-72 Epple, Arol C.1920-47 Evans, Charles1967- Fabiano, Daniel1963-90 Face, Richard D.1968- Fang, Marcus1967- Farnsworth, Carl1935-85 Faust, Gilbert W. *1968- Fink, Glen1964- Fisher, Roger J.1969- Ford, Pat1968- Freckmann, Robert1967- Galecki, Greg1965- Garski, Geraldine1962-90 Geeseman, Gordon E.1968- Gerzmehle, Shirley1969- Gibbs, Lawrence1957-85 Gibson, Guy J.

* Record length of employment

Appendix A. Employees with 25 or More Years at UWSP

1958-92 Gillesby, John Douglas1940-69 Glennon, Bertha1967- Goan, Charles1965- Godfrey, Helen R.1966- Gorell, Wayne1946-71 Gotham, Raymond1896-28 Gray, Nannie1967- Greene, Donald1968- Gresens, Joan1962-88 Grubba, Gerald1966- Gumz, Vern1948-80 Haase, Myron1966- Hagen, Gary1968- Hall, Kent1920-53 Halsted, Gertie Hansoi1965-91 Halverson, Wayne L.1965- Hamilton, Mary Kay1961-92 Harpstead, Milo I.1941-75 Harris, Albert E.1965-92 Harris, Joseph B.1968- Harvath, Charlotte1968- Hasenohrl, Cheryl1959-88 Hayes, Thomas J.1967- Heig, Vincent1967- Hekmat, Hamid1965- Herman, Arthur L.1912-45 Herrick, Alfred1968- Herrold, Judith1967- Hille, Robert1969- Hintz, Raymond1967- Hintz, Richard1964-89 Hoff, Donald J.1967- Hoffbeck, Harlan1964-89 Houlihan, Dan1969- Inch, Barbara1946-82 Isaacson, Pauline H.1969- Jacobsen, Cliff1934-72 Jenkins, Warren G.1958-86 Jensen, James E.1964-92 Johnson, Gerald R1965-90 Johnson, John H.1966- Johnson, William1926-51 Jonas, Frances1956- Jones, Agnes A.1941-74 Kampenga, Nelis, R.1962-93 Kapter, John D.

1964- Karg, Mel1966- Kasson, Peter1956-88 Keats, Norman E.1969- Kelley, William (Pete)1965- Kieliszewski, Linda1964- Kilcoyne, Robert1968- Kirby, William1963- Kloiber, David1966- Knopf, Garry1965- Knowlton, Barbara1962-92 Knowlton, Robert J.1931-63 Knutzen, Norman E.1960-92 Konkol, Ray1966- Kortenkamp, Daniel1962- Korth, Irving1961-87 Koskenlinna, Hazel M.1963- Kovalski, Madeline1963-90 Kraus, Wilbert1948-85 Kremple, Frederich A.1962-87 Krueger, Robert H.1967- Kubowski, Edward1961- Kulas, Gregory S.1969- Kung, George1957-90 Kuse, Hildegard R.1964- Lang, C. Marvin1964- Larsen, John A.1966- Lassa, Herman1965-91 Leafgren, Frederick F.1966- Lee, Chen Hui1967-93 Lehman, Stanley1966- Lerand, Wayne1965-92 Lewis, Leon E.1942-76 Lewis, Robert S.1967- Liebe, Ernest1969-94 Liebe, Myron1965- Ligman, Eleanor1966- Literski, Len1965-92 Littmann, Frederick F.1961- Liu, Matthew J.P.1964- Lokken, Ronald A.1966- Long, Charles1965- Mages, Gilbert G.1926-57 Mansavage, Frank1911-42 Mansur, Lulu1965-91 Marion, Carol (Wick)1952-82 Marquard, Patricia

1957-82 Marshall, Lambert1930-69 Mason, Syble E.1966-93 McCaig, Thomas1963-88 McKinney, William Mark1969- Mertz, Paul1964- Meshak, Germaine1920-52 Meston, Helen1968- Meyer, William1958-90 Mickelson, Joel C.1965- Miller, Gordon L.1966- Missey, James1966- Montgomery, Richard1968- Moore, John1968- Moore, Nancy1969- Morris, Robert1953-88 Morrison, Clifford A.1923-53 Mott, Joseph1969- Myhre, Roger1964- Myhre, Ruth1967-92 Narron, Dawn1915-44 Neale, Oscar W.1963-92 Nelson, Russell S.1961-86 Nieman, Clark1967- Neinke, Gerald1964-89 Oliver, Russell L.1965- Olski, Lorraine1966- Olson, Duane1965- Ortlieb, Suzanne1962-92 Oster, John J.1969- Pankowski, Edith1967- Parry, Marshall1965- Pattow, Donald J.1967- Paul, Barbara1966- Paul, Justus1969- Paul, Patricia1969- Paul, William1965- Peplinski, David1965- Peplinski, Judith1923-56 Pierce, Burton1938-80 Pierson, Edgar F1968- Pistono, Stephen1967- Pitt, Judith1969- Post, Douglas1956-85 Radke, Orland E.1966- >Radtke, Douglas1967- Razdan, Kameshwar

1967- Reed, Jack1969- Reinwand, Sr. Rosella1932-58 Reppen, Nels 0.1956-84 Rice, Orville, M.1920-59 Rightsell, Raymond M.1963-90 Rimnac, Vera1969- Riske, Richard1914-56 Roach, May M.1968- Roeder, Ted1968- Rogers, Richard1914-44 Rogers, Thomas1966- Rose, Mardee1966-91 Rumsey, Charles1953-78 Runke, Henry M.1967- Rutkowski, Harold1946-77 Rybicki, Adam1943-73 Samter, Mary S.1960-88 Sandmann, Herbert H.1919-62 Sargis, Carolyn Rolfson1923-59 Schmeeckle, Fred J.1968- Schmitz, Francis1966- Schoenecker, Richard1962-88 Schneider, Richard1957- Schuler, Joseph L.1969- Seiler, Jan1969- Seiler, Mark1968- Shaw, Byron1965-91 Shumway, Mary1956-85 Simpson, Robert E.1965-92 Singh, Bhola P.1969- Skelton, Gail1969- Skelton, William1967- Smith, David Lyle1909-38 Smith, Ernest T.1962- Sommers, Raymond A.1947-82 Specht, Raymond E.1949-74 Spence, Vernon1901-38 Spindler, Frank1965- Steffen, Ruth S.1918-56 Steiner, Herbert1968- Steiner, Ronald1965-93 Stelmahoske, Isabelle1969- Stelzer, Diane1966- Stewart, Max (Lynn)1926-54 Stien, George1965- Sullivan, Michael F.

1926-62 Swallow, Marie1969- Taft, Kathleen1969- Taft, Stephen1965- Taylor, Allen G.1965- Temp, Marvin W.1965- Thiesfeld, Virgil A.1963-92 Thomas, John1967- Thompson, Marilyn1918-47 Thompson, Victor E.1962- Thoyre, H. Howard1966- Thurmaier, Roland1960-85 Tielens, Mary Jane1968- Tierney, Dennis1965 Troyanowski, Roger1945-82 Trytten, Roland A.1958-89 Trzebiatowski, Clarence1967- Thfts, LaRene1966-91 VanDreser, Roy J.1965- Van Prooyen, Helen Sigmund1969- Varga, Karl1969- Varga, Martin1966- Wachowiak, Nancy1965- Walker, Hugh D.

1966- Wallock, Barbara1913-49 Watson, Charles Frank1961-90 Weaver, Robert H.1963- Weiler, John F.1963- Weir, Eugene1968- Wells, Coralie1966-93 White, Charlie1969- Wick, Terry1947-77 Wievel, Bernard F.1957-85 Wilde, Robert R1940-66 Williams, Mildrede L.1921-60 Wilson, Emily1962-89 Witkowski, Betty1966-92 Wood, Roger L.1965- Worzalla, Ernest1964- Wrone, David R.1969- Wrycza, Kathy1963-90 Wypych, James1969- Young, Alan1966-92 Zawadsky, John1962-93 Zimmerman, Gregory1966- Zorn, Suzanne

Faculty Chairs

1936-37 Charles F. Watson1937-38 Charles F. Watson1938-39 Charles F. Watson1939-40 Charles R Watson1940-41 Herbert R. Steiner1941-42 Herbert R. Steiner1942-43 Oscar W. Neale1943-44 Oscar W. Neale1944-45 Bessie May Allen1945-46 Warren G. Jenkins1946-47 Warren G. Jenkins1947-48 Warren G. Jenkins1948-49 Warren G. Jenkins1949-50 May M. Roach1950-51 May M. Roach1951-52 Leland M. Burroughs1952-53 Norman E. Knutzen1953-54 Norman E. Knutzen1954-55 Arthur S. Lyness1955-56 Arthur S. Lyness1956-57 Arthur S. Lyness1957-58 Edgar F. Pierson1958-59 Edgar F. Pierson1959-60 Roland A. ~ytten1960-61 Roland A. ~ytten1961-62 Albert E. Harris1962-63 Henry M. Runke1963-64 Henry M. Runke1964-65 Robert S. Lewis1965-66 Robert S. Lewis1966-67 Gilbert W. Faust1967-68 Gilbert W. Faust1968-69 Carol Marion1969-70 Richard C. Schneider1970-71 Richard C. Schneider1971-72 Frank W. Crow

Faculty Senate Chairs

1972-73 Frank W. Crow1973-74 Robert S. Lewis1974-75 John P. Zawadsky1975-76 Virgil Thiesfeld1976-77 Myrvin Christopherson1977-78 Justus F. Paul1978-79 Justus R Paul1979-80 Douglas D. Radtke1980-81 Douglas D. Radtke1981-82 Nancy N. Moore1982-83 Nancy N. Moore1983-84 Justus F. Paul1984-85 Justus F. Paul1985-86 Myrvin Christopherson1986-87 Eugene C. Johnson1987-88 Eugene C. Johnson1988-89 Donald Dietrich1989-90 Robert J. Knowlton1990-91 Robert J. Knowlton1991-92 Gary Alexander1992-93 Gary Alexander1993-94 Judith Pratt1994-95 Edward Miller

Appendix B. Faculty and Faculty Senate Chairs

Student Council Presidents

1960-61 Bob Kiefert1961-62 Ron Johanknecht1962-63 Bob Davis1963-64 Dick Cline1964-65 Judy Christiansen

Student Senate Presidents

1965-66 Warren Kostroski1966-67 Warren Kostroski1967-68 Paul Schilling1968-69 Paul Schilling1969-70 Wally Thiel1970-71 Scott Schultz1970-71 Ray McMillion1972-73 Joe’ LaFleur1973-74 James Hamilton1974-75 Lyle Updike1975-76 Bob Badzinski1976-77 Jim Eagon1977-78 Rick Tank1978-79 Gail Gatton1979-80 Robert Borski1980-81 Linda Catterson1981-82 Jack Buswell1982-83 Scott West1983-84 Scott West1984-85 Alan Kesner1985-86 Christopher Johnson1986-87 Lisa Thiel1987-88 Steve Cady1988-89 Brenda Leahy1989-90 Brenda Leahy1990-91 Craig Schoenfeld1991-92 Tamara Butts1992-93 David Kunze1993-94 David Kunze1994-95 Alicia Ferriter

Appendix C. Student Government Leaders