History of Baruch College Book and Exhibit

2. The Thirties and Forties: Growth and Conflict

Probably because the stock market crash had cast a great pall on New York City, the new 23rd Street building of the School of Business and Civic Administration opened without ceremony in 1930. Given the state of both the local and national economy, a celebration in honor of a school closely linked to business and finance may have seemed inappropriate. Among other reasons for gloom was the fear that the very existence of the School might be jeopardized by the Depression. Fewer students were expected to enroll and less money would be forthcoming from the hard-pressed municipal government. Truly, there appeared to be little to celebrate in 1930, and the future looked bleak.

To a certain extent, the pessimists were correct. Scarcity of resources, the perennial situation at all of the colleges under the jurisdiction of the Board of Higher Education, was certainly exacerbated during the Depression. This led to intense competition between the uptown Schools--the College of Liberal Arts and the other two Schools, Technology and Education--and the School of Business downtown. The issues were budget lines for personnel, both instructional and administrative, as well as money for "other than personal services," such as maintenance and equipment, usual1y referred to as OTPS.

The shortage of dollars at 23rd Street led to intraschool quarrels over space and services and bred a "depression mentality" that encourage hoarding and negativism. There was also little collegiality among the municipal colleges, which by the mid-thirties included Brooklyn and Queens College in addition to the original Hunter and City, Indeed, persistent underfunding led to suspicion and competition; the School of Business in particular was constantly on guard to protect its monopoly of programs leading to the BBA degree. There were also external pressures. Unemployment, persistent anti-Semitism, the rise of fascism and the drift toward war positioned a heavily Eastern European, Jewish, somewhat radicalized student body against an unyielding conservative administration for still another kind of conflict.

On the other hand, contrary to expectations, the population of the School of Business grew much larger. If it had been allowed more autonomy and had been funded at a level matching its enrollments, it might have matured into a first-rate collegiate school of business during the years that separated the opening of the new building and the outbreak of the Korean War. Even without such good fortune, however, the period was one of growth and modernization for the School. By 1955, as this chapter and the following one will demonstrate, by the standards that an academic institution can be measured--that is, enrollments, faculty, space, administration, curriculum and student life,--it was considerably different from the struggling institution of the twenties.

Growth: The Overall Picture

Whatever its negative effects on the nation as a whole, the stock market crash of October 1929 stimulated total enrollments at the College of the City of New York, which grew by almost 4,000 students between 1929 and 1930. More than half of that increase was due to the 2,835 students enrolled in the three divisions (day session, evening session and nonmatriculants) of the School of Business, now housed in its new building at 23rd Street and Lexington Avenue. The largest increase was among evening-session diploma candidates, but day-session matriculants had also more than doubled, from 310 in 1929 to almost 700 in 1930. There were also 297 more nonmatriculants enrolled, but their number was to drop during the next few years, partly due to increasing unemployment, which made it more difficult for many to pay the tuition of $2.50 per credit hour.

Matriculated students were also poor, but since most paid only a fifty-cent library fee and whatever it took to buy books when they became upperclassmen, it was more feasible for them to attend college. In fall 1933, at the very nadir of the Depression, 1,334 day-session students were working toward the BBA, and some 5,633 were studying for the diploma or the baccalaureate in the evening session. Somewhat improved conditions after 1936 did not slow growth, which peaked in September 1940, when 2,926 day-session and 7,137 evening-session students were matriculating at the School of Business and Civic Administration.(1)

Greater job opportunities after the United States began to prepare its defenses also did not materially change enrollment patterns, but the Selective Service Act (1940) did. By 1943, there were only 5,038 evening-session matriculants at 23rd Street. After the war there were even fewer because the stipend included in the G.I. Bill made it feasible for many former night school students to attend by day. All City College units adopted liberal admission policies, which allowed an ex-G.I. who had not completed high school to take refresher and preparatory courses before beginning regular college classes. Disabled veterans, even without high-school diplomas, were given particular preference. Since space at 23rd Street did not increase along with enrollments, the veteran preference policy raised the entry average for current high-school graduates to extraordinary levels, thus excluding many.

In 1947 there were only about 2,300 evening-session degree candidates, and the figure stayed at approximately this level until well into the fifties. Day-session enrollments remained near the peak figure for more than a year after the United States entered the war, but there was a sharp drop in the spring 1943 enrollment and an even sharper one six months later, when the needs of the military led to the end of deferments for accounting, economics and statistics majors. Although all the Schools of City College decreased the subject matter units required for admission and lowered the entry average as well, by September only 1,243 students were studying by day at the School of Business.

That all-time low figure had more than doubled three years later, and the numbers continued to grow even larger ( to 4,000 or more) until the fall semester of 1949, when they stabilized at about 3,500. At that point, the School of Business had more students than any other unit of City College. During the following year, however, America's containment policy led many young men to Korea rather than to 23rd Street, and there was once again a noticeable decline in enrollments.(2)

Growth in the thirties and forties can also be measured by the constantly increasing number of graduates, which went from 219 in 1930 to 446 ten years later. There was also an important change In the status of the graduates. Only 63 of the 1930 group had earned the Bachelor of Business Administration degree; the majority received a diploma in accountancy. During the ensuing decade, however, the proportions changed and from 1935 on, there were four times as many BBA graduates. After 1939 only baccalaureate degrees were awarded, which greatly improved the School of Business and Civic Administration's standing vis-a-vis other collegiate schools of business.

The impact of World War II on graduation statistics was not as great as one might think; the graduating classes of 1940 to 1943 were larger than all but one of the pre-war classes; only in 1944, due to the end of deferments, was there a steep drop. An accelerated school calendar and flexibility regarding examinations, as well as the possibility of postponing service, had enabled many young men to go off to war with the BBA in their pockets. Most of those who had entered in 1940, however, could not complete their requirements before their deferments were removed, making the graduating class of 1944 the smallest since the twenties. This pattern, however, did not continue; the numbers were up again in 1945 and except for a small dip the following year, continued to grow to a peak of 1,006 in 1949.(3)

These figures reflected conditions in the outside world much more than anything done at 23rd Street. The surprisingly large number of graduates in 1945, for example, was the result of the point system used to determine when a soldier could be discharged from the armed services. It allowed those men who had been serving the longest or who had been in combat (especially if they had been wounded), to return to civilian life the soonest. Thus, many former School of Business students who had completed most of their work before entering the armed services could finish their college courses before V-J Day. The class of 1946 was somewhat smaller, reflecting the fact that many of its members were veterans with more work to complete. The peak year was 1949 because that was when most of this group finished. After that, there were not as many veterans attending the School of Business, and the renewal of the draft during the Korean War meant fewer male students in general.

The course of study required for the diploma (as opposed to the baccalaureate) remained in the Bulletin of the School all through the postwar years, but after 1938, when the number of BBA graduates had reached a respectable level, those working toward the diploma were considered nonmatriculants and did not appear in the senior yearbook when they completed their course of study. This may account for what looked like a great surge in the number of nonmatriculants after 1938, an increase that continued to a perm of 8,793 in 1948 and declined only slightly thereafter.(4)

Growth: Women's Place, Both Larger and Smaller

Many of the nonmatriculants were women, who in smaller numbers were also among the evening-session diploma and BBA candidates. Until the forties, relatively few women attended the day session, to which they had first been admitted in 1930. Their presence, as we have seen, was the result of a temporary and not very well publicized Board of Higher Education modification of the earlier "turf" protection agreement made by the two single-sex colleges.

In 1933, only seventeen women graduated from the School of Business, ten with diplomas and seven with the BBA. Afterwards, as more became aware that they were welcome at 23rd Street, their numbers increased. Success, however, bred problems. Following loud protests from Hunter College, the Board of Higher Education in 1933 enforced the abused "no poaching" agreement and women students were once again barred from entering the day session of the School of Business.(5)

This was only a temporary phenomenon, however. Protests from various sources, including male students at 23rd Street, in addition to Hunter's inability to offer a full business program and thus award the degree in business, led to a reversal of Board of Higher Education policy. In 1936, Presidents Frederick Robinson of City College and Eugene Colligan of Hunter reached a compromise that would allow a small number of women to attend the School of Business until Hunter could develop a BBA program of its own. The high-school average required of female applicants would be set many points higher than what was asked of males, thus making sure that only a limited number of women could gain entry.(6)

This may have been merely a face-saving device, but in any case the onset of war changed the picture entirely. Expecting a drastic loss of male students and the possibility that the School could not remain open, the discriminatory entering average by which the number of women students had been kept artificially low was abolished. For the first time in the history of the School, women composed the majority of the class that entered in February 1943. Two years later, they constituted 75 percent of the graduating class and the student council had its first woman president.

These women were activists; some joined a women's ROTC (Reserve Officer's Training Corps) group, and others wrote and mailed a newsletter called "Ticker Tape" to the thousands of former students who were now G.I.'s. They also kept many of the student activities afloat and by their presence, enabled a number of the faculty to retain their positions. Although they deserved better, soon after V-J Day, the discriminatory average was reinstated and the number of women in each freshman class was limited to seventy-five. By the next year the proportion of women students had dropped to 36 percent of the total enrollment, and they had lost their leadership positions in the School.(7)

Reflecting their wartime numbers, women constituted almost half of the 1946 graduates, but after that their numbers grew steadily less significant and they represented only 6 percent of the class of 1952. At the close of his first year as dean of the School of Business, in 1947, Thomas Norton commented dispprovingly on the fact that male applicants needed an 82 percent high-school average to enter, while women needed 85 percent. He scoffed at the ostensible reason, which was that women were poorly prepared in mathematics and thus needed a higher overall average to demonstrate their ability to keep up with their male peers. The Dean was right to scoff; women students apparently did more than just keep up. In a series of cartoons in Lexicon, the senior yearbook, the male students at 23rd Street were pictured as being eager to copy from them at every opportunity--even during romantic encounters.(8)

The real reason for limiting the number of women students was undoubtedly lack of room and the prevailing ideology that said it was more important to educate men for the business professions. As we have seen, the School began to feel enrollment pressures as soon as the war ended, and this situation continued as the trickle of veterans, almost all of whom were men, became a flood. At the same time as he was questioning the School's discriminatory practices, Norton reported that 45 percent of the student body was composed of veterans and that there was no room at 23rd Street for freshmen of either sex. Much to the faculty's displeasure, therefore, most of the entering freshmen were forced to take their classes uptown, where, it was feared, they might choose to remain. The crunch, however, did not last long. By 1948, the number of veterans had declined by 7 percent, and after that year there was no longer any need to send new freshmen north to St. Nicholas Terrace. The artificial limit on the admission of women, however, remained.(9)

Although they were never completely excluded again, women at the School of Business did not regain a majority position for three decades. Their proportion in the graduating classes of the late forties and early fifties ranged from 14 to 21 percent, not very different (except that more of them were day-session students) from their position in the thirties. Discriminatory admissions procedures were only one reason for this. The expansion of Brooklyn and Queens Colleges provided alternatives to Hunter and City College and led many young women to make a long commute from Manhattan and the Bronx in order to attend a co-educational school with a campus. Even more important, they seemed less interested in business careers.

Some observers had always questioned whether it was the prospect of becoming a certified public accountant or the majority of eligible men that attracted women to the School of Business. Feminine responses to a 1939 Ticker poll denied that it was the latter, but the Dean who presided over the School from 1940 to 1942 was not so sure. Herman Feldman recommended that either the number of women students be increased or that they be excluded entirely because "their position as a small minority [gave] them an unnatural popularity which interfered with the concentration on study of the student population as a whole."(10) It would seem that if the Dean's observation were correct, the problem lay not with the women students, but with the young men who pursued them. His implication, however, was that the female students wanted to be pursued and that, in spite of their denials to the Ticker, they enrolled at 23rd Street in order to form relationships that, in those more innocent times, would lead to marriage.

Lack of female interest in the demanding accounting Curriculum in favor of the "softer" retailing, advertising and teaching professions, was also cited as further proof that the female pupils were not serious students and thus that their presence lowered the academic quality of the School. After all, on the uptown campus, the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences did not admit women, and neither did the somewhat less prestigious School of Technology. Attrition figures did little to bolster the position of those who argued to the contrary; women constituted 35 percent of the class that entered in 1947, for example, but only 14 percent of the class that graduated four years later. More men stayed the course; 24 percent of those who had entered in the same year graduated in 1951. (11)

It is quite likely that Dean Feldman and the very large portion of the faculty that shared his view of women students were correct in attributing marriage and not a successful professional life as the motivation of most of the women at 23rd Street. But this should not be seen as a criticism; it was simply a recognition of reality. In the forties and fifties, most women college students could not look forward to high-status, well-paying jobs in the business world or professions. Women accountants, for example, were often expected to do stenography and typing and rarely rose to the upper echelons of the profession. At the School of Business they could prepare for what they could aspire to: middle-level clerical and sales jobs, the civil service and marriage. Teaching, because it demanded fewer hours away from home and children was especially attractive. In the thirties and forties, preparing to teach commercial subjects in the secondary schools was almost entirely a woman's specialization at the School of Business.

By the end of the forties, women students, although there were fewer of them, were represented in every major from accountancy to statistics, perhaps an indication that there might be a place for them in the expanding New York City business community. Even at that point, however, many more young women than men were preparing to receive the Bachelor of Science in Education degree (the BBA with a certificate to teach commercial subjects had been terminated in 1939) and become high-school teachers. In sum, although many of the women at the School of Business had career goals, the fact that in most of their courses they were outnumbered by young men undoubtedly increased the attractiveness of the School. In the postwar years the certificate that made a woman a wife was just as (or more?) desirable than the one that made her a certified public accountant.

Growth: Causes and Effects

How can we account for the growth of the School of Business and Civic Administration in the twenty years after 1930? Close examination shows that each decade provided its own reasons. In the thirties, shrinking economic opportunities enhanced the attractiveness of tuition-free higher education. In 1933, one out of four New Yorkers was unemployed, 16 percent of the population was on relief, and the city was actually, if not legally, bankrupt. Financial mismanagement and massive corruption during the administrations of "Gentleman" Jimmy Walker and "Red" Mike Hylan had caused the city to owe more than the combined debt of the forty-eight states. The harsh "Bankers' Agreement" of 1933 prevented default but imposed austerity, which was reflected in dismissals and missed paydays for many municipal workers.(12) As businesses failed and stores closed, small wonder that young men and women would take refuge in a tuition-free college education, hoping, at the very least, to postpone entry into a disappearing job market. The mayor himself told them to do so. In an address to the graduating class of 1934 at James Monroe High School, Fiorello LaGuardia urged the young people before him to enroll at City College, rather than try for a job in a crowded labor market that had no room for them.(13)

The need for shelter from economic disaster, however, was not the only reason for the constantly growing enrollments at the School of Business in the thirties. In spite of terrible overall statistics, the city was healthy in several selected areas. Agents, brokers, jobbers and buyers continued to do well as the city continued its traditional role as entrepot and banker to the nation. Even in manufacturing, certain products such as books, magazines, clothing, processed foods, machine and foundry items and chemicals, continued to be "made in New York" to a greater extent than anywhere else. Furthermore, the service sector (including financial services) and the professions had grown and filled some of the vacancies created by the decline of the shipping industry and some kinds of manufacturing. Although the securities industry, which had fueled much of the twenties prosperity, remained understandably subdued in the next decade, commercial banking and insurance firms prospered. In sum, some opportunities did exist, and the economic incentive to prepare for a business career was not entirely extinguished by the Depression. This situation helps to explain the swelling enrollments at the School of Business and Civic Administration. (14)

Commerce, however, had certainly lost some of its appeal; as a result, other fields offering greater security became more attractive. The hope of obtaining public-sector employment, whether as a teacher of commercial subjects or as a municipal employee in an administrative department, was another reason thousands of young New Yorkers flocked to 23rd Street, particularly after the need for municipal austerity was diminished by federal aid, and Fiorello LaGuardia became the mayor.

LaGuardia opened the door to municipal employment by extending the merit system to more and more city jobs, thus replacing political workers with candidates (including many graduates of the School of Business) who did well on the written examinations. A baccalaureate degree, of course, was not required for many entry level municipal jobs and, undoubtedly, a good number of the School of Business graduates fortunate enough to obtain them were overqualified. This, however, was not an unhealthy development, since it may have provided New York with the best civic administration in its history, especially when the most able of the LaGuardia-era appointees moved into the higher echelons of the civil service.(15)

The city was certainly not the only public employer available. Under the liberal leadership of Franklin Roosevelt and Herbert Lehman, bureaucracies multiplied on the federal and state levels as well. City College graduates filled many of these newly created positions, and the knowledge that they could do so encouraged them to enroll in college and complete their schooling. They also did well on the difficult teacher licensing examinations. By the end of the LaGuardia era, college graduates had succeeded in ending political domination of the municipal bureacracy and the middle echelons of the school system. Women were more likely than men to look to school appointments after graduation, often becoming clerks while waiting for an opening in the classroom, but both sexes were very much attracted by the security, relatively good salaries and resulting high status that came with a New York City license to teach.

The wait was often lengthy; the schools were not a growth area under LaGuardia, because a great drop in immigration after 1929 had deprived the system of the hundreds of thousands of "little aliens" who had kept educators busy for the first three decades of the century. As was true for many public positions, because there were so many applicants for what were seen as very good jobs, the schools were able to select extremely well qualified personnel. This is one of the reasons the thirties is often thought of as a "golden age" in New York City educational history. Also, freed from the need to teach non-English speaking children, able to have reasonably small classes and imbued with an excellent esprit de corps, teachers at all levels were important role models who encouraged many of their students to go to college, a path that more and more of them took.(16)

This was especially true for the East European Jewish students who, from the thirties on, became a larger and larger majority at both uptown and downtown City College. Although many of their parents had lost income and status due to the Depression, many others remained able to survive without the small amount of money their children might earn if they could find a job, which was unlikely. Changed circumstances might require a student to attend in the evening and certainly would force him to do part-time work for spending money, but parents, themselves involved in the hard physical labor of their trades or working the long hours demanded by their "Mom and Pop" stores, continued to hope for an easier life for their children.

Even during the worst years of the Depression, therefore, they encouraged their sons and, to a much lesser degree, their daughters, to enter and remain in college. They did so although they knew that large corporations, such as the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, would probably not hire them and that certain fields, such as engineering, were totally barred to them. What they did expect was that accountant sons and daughters with clerical skills would find employment in those Jewish wholesale and retail businesses that were surviving the Depression. To this end they urged their children to master the practical subjects offered at 23rd Street.(17)

At a different time, some of these parents might have been able to send their sons to a residential college or urge them to prepare for the high-status professions by studying the liberal arts and sciences. The Depression, of course, greatly limited the number of families who could do this, and the School of Business was the beneficiary. Although polls showed that they would have preferred residential colleges and pre-medical programs, many extremely able students enrolled at 23rd Street.

For some the economic realities were quite grim, and they probably would not have been able to attend college at all without the aid of the Federal Emergency Relief Administration (FERA) work-study program and later, the National Youth Administration (NYA). Although the FERA program paid a pittance, so many students qualified by need and ability that the school administration was forced to use a staggered system, taking some students off the rolls temporarily in order to make room for new applicants. From 1935 on, NYA funds were more available and very much appreciated. Indeed some students supported their families on the fifty cents an hour they earned performing a variety of tasks at the college. Others, unable to get an NYA job or wishing to earn more, got part-time jobs in department stores or as commission salesmen and counsellors during the summer months. All stayed in college as long as they could.(18)

The Depression provided one set of reasons for students to enroll at 23rd Street; prosperity during and after World War II provided others. Beginning in 1939, when war broke out in Europe, and increasingly as the Roosevelt Administration moved closer to intervention, the employment problems that had caused students in the thirties to take shelter in higher education disappeared. Enrollments, however, continued to grow. The draft temporarily made male students scarcer, but the attractiveness of collegiate business studies did not diminish. For those graduates who were ineligible to serve in the armed forces, employment in the private sector was a certainty. Wartime labor shortages made business school graduates very much in demand. After the war, following a brief period of adjustment, the longest sustained period of prosperity in American history began, rehabilitating the reputation of American capitalism and making trained white-collar personnel invaluable to the rapidly expanding United States economy. The study of business became increasingly respectable and enrollments at the School of Business and Civic Administration soared.

In early 1947, when the Cold War was just beginning, most people did not yet realize what U.S.-USSR tensions would do for our economy. Efforts to contain communism by economic means such as the Marshall Plan, the constantly expanding defense budget and the Korean War fueled much of America's postwar economic growth; a remarkable baby boom and an enormous need for housing did the rest. Following years of postponed satisfactions and only moderately successful attempts to stimulate purchasing power, the late forties and fifties saw the American gross national product (GNP), per-capita income and standard of living reach figures undreamed of in earlier decades. In an atmosphere of sustained consumerism, the study of retailing, marketing and advertising, to name only some of the specializations available at the School of Business, became increasingly valuable. As a result, both veterans and younger students flocked to the aging, crowded building on 23rd Street.(19)

As early as October 1945, 164 veterans reentered the School of Business. They were warmly welcomed, partly because they were excellent students. Their arrival signalled a noticeable increase in A and B grades and a decrease in D's and F's. Dean Norton, who presided when the veteran flood was at its peak, found them to be "one of the finest groups ever admitted to the School . . . serious, industrious, mature in outlook."(20) Mature they surely were; graduation pictures in the Lexicons of the late forties show faces much older than those usually seen in college yearbooks, including many with receding hairlines.

Thanks to the stipend provided by the G.I. Bill, many were married and more than a few had children. A cartoon in the 1949 Lexicon showed a harried father/student changing the diaper of a screaming baby while his open schoolbooks lay on the floor nearby. These veterans were in an understandable hurry to complete their school work, but others, without family attachments, took over the student government and publications from the women who had been in charge during the war. Since they constituted 50 percent of the enrollment between 1946 and 1948, the ex-G.I's had no trouble being elected to important positions.(21)

Many veterans, of course, did not return to 23rd Street. For one thing, the G.I. Bill made it possible for them to attend a college that charged tuition. Also, military service had shown them that America did not end at the Hudson River. On the other hand, New York City did offer the most varied career opportunities, and thus the School of Business retained its attractiveness to postwar students who, unlike their predecessors, now had a greater choice of where to earn their degree.

Growth: Faculty

Faculty statistics grew along with student enrollments. When the School of Business returned from its exile at Grand Central Palace and resumed its operations at 23rd Street, the full-time faculty members numbered 147. A decade later, in 1940, they numbered 320. The war years, of course, were not a growth period. When enrollments dropped, the number of teachers was almost halved, and in 1945 stood at 190. The crush of students in the immediate postwar years, however, resulted in much new hiring and brought the total to over 400 by 1948. It remained at approximately this level into the next decade.(22)

In 1930 the overwhelming majority of instructors were members of the accounting and economics departments and taught in the evening session because, as we have seen, that was where most of the students were. This was also true in the 1940's and thereafter, but the increase in day-session enrollment during these decades required that additional personnel be assigned to classes that met in the morning and early afternoon. Accountancy remained the largest department, but economics shrank. A separate law department was spun off in 1936, and four years later, a new business administration department absorbed most of the faculty and many of the courses previously located in the economics department.

Growth in the total number of faculty was achieved by making appointments in the lowest ranks. This worsened the existing imbalance in the business departments where senior professors had always been outnumbered by juniors. Indeed, the proportion of professors had declined in the thirties, down from 28 percent at the School's founding to 12 percent in 1942. Accounting, the most valued department in the School, had only one full professor in 1931; ten years later, there was still only one, although the number of associate and assistant professors had increased by two. Economics had followed a similar path. That department had two full professors throughout the decade but lost them to the new business administration department and had none in 1942, although it had gained five associate professors.

Instructors, required to hold the Ph.D. and eligible for tenure with their fourth reappointment, outnumbered all other full-time personnel. Below them on the academic totem pole were the lecturers, tutors and adjuncts (part timers), whose numbers fluctuated with the need for their services. They had neither security nor opportunity for promotion unless they earned the doctorate and a tenure track was available in their area of expertise.

The history of the liberal arts and sciences departments followed a different pattern. For most of the thirties, these departments were small because the majority of the students at that time were diploma candidates and nonmatriculants, who were not required to take many general education courses. Their minimal needs could be easily satisfied by sending a few uptown faculty to 23rd Street on a rotating basis. The increase in BBA candidates who had to take sixty-four credits in the humanities, social sciences and natural sciences changed the picture a great deal. By 1940, lecturers, instructors and tutors were teaching in these, by then, greatly enlarged departments.(23)

At the start of the forties, instructors were the largest single category of full-time teachers at 23rd Street. If the principle of "one man, one vote" had been followed, they could have dominated the School's faculty meetings. To prevent this, the Board of Higher Education had adopted a by-law stipulating that until the professorial faculty numbered 100, tenured instructors could only elect 50 of their own to represent the group as a whole. This kept power in the hands of the upper ranks but led to considerable disaffection in the lower.(24)

There were many other reasons to explain the considerable internal hostility within the School of Business as well as general faculty unhappiness at 23rd Street. Scarcity of money, space, clerical assistance, budget lines which permitted new appointments and promotions meant that individuals and departments were in a constant struggle for a piece of a very meager pie. And the pie remained small throughout the forties, as a 1947 report of a Board of Higher Education Committee on Personnel, chaired by Ruth Stroup, made clear. A wartime cost-of-living bonus had helped, but salaries remained low and very little money was available for the "perks," such as sabbaticals and travel allowances, that would have improved the quality of life and academic standing of all the municipal colleges, including that of the School of Business and Civic Administration.(25)

The faculty at 23rd Street were not well rewarded, but they were certainly not ignored. Indeed, they were the targets of much criticism from administrators, both uptown and downtown, from outside evaluators and from the Board of Higher Education. They were faulted for what they did (overloading the number of sections they taught in order to increase their income, spending too much time on outside business interests and frequently absenting themselves from classes), and also criticized for what they did not do, namely research. The criticism regarding research had some merit. A certain number of the business faculty published textbooks, and a smaller number of liberal arts people produced monographs, but this did not silence their critics, because a much larger proportion of the faculty did not publish anything.(26)

As early as 1939, the matter was important enough to have been studied by a Faculty Committee on Research. Charged to find the reasons for the limited scholarly output of the School of Business faculty, the committee found that a heavy teaching load (fifteen hours was the norm, but many faculty taught seventeen to which they added extra hours for additional compensation, sometimes making a total of twenty-two hours a week), many committee assignments and the absence of sabbatical leaves, private offices, secretarial assistance and well-equipped laboratories combined to make research and writing almost impossible. The committee recommended that the School seek outside funding by establishing a Bureau of Research.(27)

The faculty voted to establish such a bureau, and in 1944, a report entitled "A Survey of the Colleges under the Control of the Board of Higher Education of the City of New York," written for the state legislature by George Strayer, endorsed the idea. Even by 1955, however, it had not become a reality. The same underlying obstacles that prevented individual faculty members from doing research prevented the School of Business from establishing a Bureau of Business and Civic Research.

His report to the legislature had favored the idea of a bureau, but Strayer was even more interested in encouraging good teaching at the School of Business. As did other observers, he questioned the preoccupation of the faculty with outside business concerns and thought that one remedy for this was to hire people who had been educated elsewhere and were therefore less likely to have business connections in New York. The School's propensity to hire its own graduates had been a controversial issue for a long time. Those who opposed it called it "inbreeding" and believed that it damaged the School's standing; those who favored it called their opponents anti-Semitic and said that there were no better prepared accountants, salesmen, etc., than those who had earned a BBA or MBA at 23rd Street.(28)

Although the shortage of money affected every aspect of faculty life at the School of Business, the snail-like pace of promotion was one of the most painful. It also contributed to other faculty problems, since the small salaries earned in the lower ranks (where so much of the faculty remained for so long) made scholarly research an impossible dream and necessitated carrying a heavy outside work load. This was a subject to which Herman Feldman and Thomas Norton, the two deans who followed Justin Moore in the forties and early fifties, devoted much attention. Feldman had little success but Norton did better.

In 1955, the date of his last report, Norton was able to say that during his ten years at 23rd Street there had been 150 promotions, particularly in the Department of Accountancy, which had added five full professors, and in the business administration department, which had added four. Not all of these new full professors were the result of promotions; Norton had brought in an outside expert, John W. Wingate, to establish a retailing specialization and had made him one of the five full professors of Business Administration.(29)

Norton's ability to uplift so many of the professional staff was no mean achievement. Most of the faculty were astonished at his success, because they saw themselves as misused and discriminated against by the uptown administration and had come to expect very little from them. Indeed, from its inception, the School of Business had needed to defend itself against the widely accepted charge that collegiate education for business had lower status than higher education in the sciences and humanities and that teachers of business subjects should not be rewarded at the same rate as their more intellectual colleagues.

As is often the case, the defenders of business education, without admitting it openly, came to adopt the view of their "masters" at the main campus. The deep-seated and pervasive feeling of inferiority that colored life at 23rd Street nettled both Feldman and Norton. Who, after all, wants to be the dean of a colonial possession and not a greatly valued one, at that? Feldman made his feelings clear in his first address to the faculty, saying that the School of Business and Civic Administration was "clearly on an equal footing with the other schools of the College and not at all subsidiary and not to be treated as such."(30)

The Troubles of Dean Justin Moore (1932-1939)

Feldman's words were forceful, but anyone visiting the 23rd Street building in the early forties might have found them somewhat hard to accept. Overcrowding and poor maintenance had made a shambles of what was a relatively new building. As early as 1938, when the School had been in its new quarters for less than a decade, the faculty had organized a Committee on Space to press for help from former law professor Dean Justin Moore, successor to George Edwards, and through him, the City College administration and the Board of Higher Education.

Faculty action was supplemented by student protest. Moore was criticized for his failure to obtain paint, which would at least relieve the "drab interior" of the classrooms, but even more for his failure to oust Townsend Harris High School, which (according to one report), occupied 50 percent of the building from 9:00 to 3:00, five days a week. Sometimes the resulting problems were treated humorously. In 1940, Lexicon said that members of their class as freshmen, had been told where the elevators were but what they really needed to know was how to get into them. Ticker said that the Townsend Harris boys not only occupied space that by rights belonged to the college but also clogged the drinking fountains with their worn-out chewing gum.(31)

Treated humorously or seriously, the space problem would not go away. As we have seen, there was "no room at the inn" on 23rd Street between 1945 and 1948, and freshmen were sent uptown, some to remain for three semesters. On the space issue, faculty and students were as one, united on both the cause and the remedy: Townsend Harris must go. The faculty, out of loyalty to their colleagues, as well as those students who were alumni of the high school, voted to keep the high school alive but suggested an underused elementary or high-school building as a proper site. As it happened, Mayor LaGuardia's 1941 budget did not include funds for Townsend Harris High School, and the Board of Education was unable to fill the void. Instead, they voted to close the school. Despite a court fight, after September 1942, there were no more Townsend Harris boys, with or without chewing gum, at 23rd Street.(32)

This welcome move came too late to save the embattled dean. Moore had been a Robinson ally whose position at the School of Business had been weakened by the forced resignation of his sponsor from the presidency of City College in December 1938. Moore himself was extremely unpopular with both faculty and students at 23rd Street. His conservative views (anticommunist, antisocialist and tepid regarding civil liberties), and attempts to restrain student political activities had led to much tension and undoubtedly contributed to his abrupt departure in October 1939. Also, a year before his resignation "to devote himself to scholarly and literary work" as a law professor, the Ticker (under the editorship of George Weissman, who was not one of Moore's partisans) published five different reviews of a mildly salacious (by today's standards) pulp romance, which had been written by the dean under a pseudonym a few years earlier.

The book, Mexican Love, was criticized for its overcomplicated plot, lack of style, misused words, poor sentence structure and frequent grammatical errors. One reviewer said that its only redeeming virtue was that it helped a reader appreciate good literature. Moore admitted that the Ticker reviews were a bit embarassing but said that Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer was considering making a movie of his novel and that, in any case, his venture into the literary world was nothing of which to be ashamed. He blamed a reprimanded instructor for calling the book to the Ticker's attention and magnanimously excused the reviewers, whom, he said, were just thumbing their noses at authority.(33)

But even those members of the 23rd Street community who believed in his right to produce off-color romances were not sorry to see a change in administration. Moore's handling of the confrontational politics that had characterized his term in office was much criticized. In those years (1932-1939), a group of radicalized students, representing about 10 percent of the student body, controlled the Ticker, the Student Council (at least until 1939) and briefly, Lexicon, and made their presence felt at 23rd Street. The downtown radicals were nothing compared to the much larger group uptown (with whom they cooperated), but one wonders why there were any at all in a school where the students were specifically preparing to be part of the American capitalist system, which some apparently wanted to eliminate.(34)

True, 90 percent of the student body was not radicalized, but they were apparently willing to allow the extremists to speak for them, indicating that even they (mostly moderate New Dealers), saw much to criticize in the system they were preparing to enter. After all, the Student Council and the staff of the Ticker and Lexicon were elected and needed more than 10 percent of the student body's support to gain and hold office. Was it only apathy that allowed left-wing cadres to dominate politics at the School of Business during the thirties? Was it mismanagement on the part of an extremely hostile administration? Or was it a widespread desire of the student body to be part of the confrontation and excitement uptown? Or to meet radicalized Hunter women students? Probably all of the above, but in addition, external factors played a most important role.

One of the first things Herman Feldman noticed when he arrived at the School of Business in 1940 was that the students showed a lack of confidence in the American economic structure.(35) This observation provides a clue to the apparent contradiction between the professed objectives of the students at 23rd Street and their tolerance of left-wing leaders. In a sense, studying to be an accountant or planning to be an entrepreneur in the United States in the thirties was an act of faith deeply colored by hopelessness. Most students were confident about receiving a diploma; their real problem was what to do with it. Aside from scatalogical and "black-humor" type solutions, several more serious remedies presented themselves, starting with interventionist New Deal policies and moving left to the extreme prescriptions of the Communist Party. For many Americans, especially the goodly number at the School of Business whose families had come from urban centers in Russia and Poland and were familiar with socialist ideas, such solutions were preferable to the status quo.

This certainly did not mean that the Left was united; hostility between socialists of various types (Trotskyites, Lovestonites, Stalinists) was widespread and bitter. Certain issues could unite them; the Spanish Civil War was one and any restraint on freedom to organize, march and protest was another. The latter point provides an additional answer to the conundrum posed earlier. The anti-free speech policies followed by President Robinson uptown and his appointee Justin Moore downtown, as well as individual red-baiters (such as State Senator Frederic Coudert, William Randolph Hearst and Alderman Elias Jacobs) gained support for the radicals from students who sympathized only with their demands to be heard.(36)

More than any other factor, the rise of Fascism and the increasing danger of war united the students of the thirties. Unless war was long in coming, the eighteen- to twenty-year-olds attending the School of Business between 1936 and 1940 were almost certain to be soldiers, and it was not only their mothers who did not want this to happen. Military Science and the ROTC were not popular at 23rd Street. Widespread anti-Semitism was another rallying point for the Left. Until 1939, after all, it was only the Soviet Union that took a strong stand against the spread of Fascism, in which anti-Semitism played so large a part.

For all these reasons and because of the aggressive proselytizing conducted by a number of organizations, including the American Student Union (ASU) and the League Against War and Fascism, there were numerous confrontations at 23rd Street. Rallies and meetings were usually not permitted on School grounds, and the School of Business chapter of the ASU was not recognized (its newspaper was banned from the campus). In response, the Ticker kept up a running and often vicious attack on Dean Moore. Most of the nonverbal activity consisted of antiwar marches and several rallies in Madison Square Park. The years from 1935 to 1937 were the peak of the trouble, featuring protests against the Italian invasion of Ethiopia, the Olympic Committee's decision to hold the 1936 games in Hitler's Berlin and the Japanese invasion of China.

As was the case with most organizations sympathetic to the Soviet Union, many fringe supporters disappeared when the Molotov-Von Ribbentrop nonaggression pact was signed in 1939. At 23rd Street, moderates (who were again in control of the Student Council) declined to co-sponsor an ASU peace rally and successfully opposed an invitation to Earl Browder, the chairman of the American Communist Party, to speak on campus. Antiwar feeling, however, did not entirely disappear. In the fall of 1939, the Ticker urged students to oppose the proposed "cash and carry" amendments to the Neutrality Acts, and there was strong opposition to the Conscription Act passed in 1940. No further antiwar rallies, however, were held after June 1940. Hitler's successful blitzkrieg in Western Europe and his invasion of the Soviet Union gave both the Left and the moderates reason to mute their opposition to the war.(37)

Although his decisions regarding student political activism angered some, most of the faculty criticized Moore for not "standing tall" for the School of Business. The Committee on Space, for example, was much angered when they could not get his support for their report, which itemized "unfilled requests" and made a series of pessimistic projections regarding the future of the School. Against Moore's wishes, the faculty supported the committee and voted to send the report to Ordway Tead, the president of the Board of Higher Education.

There were two responses to this mini-rebellion, both of which were designed to distract the 23rd Street faculty from its preoccupation with space, about which the board members could do very little at that time. Instead, they authorized the creation of a separate Personnel and Budget Committee at 23rd Street as well as the election of subchairmen by the members of the liberal arts departments teaching downtown. Although this brought the School of Business two steps closer to their much-desired goal of autonomy, the faculty, mistrustful of both the Board of Higher Education and the uptown administration, refused to dismiss the Committee on Autonomy, which they had established over Moore's objections in 1938. Clearly, Dean Moore was out of touch with his faculty. Without the backing of a very powerful president, he was in trouble.(38)

Perhaps in an attempt to recoup his losses and answer the charge that he was a do-nothing dean, in November 1938 Moore issued a succinct "Outline of a Plan of Reorganization of the Curriculum of the School of Business and Civic Administration," which recommended that the business curriculum be studied and revised, particularly in the very underdeveloped civic administration area. He also addressed a major concern of another part of his constituency, the students, by recommending the establishment of internships and an employment bureau.(39)

At a later date, under a different dean, both of these suggestions would become reality, but at the time, Moore's report was greeted with resounding silence. Indeed, as though to emphasize their poor opinion of him, the faculty created a Survey Committee, composed of six faculty activists--Ross Baker, Guy Snider, Lewis Mayers, George Brett, Kenneth Damon and Robert Love--and instructed them to prepare a report of their own.

That report, authored mostly by Love, was a furious attack on conditions in the School at the end of the thirties, based on some extraordinary statistics. Less than a third of the faculty, he claimed, gave professional courses. Because the uptown arts and sciences departments staffed their downtown offshoots with unwanted professors and tenured instructors, the current forty-nine member voting faculty of the School included only nineteen from the professional departments, and the seventeen-member Personnel and Budget Committee contained only three business representatives.(40)

Love's vitriolic report was somewhat moderated by that of the full Survey Committee, which did not use any of his statistics and concentrated much of their attention solely on space problems. They did, however, accept the thrust of his report: that the liberal-arts departments inappropriately dominated the School of Business and Civic Administration. Even more important, they agreed with his remedy--a two-year professional school, which would draw upperclassmen from all the municipal colleges after they had completed their general education requirements.

When the committee's request for a meeting with the City College Administrative Committee of the Board of Higher Education was denied, they asked Moore to send their report to the president of the College. While the report was in transit, someone leaked its contents to the New York Times, which then called 23rd Street for additional information. It was in this manner that an astounded faculty heard of the proposal to close their school and reorganize it into a two-year professional institution, thereby sending most of the liberal-arts faculty into the wilderness.

Considering the preponderance of that portion of the faculty at 23rd Street at the time this bombshell broke, it should come as no surprise to see that after demanding that Moore send each of them a copy of the report, they voted to ask the board to defer any action and resolved that any reorganization of the School of Business continue the present four-year format. Their view was supported by both the students and the alumni. After a decent interval, the proposed dismemberment was abandoned, to be resurrected, under different auspices, two decades later.(41)

Clearly, the Survey Committee did not represent majority opinion at the School; indeed in later years, Robert Love recalled them as a group of angry "Young Turks" who believed that the School's potential for influencing business life in the city was not being properly developed. Some of the anger was justified; as Love said, "They were being governed by England," who sent them mostly raw newcomers or tenured failures to teach in what was seen by the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences as "Siberia," starved them for money and was very slow to promote or award tenure to faculty who taught at 23rd Street.(42)

Love's indictment and statistics were somewhat exaggerated, but the School of Business did have many justifiable grievances as the thirties came to a close. One of these, the unusual dominance of liberal-arts faculty, prompted Acting President Mead, Robinson's immediate successor, to ask that the School organize itself as the other units of City College had done, that is, give preponderant voting influence to the faculty who taught the professional curriculum of the school.

Mead urged this action in 1940, shortly after the tumult over Love's report had died down, but nothing was done. His successor, Harry Wright, repeated the request in 1945, asking that the change be made before the new dean, Thomas Norton, took office. When there was no immediate faculty response, Wright appointed a committee (composed of the chairs of the business departments, the evening-session director, Acting Dean Herman Ruckes and himself) to draw up a plan. The committee, to put it gently, was overloaded in favor of business. Only Ruckes, a biologist, came from the liberal-arts side, and he was on the committee in his administrative capacity, not to represent his colleagues in the humanities and sciences.(43)

The group recommended that a reorganized School of Business and Civic Administration faculty be composed of the dean, evening session director, registrar (uptown), assistant registrar (downtown), all professors and tenured instructors from the business departments and two representatives from economics, now to be considered a "swing" department because economics courses were considered to be part of the liberal arts but economics personnel were joined to the business side of the School. There was also provision for a representative from the government department (important for civic administration), but only one delegate apiece from each of the five divisions (language, literature, fine arts, social science and science) into which the remaining liberal-arts departments were to be grouped. This arrangement would have surely diminished, if not destroyed, the influence of the liberal-arts faculty. To no one's surprise, its members strongly opposed the plan, claiming that the mission of the School of Business was to produce educated men, not just technicians.

More than educational values were at stake, of course. In addition, the proposed reorganization would make the members of the liberal arts departments "men without a country," because while assigned to 23rd Street, they could not participate in department decisions at the main campus nor in the affairs of the College of Liberal Arts as a whole. In addition, they said, the new scheme would reduce them to a mere service capacity and indirectly (because the least able or most vulnerable of their colleagues would surely be sent downtown), lead to inferior general education for the students at 23rd Street.

Although they used loftier terms, the business faculty said that they were prepared to live with some dilution of the general education curriculum (which as Love had pointed out, was already being taught by instructors of less than star quality), but that they could no longer accept the power of the arts and science faculty, as presently enfranchised, to "retard" their professional program. Wishing to end the intensely divisive debate, Wright's committee came up with a modified version of the original report, which provided that each liberal-arts department would name a voting representative to the faculty and that the president could increase or decrease their representation depending on the importance of the department to the School of Business. This was the version adopted by the Board of Higher Education in 1946, remaining in effect until the School separated from City College in 1968.(44)

The results were mixed. An inappropriate (given the raison d'être of the School) voting arrangement had been eliminated, but the importance as well as the power of the arts and sciences had been diminished. If the business faculty really wanted a top-notch general education for their students, as they said, this was a mistake because more and more, service at 23rd Street came to be seen as exile. With some exceptions, the best faculty remained on St. Nicholas Terrace.

Freed from a veto by the liberal-arts faculty, the credit value of many business courses was raised, a practice that continued and spread as time went on, slowly eroding the number of true liberal-arts credits in the cultural base. Finally, and in the long run most important, the proposal to revamp the School of Business into a two-year school (an idea that resurfaced periodically) and the reduction in power of the liberal-arts faculty caused relations between the two faculty groups, never entirely smooth, to become increasingly bitter.

NOTES

(1) College of the City of New York, Bulletin, Enrollment figures for the School of Business and Civic Administration, 1929-30, 326-27; 1930-31, 317-318, 1933-34, 122-123; 1940-41, 146-49. The Bulletin is also the source for fee information: 1930-31, p. 22; 1934-35, p. 29.

(2) College of the City of New York, "Registrar's Reports," 1947-1953. The assistant registrar at the School of Business and Public Administration sent a typewritten table of enrollments, divided by day and evening sessions and matriculated and non matriculated students, in absolute numbers and percentages, to the registrar at CCNY. Copies of these tables are in the City College Archives. Florence Neumann, "Access to Free Public Higher Education in New York City, 1847-1961," unpublished Ph.D. diss., City University of New York, 1984, 163, 167-169, 191-192.

(3) Lexicon, the Senior yearbook of the School of Business and Civic Administration, 19301949.

(4) Bulletin, 1930-55; "Registrar's Reports," 1938-1948.

(5) Lexicon, 1933; Board of Higher Education, Proceedings (January 21, 1930), 62; Dean Herman Feldman, "Current Problems of the School of Business and Civic Administration," October 25, 1941, pp. 109-110.

(6) Feldman, "Current Problems," 109-110; Author's Interview with former Dean Emanuel Saxe, April 21, 1986; Lexicon, 1945, 1946.

(7) Lexicon, 1945, 1947; Dean Thomas Norton, "Annual Report," 1946, p. 4; Interview with Emanuel Saxe.

(8) Norton, "Report," 1947, p. 24; Lexicon, 1946.

(9) "Registrar's Reports," 1946, 1947; Norton, "Report," 1946, p. 6; 1948, p. 56.

(10) Lexicon, 1948-1953; Feldman, "Current Problems," 110; Ticker, February 4, 1937. Ticker was the day-session student newspaper.

(11 Norton, "Report," 1948, p. 57; 1952, p. 202; Lexicon, 1947-1952.

(12) George J. Lankevich and Howard B. Furer, A Brief History of New York City (Port Washington, N.Y.: Associated Faculty Press, 1984), 224, 226.

(13) Author's interview with Herman Singer (member of the James Monroe High School Class of 1934, editor of the Ticker, 1937-1938), September 1986.

(14) Allan Nevins and John Krout, New York, The Greater City (New York: Columbia Unversity Press, 1948), 155, 158, 185.

(15) Charles Garrett, The LaGuardia Years (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1961), 253; Ronald Bayor, Neighbors in Conflict (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978), 35.

(16) Diane Ravitch, The Great School Wars (New York: Basic Books, 1974), 239; Bayor, Neighbors in Conflict, 31, 35.

(17) Selma Berrol, "The Open City: Jews, Jobs and Schools," in Educating an Urban People, ed. Diane Ravitch and Ronald Goodenow (New York: Teachers College Press, 1980), 101-115.

(18) Interview with Dean Saxe; Lexicon, 1943; Ticker, March 11, 1935.

(19) Norton, "Report," 1947, p. 53, 1953, p. 6.

(20) Norton, "Report," 1947, p. 23.

(21) Lexicon, 1945-1949.

(22) Bulletin, 1945, 1948.

(23) The data for changes in numbers and rank for the instructional faculty was collated by the author from listings in the Bulletin, 1930-1942.

(24) School of Business and Civic Administration, "Faculty Minutes," October 6, 1939, p. 2.

(25) Board of Higher Education, Committee on Personnel Status, "Report," April 2, 1948.

(26) "Faculty Minutes," October 7, 1940, p. 37; March 30, 1942, 84; November 17, 1940, pp. 42-43; March 13, 1941, p. 52; June 13, 1949 , p. 305; Norton, "Report," 1955, pp. 10-11.

(27) "Faculty Minutes," October 16, 1939 (the two-page report of the Faculty Committee on Research was attached to these minutes), April 9, 1940, p. 18.

(28) New York State Legislature, New York City Sub-Committee of the Joint Legislative Committee of the State Education System, "Report," March, 1944, pp. 512, 573. George Strayer was the director of the survey on which the report was based.

(29) Norton, "Report," 1955, p. 10.

(30) "Faculty Minutes," October 7, 1940, p.37.

(31) Lexicon, 1940; "Faculty Minutes," April 4, 1940 , p.16; Robert Love, "Objectives of Professional Education in Business and Civic Administration," January 11, 1939, p. 45; Ticker, February 25, 1935.

(32) "Faculty Minutes," May 12, 1938, p. 1; June 2, 1938, p. 2; April 13, 1939, p. 1; April 23, 1940, p. 22; S. Willis Rudy, The College of the City of New York, 1847-1947 (New York: The City College Press, 1949), 443.

(33) Ticker, October 24, 1938; October 31, 1938; September 21, 1939.

(34) Ticker, March 6, 1939; May 6, 1935; November 2, 1936; Author's interview with Herman Singer.

(35) Feldman, "Current Problems," 31.

(36) City Alderman Elias H. Jacobs had proposed a bill making radical activity in the city schools and colleges a misdemeanor, punishable by fine or imprisonment.

(37) Ticker, April 15, 1935; February 10, 1936; March 23, 1936; September 21, 1939; October 7, 1947.

(38) "Faculty Minutes," May 12, 1938, p. 2; June 2, 1938, p. 1; November 10, 1938, p. 3; December 23, 1938, p. 2.

(39) Dean Justin Moore, "Outline of a Plan of Reorganization of the School of Business and Civic Administration," January 10, 1938. This was a twopage typescript attached to the "Faculty Minutes" for February 17, 1938.

(40) Love, "Objectives of Professional Education," January 11, 1939, p. vi.

(41) "Memorandum to the City College Administrative Committee," in appendix to "Faculty Minutes," March 2, 1939; "Faculty Minutes," October 6, 1939, p. 2.

(42) Author's interview with Robert Love, November 14, 1986; Robert Love, "Professor Guy Snider," typescript, no date.

(43) "Faculty Minutes," February 26, 1940, p. 2; March 27, 1945, p. 159; June 18, 1945, p. 166.

(44) "Faculty Minutes," December 11, 1945, p. 178; October 30, 1946, pp. 189-191.