Class of '47

As Zeno ("Buddy") King marched across the stage for his diploma last week, a child's voice shrilled: "That's my daddy." The audience at Southern Methodist University's commencement exercises was crawling with children of the Senior Class. Even more would have been there, if measles had not recently struck "Trailerville," S.M.U.'s student trailer camp.

Buddy King was only one of thousands who were getting their diplomas while their children watched. For the Class of '47 was the first big batch of veteran graduates. These were the boys who had been jerked from college years ago, had grown to manhood while they fought a war. Many of them were married. They had been crammed in crowded Quonset huts, auto trailers and jerry-built houses. Government allowances had scarcely covered the expenses of their growing families. For many, college had been a somewhat grim experience which they would long remember, but not with nostalgia.

What was their attitude? What did they want? In an effort to find out, TIME correspondents visited 38 campuses last week and questioned students and their teachers. Surprisingly similar replies indicated that the chief concern of the Class of '47 was "Me and Mine."

Got to Get Along. At Indiana University, 23-year-old Donald Duggleby barely paused to say: "Pardon me, but you'll have to hurry because I've got to get along. Problem? The main problem of everybody is to catch up. We're all trying to get where we would have been if there hadn't been a war." In getting there, many had unabashedly criticized textbooks and frightened incompetent instructors. One awed chemistry teacher at U.C.L.A. reported that they had raised his class average 20% over previous years.

With mixed feelings, University of California's President Robert G. Sproul called them "D.A.R.s" (Damned Average Raisers). Said Georgetown University Student John Mislan, 25, ex-ski trooper and veteran of four months' combat in Italy: "The majority of veterans are pushing their education too fast. They are running but they don't know what they are running for."

They were running for jobs. Actually, job-getting was not a problem for the top half of the class. Some graduates had as many as 15 offers. Starting salaries ran up to $300 a month.

But the student veterans did not expect this happy state of affairs to last long. They expected a depression, or at least a recession. That was why they were running--to get in out of the storm. They were fairly confident that they would at least make the storm cellar. Harry Brandt, of Indiana U., already had a job as staff executive in the Fort Wayne Chamber of Commerce. Did Harry expect to succeed?

"Oh, yes," he said firmly. "The Fort Wayne man who interviewed me asked me what I expected to be doing in three years, and I said, I expect to take your seat over in three years.' "

But the uneasy question the Class of '47 asked itself was: "Where will I be ten years from now?" Some of them thought the U.S. was headed for socialism. Said Harry: "All the students think the country is going into it." Many expected war with Russia.

Like generations of graduating classes before them, they were discovering disillusionment. Said Frank Mankiewizc, ex-infantryman, editor of U.C.L.A.'s Daily Bruin: "If I was starting again, I would change my major from political science to history. In history you get facts. In the social sciences you get other people's opinions." His classmate, William Stout, 22, thought that teachers were "trying to impose morality on a situation that demands immorality for success."

Who's Afraid? Were the graduate veterans worried about the problems of the Atomic Age? Ed Prizer, who flew 103 combat missions as a Spitfire pilot in the R.C.A.F., returned to graduate from the University of Southern California, wrote a half-page valedictory for U.S.C.'s Alumni Review: "We Are Unafraid." Excerpts: "This year there are some seniors who are afraid to graduate ... to face the Atomic Age. . . . Those of us who do not fear graduation are unafraid because we know we hold the key to the future. ... We value faith. . . ."

But the attitude of most was one of resignation. Said Loren Hays, of the University of Denver: "I feel as though I am a small chip in a current and there is no paddling against the stream even if I knew where I wanted to go." Said Thomas Whithorn, of Georgia Tech: "I'm disgusted. Our leaders have let us down." Said Hadon Boswell, of Western Reserve: "Everything seems to be on the brink of destruction. I feel I should be doing something but I don't know what."

Were the women students more optimistic, just as resigned, or more practical? They were more practical. The women of '47 chiefly wanted to get married and raise families.

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