Salesmen & Janitors?

What had modern life done to U.S. college presidents? Last week, some 400 of them got together in Manhattan to talk the matter over. It was the annual meeting of the Association of American Colleges, and the association's retiring president, Kenneth I. Brown, who heads Ohio's Denison University, had a few final words to say.

Rich Widows. As far as he could see, the college president of today was little more than a salesman who "scurries around the country seeking the company of rich widows . . . One gathers the irrefutable impression that the item of major concern ... is not the maturing of the individual . . . but buildings, large, spacious, attractive buildings . . . classrooms with all the new gadgets . . . dormitories with slick, shining, slithering bathrooms . . . The ethics of the counting house . . . too often replace the higher standards common once in education."

Were college presidents really so concerned about money? In the light of increased costs and (for private colleges) sagging endowment income, they could scarcely think of much else. At the last session of the conference they turned to their biggest worry of all: whether or not to ask for federal aid. They decided in favor of asking--by endorsing a system of federal scholarships for college students. Such a plan would be in line with the $120 million proposal made by the President's Commission on Higher Education. But that didn't mean that the educators liked everything the commission had said. They had not completely forgotten the "higher standards" Kenneth Brown had spoken of; nor were they in favor of blindly distributing scholarships without a stiff examination of each candidate's intellectual merits and financial needs. Furthermore, warned the presidents: "The association sees in the proposal of the President's Commission for a sudden rise in the number of college and university students a great danger that we shall multiply our educational performance at its lowest level. The association advises . . . the Government to give serious thought to this danger."

Close-Mouthed Wives. While the presidents were in their counting house, their wives were in the parlor, discussing bread & honey. At a special session for the ladies, Mrs. Albin C. Bro, whose husband is president of Frances Shinier College, complained that a wife was nothing but a "janitor without portfolio ... At dinner parties, she must display the brilliance of an Einstein . . . Her basic rule in entertaining should be to do everything so well that all the trustees' wives will be proud of her--but not so well that her teas will run the risk of being distinguished . . . She should join the D.A.R. to show she has ancestors, and then a good proletariat organization ... to show that ancestors don't matter . . . She must keep her home open for the sake of public relations, and her mouth shut for the same reason."

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