PRESIDENT NOBLE had been absent from campus through all vacations—"in the mountains," as Dean Morgan had put it, making clear also that he himself had been on duty throughout.¹  President Morgan would leave town only on College business, generally the recruiting of students, staying on the job until, after fourteen years, a breakdown brought him to hospital. Like the hero-dictator of some ancient city-state, he rode into power at a time of crisis, and went on to rule with an absolutism which left its impress on the scene long after he had departed from it.  It is a story of one man's amazing strength and disquieting limitations. He was above all a teacher, a scholastic drillmaster, and he now extended this character to every part of the college operation. He set goals he knew he could reach, and within those limits held to a tough and honest standard of academic excellence. His teaching of Greek had stood firmly on the text, but with readiness to criticize "the author, his logic and rhetoric, to call attention to the customs of antiquity, to the geographical references; . . . in short, to compare the ancient world in its politics and religion with the modern."² He would have no truck with graduate work.³ He wanted his liberal arts program as clean as possible of special-interest courses such as Business. "My judgment," he said, in sharp opposition to Himes' thinking, "is decidedly against the technical in connection with the liberal arts. It is good for the technical but it is bad for the liberal arts."⁴ He was hostile even to the Law School, because

of its low admissions standard. Alumni athletic scholarships must be geared to all academic principles. His correspondence shows constant, and tactful resistance to largesse in honorary degrees.

At the end of Morgan's regime William Righter Fisher wrote to congratulate him on a college and faculty of high quality—recalling his own experience of 1874, when he had found most of his colleagues "intellectually flabby" and the "managerial background" no better.⁵ Yet curiously, to Morgan McCauley was the beau ideal. "His influence upon me was as ointment poured out. He was my college president."⁶ The affinity was sacramental rather than actual. One need only compare McCauley's policy statement on the "mild and parental" institution cultivating "intellectual pursuits" with Morgan's:

It is the policy of the College to be a teaching institution, and its first aim is to furnish wise and expert teaching leadership. To attain this end the College has steadily exalted the teacher, and its policy has been to have mature and experienced teachers in its corps of instruction, without inexperienced tutors.⁷

Long after Morgan's retirement, and with more sophisticated statements of policy in the catalogues, its faculty would still be declaring Dickinson "a teaching college," undiluted by any responsibility for expanding the boundaries of knowledge. Restricted course offerings, with library acquisitions rarely ranging beyond them, were coupled with the admirable determination to achieve excellence within those bounds.

It all ties in with the background of a boy who had been born on a farm in southern Delaware and at the age of thirteen had been taken to Philadelphia by his widowed mother to be educated. She worked as a seamstress while he prepared for college at Rugby Academy. "Harry"—the "Jim Henry" came later—became president of the Dickinson chapter of Phi Kappa Psi, and one of the U. P. editors of the Dickinsonian . He won the coveted Pierson gold medal for oratory in his Junior year. At commencement in Emory Chapel, 1878, he delivered the Latin Salutatory—"elocution . . . good, though his manner was somewhat too forcible."⁸ With further study in mind, perhaps for the law, perhaps a course at Drew and the ministry, he

turned to teaching, as many have done, to earn a living while making up his mind. He became professor and vice-principal at Pennington, teaching English and the commercial course, 1878 to 1881; then a year at Rugby; and in 1882 to Carlisle as Principal of the Dickinson Preparatory School. Two years later, McCauley brought him into the College at Adjunct Professor of Greek, partly as an antidote to Harman's gently lackadaisical teaching, partly to supervise removal of the libraries to the new building, involving problems with which "Dad" could not be expected to cope. Harman had not been consulted in this, first learning of it from the newspapers, an error of tact which did not make for a warm relationship.⁹ The Dickinsonian  spiced the news with its advice to the two new professors, Morgan and Super: "Don't see too much. If you suspect anything irregular, yet not in your line of business, don't make your eyes sore watching too closely," and also, "Don't show a partiality to the co-eds."¹⁰ Both points were wasted on Morgan. He concerned himself with every aspect of student life; and on December 30, 1890, was married to a former co-ed, Mary Rebecca Curran, '88, like himself a winner of the gold medal.

The students planned a "Grand Calathumpian Serenade" for the newlyweds.¹¹ They approved of Morgan's "rare enthusiasm, ability and skill," and his involvement in everything gave him a unique authority.¹² In the dispute as to the victor of an impromptu cane rush in 1891, the Dickinsonian  averred that it could be left to Morgan, "who was on the spot," as to which class had the most hands on the cane.¹³ In 1890 Reed promoted him to full professor, and in 1892 Bucknell's honorary Ph.D. placed him, outwardly at least, on a par with Super of Modern Languages, who had come with a Boston University doctorate. From 1892 to 1895 Morgan went though the steps of admission to the Methodist ministry.¹⁴ Then followed that career as "Reed's penny-dog and doer of dirty work" already described—he was Dean in the old sense, with disciplinary control as the primary concern.

Here was Morgan's preparation for the presidency, developing a thorough and recognized competence within a limited range. As early as 1892, when he addressed the Association of the Colleges and Preparatory Schools of the Middle States and

Maryland, meeting at Swarthmore, on the effective use of college libraries, he was Dickinson's frequent spokesman.¹⁵ He was an elected school director of Carlisle from 1896 to 1904.¹⁶ Force of character brought leadership. At Reed's retirement in 1911 he had commended Morgan to the trustees as the man to run the College till a successor could be found. In 1914 he was the faculty's choice for President as the only man deemed able to stave off the threat of bankruptcy.¹⁷ He refused the title of "President Pro Tem," took that of Acting President for the first year, and in it demonstrated his ability to overcome the crisis.

Student recruiting was his first recourse. Despite rumors of closing, he added 35 to the student body of 257 in his first year. Four Seniors were refused graduation because of low grades. "This," declared Morgan, "was effective announcement that good academic standards would be maintained at any cost."¹⁸ Each entering class, except during the war years, was larger than that before. On Morgan's recommendation, June 4, 1921, the trustees set a limit of "500, planning no increase in the enrollment of women, but for a small but very gradual increase in the number of men, from 295, the enrollment this year, to 350 or 375, and that this plan to limit the size of the College be announced as our policy—quality rather than quantity being our goal."¹⁹ As so often occurs, the figure crept inexorably beyond the limit. It was 566 at Morgan's retirement in 1928, with an increase in faculty from sixteen to thirty-one.

He ran a tight ship. Reed's imaginative vision went out the window along with Noble's languorous refinement. All was close, shrewd management within close boundaries, setting a pattern of parsimony which lasted right through the boom times of the twenties. There was method in his miserliness. When students came with those $25 scholarship certificates for four years' tuition, Morgan would tell them, as Reed had done, that they were good for $6.25 on each annual bill, no more. But then, on occasion, he would recall his feeling for the original purchaser, making a special small exception for a higher sum and so enlisting a grateful student who might have gone elsewhere.²⁰

In the long, slow retreat of classical studies in the American colleges, Morgan's Dickinson kept up a remarkably spirited rear

guard action. The studies are more selective but cover a wider range than in Durbin's and Emory's day, and are better designed to give a comprehension of life and literature as a whole. Filler, heading Latin, was promoted by Morgan from class dean to Dean of the College in 1914. Morgan, after his first year as Acting President, gave all his time to administration. His faculty of three in Greek was completed in June, 1916, with the arrival of Herbert Wing, Jr., Harvard, '09, fresh from his Ph.D. at Wisconsin and a year in Greece. Wing, stepping into Denny Hall, was mistaken for a prospective Freshman by Senior Raymond R. Brewer, who in later years would represent Dickinson on the faculty of West China Union University at Chengtu.²¹ So began, for that newcomer, an association of more than fifty years, and for the College a stalwart influence in teaching and in academic policy through the changing pattern that lay ahead.

In its President and Dean the College had now a mutually congenial, warmly effective administration. Morgan continued his very immediate—and often athletic—involvement in student deeds and doings, leaving his colleague free to develop a more sophisticated and stimulating curriculum.²² Fiercely proud of policies which put scholastic achievement before all else, Morgan did not fail to acknowledge the Dean's part in their success.²³ Morgan, as his own admissions officer, had begun the practice of selecting only students of promising rank in high school.²⁴ It lessened what he called "the problem of infant mortality." So did his program for helping Freshmen adjust to college life—frequent reports, reinforced by "counsel, advice and admonition. Most of those in danger change. Others do not, and within two or three weeks an occasional Freshman may be dropped as not trying to meet conditions. This helps tremendously the morale of the rest. Their withdrawal is a steady tonic for those who remain."²⁵

The College was already sectioning classes according to ability, to give brighter minds full play and challenge. Class absences were allowed only to those with A and B grades.²⁶ A committee on "special work looking toward special honors at commencement" was set up in 1919 to replace the now-vestigial A.M. in cursu.²⁷ Filler, attending the inauguration of Aydelotte at Swarthmore in 1921, was pleased to note that much of Ayde-

lotte's program for academic advance was already present at Dickinson. Honors courses based on the new program at Swarthmore followed in 1922, together with the system of majors and minors to insure a wiser choice of electives.²⁸ Small recitation sections, never to exceed thirty, had long been fixed policy.²⁹ All this was crowned in the spring of 1926 by the first of the now-traditional "A Dinners," a convivial honoring of Phi Beta Kappa and all other top-grade students.³⁰ We find the Dickinsonian  at the same time pleading for greater student participation in planning the curriculum, and reproving the Senate for failure to advance the student potential.³¹ In 1915 faculty and Student Senate had reestablished an honor system, that perennial ideal and effort of many ups and downs, which in the upsurge of 1922 Morgan could report as "working very well indeed."³²

Morgan's insistence that progress toward a liberal arts degree should be undiluted by special interest courses was not carried to an extreme. Courses preparatory to business, medicine and law were retained. Following a trend among other colleges, a course in education to meet "the growing high school demand for college trained teachers" was added in 1915, and in the next year a course in engineering.³³

It cannot be denied, when one takes a broad view of the campus scene, that the Dickinson School of Law has been an element of strength and maturity in the life of Dickinson College. After Reed's retirement a committee of trustees, President Noble, Frank B. Lynch, Horatio C. King, Boyd Lee Spahr and Charles K. Zug, had examined the College-Law School relationship and made plans for a formal integration of the School as a department of the College. Virtually complete at Noble's resignation, the final integration was opposed, successfully, through the years by Morgan, and their efforts only led on to a more complete separation.³⁴ The formal agreement between Board of Trustees and Board of Incorporators that the Law School was a department of the College only had the effect of admitting the "undesirable law men," as Morgan called them, to the College fraternities and teams.³⁵ A student like bottle-hurling Ray Zug could be dimissed from College only to turn up in Law, as much a part of the scene as ever. Worse, bright young

men were transferring in mid-course from College to Law. The liquor problem entered in. And beyond all this one must infer the personal clash: Trickett was running his operation as an even more absolute dictator than Morgan in his—Trickett, the enemy of McCauley, the scoffer at the Church. Morgan threw it all into one safe generalization: "I believe a good condition for the liberal arts student is a school without professional or technical associations."³⁶

More rightly questionable was the maintenance of a preparatory school as part of a college operation. This solved itself. With the improving high school systems, and particularly the Carlisle High School's Lamberton building, completed in 1914 and far superior to Conway Hall, the end of a fairly profitable adjunct was in sight. Two years later Morgan suggested closing, with 1918 in mind, but the declaration of war in 1917 hastened the action. The end came suddenly, bringing sharp pangs and some long-lasting bitterness. Many had come to love the School where "school spirit" had been more frankly fostered and avowed than in the College. William Albert Hutchison, Headmaster from 1904 to the closing, had run it with all of Morgan's vigor but with the added elan of a more freewheeling athletic policy. "I remember the days," his son wrote, years later, "when Conway Hall had not done too well on a Saturday and on Tuesday when the 10:45 steamed majestically down Main Street on its way to Harrisburg, Docky Hutch would break loose from the main door of Conway Hall with his little black bag, race down the street (he always caught the 10:45) and off he would go. A few days later he would return from the mining country [and] with him might be a pretty good sized boy (who just had to have an education). . . ."³⁷ The old building, offered for government use and declined, was refurbished when peace returned as a Freshman dormitory, and in this role unified the entering classes and the faculty's work with them.³⁸

The Great War came as only a brief interruption of college life. Morgan at once announced an early closing in May, and the granting of full credit to students entering essential places in the labor shortage.³⁹ In the fall a Students' Army Training Corps unit of 252 was added to a regular student body, diminished from the 381 of the year before to 277. Because of the influ-

enza epidemic, SATC had only just begun its program at the armistice, "and the men who had come to prepare for the army lost heart in their work."⁴⁰ Of the faculty, Landis was on the Italian front with the Y.M.C.A., Filler associate secretary of the Y.M.C.A. Personnel Board, and "Rusty" Norcross of Psychology a first lieutenant in the Sanitary Corps. With the year 1918-19, all was back to normal—Freshman rules, class scraps, literary societies—all greeted by the Dickinsonian among "signs of this return of the happy days."⁴¹

There followed, throughout the educational scene, a refreshed idealism and search for improvement. Morgan writes to Senator Boies Penrose in favor of the League of Nations and proposes to his Executive Committee that Dickinson join other colleges in giving a free education to two French girls.⁴² The Committee responded, but with a measure of restraint, "Protestant girls approved." Morgan made Dickinson one of the first participating institutions in Teachers Insurance and Annuity Association, 1918. In that year, Lemuel T. Appold, accepting a trusteeship which was to be active and fruitful through the years, told him that faculty salaries, which had had no significant increase for twenty-five years, ought to be "at least $3,500. I almost gasped at the thought."⁴³

Morgan was proud of his growing faculty and departments expanding solidly within his concept of the liberal arts.⁴⁴ "Baldy" Sellers had become one of its legendary figures, with his "Unity, Coherence and Emphasis," and, when pleased by an answer, his "Precisely so!" ' Feathers" Landis (so dubbed because of the light growth on cheeks and chin) had been teaching a survey course in fine arts, given recognition in 1928 by a Carnegie Foundation gift of books, study photographs and original works.⁴⁵ Ralph Schecter, joining the faculty in 1922 as an instructor in English, "showed himself," Morgan wrote, "a genius in music.⁴⁶ He organized a thirty-five piece College orchestra and continued it with distinction for twenty-five years. It played every day in chapel, valued by Morgan because it kept his rest~ve congregation quiet.⁴⁷ Schecter's "Appreciation of Music" course began in 1926, by student request.⁴⁸  Mulford Stough, coming as instructor in 1927 and quickly promoted to associate professor, brought new verve and emphasis to the

teaching of American history. Stough met student contempt and resistance at first. It was all too wide of the text. Being sent repeatedly to the Library to read this or that did not sit well with a student body some of whom went through their whole course without ever crossing the Library threshhold. Later, converted, they were telling one another that college was not worthwhile without "a Stough course." Here was a contrast to the teaching of Bradford O. Mclntire, slowly dictating the same lectures, year after year, to be taken down word for word in the manner of Nisbet's "prelection." Yet his each lecture was a skillfully organized essay and a lesson, in itself, on the presentation of a scholarly theme.⁴⁹

It is true that some students in the fore ~art of the century went through Dickinson without knowing there was a Library, and that Edwin E. Willoughby, '22, later Chief Bibliographer of the Folger Shakespeare Library, received a faculty reprimand for spending too much time in it, rather than with his texts.⁵⁰  Yet for some years the Dickinsonian had been printing lists of the books bought with the Guild endowment. In 1916 a trained librarian was first employed, and in the next year some courses at least had reading on reserve.⁵¹  In 1922 Lemuel Appold shocked Morgan again by noting that a new Library building might be in order.⁵²

Over all this scene of academic growth, Morgan presided as a bearish but benevolent tyrant. When some of his faculty conceived a scholastic project of their own, he called them in and told them bluntly that their function was to teach, his to run the College, and if the matter went any further they would leave.⁵³ As he aged, his frequent noisy throat-clearing bore out the character:

"Dockie" Morgan coughs and sneezes like his collar gave him pain; And he struts and snorts and sizzles just to show he runs the school, But he justifies the co-eds tho they've broken every rule. . . .⁵⁴

Partial to the co-eds he was, standing against continuing pressure for their removal led by Spahr, Appold and Zug. These, in turn, his most active and influential trustees, were motivated by the then prevalent feeling that coeducation and low standards went together, and that Dickinson must stand as a peer of

the eastern quality colleges for men. It was in this spirit that Rutgers was resisting siege by Mabel Smith Douglass and the New Jersey Federation of Women's Clubs, and Wesleyan shooing away its "quails" from the "Quails' Roost." But for the much-needed income they brought in, the Metzger girls might also have been proscribed.⁵⁵

In 1914, when Morgan had sallied forth to save the day by enlisting a sizeable incoming class, the abolition of hazing had been a primary need. In Reed's later years the practice had become increasingly brutal. By 1911, faculty was fulminating against "the present system of hazing by the use of paddles and bludgeons as conducted by the Sophomore Band."⁵⁶ It had continued into Noble's administration, with the added refinement of branding with nitrate of silver.⁵⁷ The trustees passed a vote of condemnation. Morgan appealed directly to the students, who "took drastic action to abolish hazing from the College." Actually, only the nighttime raiding and molesting, deeply rooted in Dickinson mores, was abolished. Penalties would now be inflicted by daylight upon Freshmen who had overstepped a Sophomore list of proprieties. Thus, the sentences on Freshmen Frank E. Masland and James B. Stein were carried out at the old stone steps. The culprits had accompanied "certain young women about promiscuously." For this they were "treated" with corn syrup, made to run "a sort of bloodhound contest" on a course covered with molasses and were given haircuts, after which "sudden thunder showers" descended upon them from a clear sky.⁵⁸

An early effort was made, with the help of the Student Senate, to regulate rushing. An effort to end all class fights, triggered by a fatality in the "Bowl Scrap" at the University of Pennsylvania, fell through.⁵⁹ By 1923, the "Student Tribunal" had fixed a scoring system for class rivalries: Flag Scrap, 20 Pants Scrap, 10; Football Game, 15; Basketball, 20; Baseball, 15; "any new scrap," 10. Tug of War (with the Letort Spring between) brought winners 20 points, the losers a ducking.⁶⁰

The kidnapping of rival class members, often with a view to abandoning them in some remote spot beyond the mountains, was continued with such constant, watchful opposition from the President of the College that one must needs infer that he

had become simply an accepted hazard in the game. It was a familiar campus spectacle in these years to see Morgan dash out from Denny, perhaps to stop some innocent-looking wagon, seizing the horse by the head, ordering the prisoners hidden within unbound and released.⁶¹ He must have had a constant lookout from his window on an upper floor, must have known every livery stable nag and rig by sight. Nothing escaped Morgan, champion of fair play. When the picture of Negro student Dorothy Anna Davis was placed at the end of all others in the 1924 Microcosm with a patronizing notice, he had the editor-in-chief up before the faculty, and then before the deans for discipline.⁶²

Morgan, a trustee and member of the Headquarters Committee of the Anti-Saloon League, prided himself upon a cam-pus where drinking, though common before 1914, had become, he said, "practically non-existent."⁶³ One may suspect that the "Jazz Age" of the twenties, while not a prevailing force at Dickinson, was far more so than the President chose to admit. Skull and Key was widely known as a drinking club, and an estimated 20 per cent of the co-eds "loose as a shoestring."⁶⁴ Morgan, running the College as if it were personal property, was surely aware of everything. He is seen right on the spot as a known bootlegger comes out of East—"You get off my campus and stay off." He storms the office of a physician known to oblige students with whiskey by prescription.⁶⁵

It was much the same with the "metzkirts" at Metzger learning to smoke. From 1919, they lived under the sharp eye of a practical no-nonsense Dean of Women and Professor of English, Mrs. Josephine Meredith. It is said that Mrs. Meredith made the young ladies returning from a party pass by her close enough for her to smell their breaths. She allowed them no male visitors save Dickinson students, and these must pass the same close scrutiny.⁶⁶ With legalistic efficiency she enacted and posted rules to fit every contingency. Dean Russell Thompson, looking into affairs at Metzger in 1947, was both awed and charmed. He suggested a simplification of the code, yet cherished it in memory, particularly Rule 124, stating that when crowded conditions in an automobile obliged a young lady to sit upon a young gentleman's lap they must be physically sepa-

rated by a newspaper, and that the newspaper must be of at least the thickness of the regular daily edition of the New York Times.⁶⁷

Yet we have here one of the stalwarts of Dickinson history. Josephine Meredith lived and worked precariously between, on the one hand, the Methodist powers, watchful and rigorous in their judgments of the young, and, on the other, those enlightened enemies of coeducation in any form, including women on the faculty. If she protected her girls against hazards, she herself faced greater ones, and did so with determination, fairness and humor. She caught and held the lasting admiration of many. Estelle Bernard, '49, would always remember that friendly, staunch involvement with a shy student's problems and the sparkle in the eye. When Mrs. Meredith laid down a law, as in her "ANTI-BIFURCATION ACT" of 1944 against "freakish costumes" outside the dormitory, the decree would be accepted with an answering sparkle.

Morgan, on his part, frankly confessed that social rules must be "largely a question of expediency," and reduced all rules to one—conformity with "the requirements of good morals and good citizenship."⁶⁸ He had long cherished a hope of enlisting the fraternities not only in protecting these standards, but in the cause of scholastic excellence. He declared that he had from the first "encouraged student participation in the conduct of the College."⁶⁹ Yet to share power was not Morgan's way, and in the November following that statement of June, 1923, we find the Senate resigning in a body as a protest against the prolonged curtailment of its powers, declaring that student government had come to exist in name only.⁷⁰

Morgan's presidency was characterized by thrift. At the outset, as he put it, "No advantage was small enough to be ignored."⁷¹ In later years this former Librarian and aging President would tour the Library alcoves, each lighted by a single bulb, and turn it out if no reader was there. This was a rebuke to Librarian May Morris, who had come in 1927, bringing a more liberal concept.⁷² In responding to a request for advice Morgan confessed to President George L. Omwake of Ursinus that "We have no budget. I am afraid that I would have to confess that I am the budget. I suspect this College is exceptional in this."⁷³

He was right. Furthermore, for financial development in the large, he had neither talent nor taste. He relied upon Mother Church, with the Rev. Dr. John William Hancher as his guide throughout. Hancher, Assistant Secretary and financial expert of the Board of Education of the Methodist Episcopal Church, had met with the trustees just before Noble's resignation. Wisely, he had then advised "a harmonious background" as a first condition in launching a campaign.⁷⁴ Hancher was with the Church organization until 1930, when he had his own agency for "Philanthropic Finance" in Chicago. He collected honorary honors along the way, prizing especially his election, 1918, to Phi Beta Kappa, Alpha of Pennsylvania.⁷⁵

In 1915, with the Central Pennsylvania Conference planning a "Jubilee" drive for funds for education and with Reed's resolution of February 14, 1907, still rankling some minds, the trustees deplored its language and reaffirmed loyalty to the Church, while still declaring "the lack of formal, legal, sectarian restraint."⁷⁶ This campaign, in the midst of the war effort, could hardly have reached its goal of $125,000 for Dickinson, but it enabled Morgan to pay off $12,000 of debts and add $16,000 to endowment.⁷⁷

When plans for a major campaign on the part of the College were taking shape in 1919 and 1920, this last experience had only increased Morgan's trepidation. "Some things I can do," he confessed to Charles Zug, "others are hard, almost impossible for me. Among the latter is a definite and direct approach for money." And to Bishop McDowell, "This financial problem . . . is a new one ... for which I feel no special fitness and certainly for which I have no appetite." And again, "Dr. Hancher is going to supervise our campaign, but I have the feeling that the President of the College ought to do and be more in such a campaign than I know how."⁷⁸ He did try, and with little success. When trustee Charles E. Pettinos, New York manufacturer, took Morgan to his club for lunch he found this college president simply an embarrassment, with his harsh loud voice and raucous breathing.⁷⁹

A start was made, June 8, 1920, with the General Education Board's appropriation of $ 150,000, to be matched by $300,000, the total to be held as endowment in support of faculty salaries.⁸⁰ With this from the Rockefeller organization,

Hancher staggered Morgan by raising the campaign goal from $500,000 to $1,000,000. In the face of the post-war depression this seemed astronomical. It was finally raised again, however, on the initiative of Bishop Joseph Flintoft Berry, to $1,600,000, with the Pennington School brought in as a co-beneficiary. Dickinson's share was to be $1,250,000 and Pennington's $350,000.⁸¹

Final plans were made on November 8, 1921: "Launching Sunday" would be on May 14, 1922; "Review Sunday" on May 28; "Gleaning Sunday" on June 25; and July 3 the Closing Day. At that time, expenses had come to $11,500, and $2O,OOO had to be borrowed to carry on.⁸² The campaign took longer than planned, and even then failed to reach its goal. Dickinson College benefited by this, its first great financial drive, but to many it was a near-fiasco. Some of its literature is catechistical in form, and all awash with piety, becoming more prayerful toward the end—"The silver is Mine and the gold is Mine saith the Lord of Hosts," and "Honor the Lord with thy substance and with the first fruits of all shine increase." The colorful little leaflet, To My Mother, could hardly have been very helpful.⁸³ Pennington failed to cooperate. So also the preachers and district superintendents—though Morgan in an effort to mollify them had had the trustees, June 3, 1922, authorize the five conferences to nominate one trustee for each fifty thousand members.⁸⁴ This action brought him a sharp inquiry from Clyde Furst of the Carnegie Foundation.⁸⁵ It was just at this time that Goucher College was the scene of a determined effort to escape from exactly the same element of sectarian control. Poor Morgan! He had pressures from the other side as well, such as a veiled warning that "the relations of the school to the Carnegie Founding . . . is not keeping with the last clause of the fourth verse of the fifteenth psalm."⁸⁶

The campaign ended in November, $225,000 short of its objective, with a welter of uncollected subscriptions and unsettled questions on the division of debt and benefit with Pennington.⁸⁷ The cost of the "Dickinson-Penning/on Movement," at one point estimated at 18 percent was probably well above that, and after two years Morgan was only just beginning to receive income from it.⁸⁸ Moreover, during the campaign the General Education Board had seen fit to reduce its subsidies.⁸⁹

The experience did have certain fruitful side effects. Alumni like Paul Appenzellar, interested in College but not in Church, felt challenged to show their own supporting power.⁹⁰ During the campaign Appold had sparked a revival of the General Alumni Association. He would serve as its first President, to be succeeded briefly by Edward M. Biddle and then by Boyd Lee Spahr from 1928 to 1931. Appold's banking experience was already reflected in the stability of College investments. Now he underwrote half the cost of The Dickinson Alumnus, starting publication in 1923.⁹¹ Gilbert Malcolm, '15, who had been an assistant in the campaign, and during the war had been on the board of The Stars and Stripes, took over as editor. He was given the collection of campaign subscriptions as a sideline. The campaign had shown beyond peradventure that church support would be inadequate in itself and a deterrent to giving from other sources. By 1927 even Morgan was proclaiming that he headed a college "free from denominational control," although he continued to measure his success by the number of his boys who had become teachers or preachers, with district superintendents as the crowning achievement. Spahr had taken him bluntly to task in July, 1923, on these points and on undue assumption of authority—reminding him that Dickinson was not a normal school or a theological seminary.⁹²

The campaign had also intensified alumni interest in winning teams. In 1915, the faculty had given serious consideration to abandoning football.⁹³ By 1920, the activities of the Campus Club in hiring athletes and pressuring for a more aggressive coach than the scholarly Forrest Craver had aroused Morgan's ire. They could give scholarships to players, but the players must meet his academic requirements.⁹⁴ A peak came in 1922 with the engagement of Glenn Killinger, outstanding athlete, as football coach. Killinger's will to win outraged Morgan and alienated even some of his players.⁹⁵ He lasted a year only, and Morgan settled down to the promotion of eligibility rules and the Eastern College Athletic Conference. A decade later he was begging the Carnegie Foundation to take the initiative, and onus, of "what seemed to me to be the next step in any vital reform, that those colleges who stand for scholarship and are disgusted with our present football situation might well unite and for a given period of years eliminate football."⁹⁶

The 1922 campaign had had the building of a new gymnasium and the renovation of East and West Colleges as stated goals. Its results precluded any thought of a new building and in the dour outlook Morgan used to say that if offered a new gym as a gift he would decline it, as he had not enough money to pay the electric bill.⁹⁷ With East, where broken plumbing overflowed the floors and bursting steam pipes wrought havoc, where a rat ran out across the floor at the Kappa Sigma dance, something had to be done.⁹⁸ The renovation of East, authorized in June, 1924, was accompanied by an increase in the tuition from $160 to $200, and in the charge for women from $475 to $550.⁹⁹ Students cooperated that year by reseeding the campus grass and laying a new path.¹⁰⁰  For West College, Appold contributed $18,000 to transform the old chapel into Memorial Hall, and then added the McCauley Room on the floor below as a memorial to the President of his and Morgan's day. In the next year, 1926, the trustees launched the campaign that would build the Alumni Gymnasium on the site of old South College, torn down to make way for it in the spring of 1927.

Morgan, at his seventieth birthday, came to chapel to find the students ready with a great bouquet of roses in the Dickinson red and white.^10l He had retirement in mind now, and would bring it up at the 1927 trustee meeting. It had grown hard to keep up the pace. Louis A. Tuvin, '10, sometime in these last years had come upon Morgan in the club car of a train, puffing a cigarette, a spectacle never seen on campus. Amused, the young man sat down, and learned that Camels were the President's favorite brand. "Tuvin," Morgan observed after a while, "you are in the drug business." And then, having put the matter on a semi-medical basis, "The aroma of a good whisky excites me no end." Could Tuvin by any chance meet such a need? Tuvin could. They retired to his compartment where a strong dose was prescribed and poured.¹⁰²

Such things might help, but the strain was growing heavier, and in January, 1928, on his return from another trip, a breakdown came at last. Convalescence was slow. When the trustees met, his resignation was in their hands, to take effect on July 31. On August 1, they elected Dean Filler to take his place, an

act which invited the continuance of Morgan's influence, if not his activity. William Trickett died on that same day, ending an era at the School of Law.

For Morgan, there followed a trip through Europe to Greece. He left laden with gifts from students and alumni, in a stateroom banked with flowers.¹⁰³ On his return the trustees established the "James Henry Morgan Lectureship," setting aside an endowment of $25,000 for its continuance.¹⁰⁴ Morgan, with his new leisure, turned to the writing of a history of Dickinson's century and a half.

"Baby Boy" Filler was, if we make an exception of Himes' brief tenure. the first layman to head a Dickinson College administration. A first act was that of many another incoming college president, a professional survey of the school. It must be taken also as recognition that after so long a span of Morgan's highly personal type of management more modern and more regular procedures were in order, and this was a tactful and compelling way in which to present the fact. The Church's Commission on Survey of Educational Institutions sent a staff of four for the purpose, headed by Floyd Wesley Reeves, Professor of Educational Administration at the University of Chicago. Its 374-page report was received in the fall of 1930, with copies for all faculty and trustees. Boyd Lee Spahr found it full of valuable information and recommendations, particularly on the Library and the investment of endowment. He bridled, however, at the thought of turning Old East into a co-ed dormitory in order to increase the proportion of women, and deplored the fact that all comparative statistics were to small Methodist colleges, mostly in the Midwest.¹⁰⁵ Fifteen years later, to the shocked surprise of returning alumni, there would indeed be girls in Old East. The proposed expansion of the Library into the chapel area above would come only as a last expedient before removal to a new building—though the intention of doing so would have its profound effect on later events. The report, all in all, is a thorough and knowledgeable document, comparing very favorably to that pulled together by the Church's University Senate in 1962.

Filler acted upon his own experience as well. He, more than any other president Russell Thompson had known, sensed

the need for more thorough and sympathetic student guidance. He therefore supplemented the class dean system, which had never met the problem adequately, by assigning a limited number of students to each member of the faculty. Assignments were made arbitrarily at first, then on a basis of presumed common interests of student and advisor. The plan "simply did not work," partly no doubt due to the continuance of heavy teaching loads, and after Filler's time there was a reversion to class deans as the only recourse.¹⁰⁶

Filler's time was short. An alumnus, George M. Briner, '07, recalled that Dr. Filler "never seemed at ease," citing the comment of a campus visitor, "You took a perfectly good professor and made him into a poor president." So much for outward appearances. They did not know, nor was Filler himself aware, of the illness which would end in his death, March 28, 1931. In the brief period left to him, he completed the new gymnasium and renovated Conway Hall. He obtained the Carnegie Corporation grant for books for the Library ($2,000 a year, 1932 to 1937) which, wisely managed by May Morris, at last brought the collection within reach of modern standards and set the pace for future library budgets. He fought the pressures from the athletic enthusiasts and dealt with the manifold financial problems of the deepening Great Depression. He may have had Morgan at his side more than he would have preferred, but he had also Boyd Lee Spahr as a promoterally. With Morgan's retirement, Spahr's long years of close and intimate touch with Dickinson administration begin, unifying campus, alumni and trustees, and confirmed by financial support. By 1930 he was urging Filler to consider a new $1,000,000 endowment drive.¹⁰⁷

With Filler's death, Boyd Lee Spahr offered the motion that Morgan take over again until a new choice could be made. The old man consented to do so, at less than half time "and without compensation."¹⁰⁸ When Filler had taken office, the influence of Spahr, John Rhey, Appold and Zug, in short, the more forward-looking group, became apparent at once in trustee minutes and other records, characterized by a precision and clarity not always present before. The Spahr interest had been manifested on campus by a "Dickinsonian a Room" in West

College and a concerted effort to bring together portraits of great College figures of the past. Now Judge Biddle, dying of cancer, had stated his wish that Spahr succeed him as President of the Board. Morgan summoned Spahr to his office and raised his objections. First, this was a Methodist college and the chief officer of the trustees should be a Methodist. The answer was equally blunt, "It is not a Methodist college in the way you think." A second objection, "Because you drink," received an equally cursory reply. Appold and Rhey then threatened to resign if the matter were not dropped, and it was.¹⁰⁹ Biddle's resignation and Spahr's election followed on June 5, 1931, with the election also of Gilbert Malcolm, another non-Methodist, as Treasurer. Morgan, in compensation, was given a four-year term as a member of the Board, an eminence he would use as best he could to promote the loyalties which now seemed to be slipping away.¹¹⁰

With handicaps in the distance between Carlisle and Philadelphia and the demands of his law practice, Spahr was determined to achieve advancing quality, with the Ivy League colleges of the East as his standard. Dickinson also must eliminate sectarian influences, while keeping historic ties intact. His first task was to find a new President. Few trustees had names to put forward. Spahr brushed aside the suggestions of Morgan and trustee John Rogers Edwards that faculty participate in the choice. Edwards even mentioned that some colleges had left it entirely in faculty hands. To Spahr it was thinkable to ask the opinions at least of department heads, but only "as individuals and not as a collective group."¹¹¹  As matters stood on campus, a faculty choice would certainly have been a Morgan choice, and it was time now for a president of broader background and outlook.

Bishop William Fraser McDowell, a trustee who had been a breezily healthy influence in Dickinson affairs since 1917, brought forward the man who was elected without opposition, October 10, 1931. Karl Tinsley Waugh, born in India in 1879, the son of a missionary, was neither a clergyman nor an alumnus. His academic credentials were impeccable: an Ohio Wesleyan B.A., 1900, and M.A., 1901, he followed with a Harvard M.A., 1906, and Ph.D., 1907. In that final year he had been a

Weld Fellow, and assistant to William James. He was an associate in psychology at the University of Chicago, 1907 to 1909, Professor of Psychology at Beloit until 1918, Dean and Professor of Psychology and Philosophy at Berea till 1923, and Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, University of California at Los Angeles, at the time of his election.

Due to a temporary commitment on the faculty of Long Island University, Waugh did not begin his term until January 1, 1933. In November, Miss Euphemia, the last of the Moores of Mooreland, had died, and Boyd Lee Spahr had embarked at once on his long-cherished project of doubling the size of the campus by adding that tract to it. Contributions added to his own of $10,000 brought it about, and it was announced to the trustees by Dr. Waugh, October 20, 1932. A small segment was purchased by the Law School, with whom the discussion of integration with the College was still continuing. Spahr envisioned at this time a large auditorium as a central feature of the new campus, replacing the old chapel and leaving Bosler Hall entirely free for library expansion.¹¹²

Chapels by this time were reduced to three per week, and even at that a majority of the students, according to the 1930 survey, found them insipid or tedious. The Dickinsonian , in a spirit of mild protest, printed excerpts from Anne Royall in order to contrast "the religious tone which pervades Dickinson to this day" with that of a century before.¹¹³ All over the country student mores were changing again as the "Jazz Age" gave way to serious ideals for democracy and the social order, all highlighted against Depression suffering. Class scraps and kidnappings faded and vanished during Waugh's brief term. It followed that students would react with greater sensitivity than any other group to what was about to occur in campus inner circles.

Mrs. Waugh was happily settled in the President's House, proud to be the first to entertain the whole faculty at once. Occasional faculty meetings were held there, followed by a social hour, always with a program of some sort, and all accomplished with only one maid.¹¹⁴ Dr. Waugh had attended his first trustee meeting on February 20, 1932, with twelve basic recommendations to add to the numerous small procedural re-

forms he was making. One was the presentation of a tentative budget for the coming year. "This, I understand, was a new feature in Dickinson procedure."^l15 But all, actually, were established factors in the management of colleges which had not had the single-minded attention of a James Henry Morgan.

Morgan, at Waugh's first coming, had been prompt with a warm welcome. He had then made it his habit to drop in regularly at the President's office to see how the new man was doing, and to offer advice.¹¹⁶ He liked less and less what he found.

At the first faculty meeting of the next term, September 16, 1932, new regulations had been adopted, with student standing based on the ratio of grade points to semester hours, and provision for "Degrees with Distinction." Modernization of the curriculum came March 6, 1933, approved, like the earlier actions, on the motion of Herbert Wing, Jr. On March 27, rules for special and departmental honors were passed, the departmental to be justified by a thesis. At the same time, Waugh introduced a new plan for student government, to include both men and women and with each living unit represented in proportion to its size.¹¹⁷ He devised a new scholarship loan plan, based on endowed units of a revolving fund, from which he anticipated improvement and growth in the student body.¹¹⁸

It is here that this History of Dickinson College could well emulate Tristram Shandy and draw a printed curtain over its page. Morgan, incensed that his counsel, so freely offered, was neglected—objecting particularly that his own nominees for the Curriculum Committee had not been appointed—was using his position as trustee, with faculty and town, to launch a campaign of appalling vilification.¹¹⁹ Dr. Waugh, knowledgeable and assured, lacked the other's firm decisiveness and passion. The smear spread, a whispering campaign imbued with preposterous charges of vice and dishonesty. If Waugh himself was anywhere at fault it was only because, as a psychologist, he had failed to diagnose and salve the rage of the power-proud old man, to satisfy in some way that continuing sense of proprietorship, and to realize in time what influence Morgan still held among faculty and trustees and how he might use it. Morgan, frustrated in his hope of having a churchman as President of the Board, could

only discern dark motive and decay in the conduct of this newcomer. He was ending his Dickinson career in a spate of partisan bitterness worse even than that he had seen about him in his Freshman year, deeply damaging to the good name of the school and similarly an impediment to the search for competent leadership. Dr. and Mrs. Waugh soon found themselves isolated socially. Friends of Morgan did not go to the house, and instructed all others to avoid it. A few bold and fair-minded spirits such as Horace Rogers, Elmer Herber, Chester Quimby and Mary Taintor refused to accept the ban. Malcolm, Meredith, Milton Eddy of Biology, were among the hostiles, Eddy so forward in spreading obloquy that he was forced to make a public retraction.¹²⁰

When Morgan came at last to the trustees it was with an irreparable breach between his party and the President—the President supported only by those, younger for the most part, who could recognize sound policy and found the undercover attack repulsive. At the meeting of June 9, 1933, a committee of Morgan and four others was commissioned "to consider the finances and general welfare of the College and report . . . in the near future." On June 24, Waugh read a list of further constructive recommendations for the future, at the close of which he was persuaded to make an "oral resignation."¹²¹ The committee of his enemies took over, and Morgan was once more installed as President.

He called a special faculty meeting, June 26, which, with ten members conspicuously absent, erased all reforms and restored the old ways. Spahr wrote him on the same day, suggesting a revision of the bylaws to set up "a trustee committee on the selection of members of the faculty."¹²² Waugh had reappointed—and the Board at its June meeting dismissed—Dr. Gerald Barnes, a freewheeling but thoroughly competent professor of sociology. This would come under AAUP investigation.¹²³ Morgan had been successful in creating distrust of Waugh, without adding conviction of his own trustworthiness. Yet he was in the saddle, as of old. At a faculty meeting, September 12, he read "A Brief Statement of Facts," followed by informal remarks, and, on Landis' motion, was given "a unanimous standing vote of 'heartfelt gratitude.' " Ten days later'

Bishop McDowell resigned from the Board of Trustees, sending both Morgan and Wing notification of the fact.¹²⁴

All of the Waugh reforms were now reversed or contemptuously brushed aside. Most of them would, to be sure, return as Dickinson more gradually caught up with the times. At the time, all seemed odious to the old guard. One of the first had been to divide the College funds between the two Carlisle banks, a reasonable provision in a time of bank failures.¹²⁵ One offended banker had been a member of that committee on College finances. Waugh's last recommendation, that honorary degrees come through a joint committee of faculty and trustees, now in effect, was offensive to those who had been concerned in awarding the laurels in a more summary manner.

The retired President had gained one condition, continuance of salary for a year. This had included occupation of the President's House, and there he remained despite efforts to evict him by force or persuasion. Dark condemnation could not be spoken so easily with its object still in Carlisle and his daughter a student at the College. Eleanor Waugh was elected President of the McIntire Literary Society that spring—one evidence of the student response to what had happened and was happening. The effort to conceal all details of the affair soon fell through. Student indignation seethed. The Dickinsonian of November 2, 1933, called on "those in authority to treat the student body with the consideration it deserves and not subjugate it to a condition it is not willing to accept." That of May 10, 1934, printed an editorial, "The Re-birth of a College," sent in from the Morgan camp, but the student editor blue-penciled every reference to Morgan, reducing it to ten almost incomprehensible lines. Others, extolling Morgan as the "savior" of Dickinson in every hour of crisis, did appear, but student opinion held firm, and they sent to Waugh himself a summary of their own view of his accomplishment: a modernized curriculum; the solution of problems in student activities, fraternity rushing and athletic organization; a budget system bringing economy and open accounting; the advocacy of scholarship loans rather than gifts.¹²⁶ A survey team from the Methodist Board of Education, ostensibly studying student opinion on World Missions, found much to report on Waugh and brought an angry counter-

blast from Morgan, with his contemptuous, "the Adullamites all flocked to them."¹²⁷

Alumni reactions were the same. Was it not devious, Professor Carl Hartzell of Franklin and Marshall inquired of Morgan, to speak of a "serious financial condition" resulting from Waugh's short term, and then immediately present Dickinson as one of the few colleges without a deficit? By the spring and summer of 1934 Morgan was contending with both adverse national publicity and aroused and hostile alumni clubs.¹²⁸

Needless to say, Dr. Waugh continued his active career as an educator after leaving Carlisle. He left with statements from some faculty, such as that of Horace E. Rogers, which did much to relieve the bitterness of the Dickinson debacle:

His ideal for Dickinson was to make it rank among the best Liberal Arts colleges. He was doing his utmost to bring this to pass. His progressive administration here at Dickinson was terminated all too soon, which does not dispute the fact that he is well qualified to undertake the duties of a college administrator.¹²⁹

Hopes were now fixed upon a formal sesquicentennial celebration in 1933 that would draw all together again and help to obliterate what had occurred. There would be a convocation with twenty-one honorary degree recipients, among them John Charles Thomas, once of Conway Hall and now of the Metropolitan Opera, and former Carlislers William Rose and Stephen Vincent Benet. Josephine Meredith was composing an historical pageant. Morgan was laboring on his history of the College, his first book, indeed his first scholarly publication of any sort. It was completed, and in very respectable form, though not entirely without help. Newspaperman Dean Hoffman, "Red" Malcolm, Boyd Lee Spahr and others had been hard put to it to persuade the "Old Master" to accept assistance and get it out in shape and on time. While this was going on, Prohibition was up for repeal, a sad turn of events for old stalwarts of the Anti-Saloon League, and one glimpses the hectic scene in the letters of the brilliant, madcap general of the Engineer Corps, James G. Steese, '02, to Spahr

I cannot understand Morgan's stubbornness with respect to the proposed so-called History. One would think he would want to put

his best foot forward and welcome assistance. . .

As I recollect, the College has only two representatives in Congress at this time, Kurtz and Rich, and both voted against the submission of the repeal amendment to the people yesterday. Of course, Kurtz is an old woman, and Rich a half-baked fool, but if that represents the college's 100% contribution to leadership in these dire times, maybe that explains our difficulty in working up Morgan's history so as to give the college some reason for existence, or show it has ever played any important part in moulding public opinion.¹³⁰

All came through on schedule, and 1933 went by with attention focused on the heroic past. By the close of the academic year, the future could be faced with a new strong hand in the President's office. As an alumnus of 1917, Fred Pierce Corson had witnessed the crisis of the Noble-to-Morgan years, had gone on through Drew University to the Methodist ministry and had become one of those district superintendents whom Morgan watched in the twilight of his life with such pride. In President Corson the Church had its solidly efficient champion on campus, unprejudiced by any previous experience in college administration, one of Morgan's boys, and yet also more than ready to work harmoniously with the new President of the Board of Trustees toward widening goals.