THE UNIVERSITY OFCHICAGO f REC0EPMay 11, 1977 ISSN 0362-4706 An Official Publication Volume XI, Number 2CONTENTS33 THE 1977 RYERSON LECTURE: WASPs AND OTHER ENDANGEREDSPECIES, By Robert E. Streeter43 THE BUDGET AND ENERGY COSTS AND CONSERVATION52 CHOICE AND INITIATIVE: ANNUAL REPORT OF THE STUDENTMENTAL HEALTH CLINIC, 1975-7656 REPORT OF THE STUDENT OMBUDSMAN FOR THEWINTER QUARTER, 197758 TUITION INCREASE58 ROOM AND BOARD INCREASES59 CHANGES IN DEVELOPMENT OFFICE ADMINISTRATIVEASSIGNMENTS59 NEW TRUSTEE ELECTED60 THE 362ND CONVOCATION ADDRESS: CEREMONIOUS WORDS,By Philip W. Jackson62 SUMMARY OF THE 362ND CONVOCATION63 VISITING COMMITTEESTHE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGOFOUNDED BY JOHN D. ROCKEFELLER©Copyright 1977 by The University of Chicago. All rights reserved.THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO RECORDTHE NORA AND EDWARD RYERSON LECTUREWASPs AND OTHER ENDANGERED SPECIESBy ROBERT E. STREETERThe Nora and Edward Ryerson Lectures wereestablished by the Trustees of the University inDecember 1972. They are intended to give amember of the faculty the opportunity each yearto lecture to an audience from the entire University on a significant aspect of his research andstudy. The President of the University appointsthe lecturer on the recommendation of a facultycommittee which solicits individual nominationsfrom each member of the faculty during the winterquarter preceding the academic year for whichthe appointment is made. The lectures are presented under the auspices of the Center for PolicyStudy.The lecturers have been:1973-74—John Hope Franklin1974-75— S. Chandrasekhar1975-76— Philip B. Kurland1976-77—Robert E. StreeterApril 5, 1977Introductory Remarks by John T. WilsonIt has been my pleasure to introduce two of thefirst three Nora and Edward Ryerson Lecturers.Each in his own way has more than amply fulfilledthe criterion of distinction in the eyes of facultypeers — which is the basis for selection to thishonor. In the case of Robert Streeter, there isadded to the element of distinction a special ingredient which derives from his long associationwith the University in various roles as dean, inaddition to that of faculty member. I was about tosay "simply as a faculty member" but caughtmyself — there being no such condition as "simplya faculty member' ' at The University of Chicago.My personal relationship to Mr. Streeter in hisdecanal roles was during a decade of his tenure as Dean of Humanities. However, my guess is thathe considers his more memorable service was asDean of the College, during one of the severalparticularly trying periods in the history of thatacademic unit. In both, there is reflected in therecord of his services a humane sense of valuesand a wit which anyone who has served as a deanwill testify as being essential for survival in thatrole. Reminiscing upon his experiences in the College at the time of the rededication of Harper Library as the College Center, Bob revealed bothsomething of himself and something of the natureof this place:We have valued the intimacy ... the sheer usabilityof these surroundings. In these halls it has been easyand natural to meet people of diverse knowledge andinterest, to exchange ideas, to speculate and to plan.In this seductive environment, some people havecommitted interdisciplinary acts without even knowing that they were being tempted.Mr. Streeter' s place of origin is a geographicarea close to my heart — Williamsport, Pennsylvania. My immediate attraction to the man when Ifirst came to the University stemmed from thefact that he was the only person in the Universitywho not only knew where the town I came from inPennsylvania is located, but he knew how to spellPunxsutawney. Bob received his undergraduateeducation at Bucknell University (which heserves as a trustee — most recently as a member ofthe committee to select a new president for Bucknell). He has his master's as well as his doctor'sdegree from Northwestern University. Beforejoining the academic world, he had a brief careeras state news editor for the Williamsport Gazetteand Bulletin. His first faculty appointment was inthe English department at Bucknell, where hedoubled as assistant director of public relations.During a period of leave from that institution Bobserved as professor of English and advisor to the33English department of Seoul National Universityin Korea. He returned to this country to join thefaculty of this University in 1947. He has beenprofessor of English since 1958, and was appointed Edward L. Ryerson Distinguished Service Professor in 1974. It was during the 1954-59period that Bob served as Dean of the College.He was Dean of the Humanities Division from1963 to 1973.All of the foregoing covers certain of the facts.But they omit the essential features of theman — which, in the short form of the descriptionby his colleagues, are that he is "a cultivated,curious, merry man — and in all ways a humanistpar excellence." His major scholarly interest isAmerican cultural and literary history, especiallyin the period prior to the Civil War, and he is anauthority on rhetorical theory and practice. Talking with him over the years reveals a range ofinterests in literature uncommon in the academicliterary world. For example, he is one of what isprobably a total population of two on this campusthat has read what is undoubtedly the most neglected baseball novel ever written — Zane Gray'sThe Shortstop. And those who know tell me hemakes feel less isolated those others who read thepoems of Julia M. Moore, the sweet singer ofMichigan; the lesser works of Mrs. HumphreyWard; or the minutiae of Raymond Chandler'scanon.When he retired from the deanship of thehumanities, Bob said he wanted to return to teaching and to the library. He has done both. But infact, he had never left teaching, as I and others inthe University who have profited from an exposure to Bob's continuing tutorial on the humancondition will readily testify.As I earlier indicated, in 1974 Mr. Streeter wasnamed the Edward L. Ryerson DistinguishedService Professor. This professorship was established in the University in 1968 by a gift fromNora Butler Ryerson in honor of her husband.Mr. Ryerson was a life trustee of the Universityand former chairman of the Board of Trustees.Nora and Edward Ryerson served this Universityand community of scholars, as they served thecity and the nation — with full heart and selflessdevotion, a tradition carried on from generation togeneration, present today in the persons ofGeorge and Nancy Ryerson Ranney and theirchildren.Thus, the selection of the Edward L. RyersonDistinguished Service Professor to give the Noraand Edward Ryerson Lecture this year has a particular significance. This lecture was established to celebrate the love and respect the Universityhas for Nora and Edward Ryerson, and it symbolizes the importance of the individual to thiscommunity of scholars, the recognition of his orher contributions, his or her presence and work inthe scholarly community.Few members of this faculty are better lovedand few have developed as keen an understandingof the character of The University of Chicago asMr. Streeter. At the cornerstone laying of theJoseph Regenstein Library, he reminded us that,The University's intellectual work, whether inteaching or in research, rests upon a complex interplay between these two conditions: order and spontaneity. It is difficult to imagine a serious intellectualact which does not spring from both sources. Unlesswe assume that some measure of order and connection can be detected in or conferred upon the objectof our study, thought is aimless, and learning impossible. Unless our inquiry is pursued with a certainpersonal character or even quirkiness, the processand the outcome will be routine and spiritless.All of us bask in and welcome the spirit of BobStreeter. None of us this afternoon expects theroutine. Of course, we anticipate some quirkiness.John T. Wilson is President of the University andProfessor in the Department of Education.The 1977 LectureFor any member of this faculty, there is a specialdelight in association with any enterprise whichbears the names of Nora and Edward Ryerson— two persons whose solicitude and affection forthis University were so unstinting and so perceptive. For me, the sense of privilege in giving thisRyerson Lecture has been strengthened by thecircumstance that, through the accident of myUniversity duties over the years, I had the opportunity to observe rather directly the wisdom andthe magnanimity which characterized the lives ofthese two people. I am grateful for the chance toparticipate in an occasion which nurtures thememory of their years among us.Instead of spending the first few minutes teasing out the meaning and implications of a titleconceived in waywardness and delivered in desperation, let me say straight out that my topic thisafternoon is ethnicity in literary study. And giventhe nature of my theme, I suppose that the currentconfessional mode requires me to uncover myroots, or at least stir the ground about them a bit.34My forebears were the usual Pennsylvania miscellany noted by Crevecoeur as early as the eighteenth century: my four grandparents were, byorigin, respectively English, German, Welsh,and, in the case of my paternal grandmother, acongenial Calvinistic mix of Huguenot andDutch. Inevitably, there were Revolutionary ancestors, including, I am happy to report, a Hessian mercenary who, following the surrender, wasinvited to head for the Allegheny Mountains andlook for unoccupied land — which he found not farfrom the present site of the Pennsylvania StateUniversity. Indeed, in upstate Pennsylvania,where I was born and reared, there were so manypeople of German origin that it was not until manyyears later, when I was working up German formy graduate school reading examinations, that Irealized that my boyhood friends Bidelspacherand Fenstermacher had German names. Finally,in this era of forthright disclosure, I must admit tobeing "twice born" — at least, I recall being immersed, totally and terrify ingly, according to thetenets of the Northern Baptist Convention, at theage of about thirteen or fourteen. One consequence of this experience, of course, is that I regard Miss Amy Carter's recent baptism aspraiseworthy but premature: in my day merefourth-graders were not adjudged ready to takethe plunge.Having declared my baggage, let me describethe development I intend to consider. We are allaware of the worldwide explosion of ethnic political and cultural consciousness. Proud nationstates which seemed as solid as the Rock ofGibraltar — itself no longer very secure as asimile — are riven by previously unnoticedfissures. In the United Kingdom, Parliamentinches toward the devolution of certain centralgovernmental functions to Wales and Scotland.The premier of Quebec proclaims an intention towork toward separation from Canada. In Belgium, Walloons and Flemings quarrel over education and cultural programs. There are stirrings inBrittany. If a present-day Saint Paul were invitedto "come over into Macedonia," he would haveto wire back, "Which Macedonia? Yugoslavia,Bulgaria, or Greece?" In this country, politicalseparation or large-scale devolution on ethnicgrounds does not seem to be in prospect, althoughin some large cities there has occurred a limitedparcelling out of powers and perquisites, especially in education, to local communities whichare essentially ethnic enclaves. Throughout theworld these movements toward politicalseparatism have been accompanied by, indeed often generated by, efforts to deepen awarenessof the cultural traits which seem to identify, andlink together, members of the particular subgroupseeking greater influence and recognition. Anymarkers of distinctive identity — languages ordialects, literatures, religious beliefs and practices, customs and costumes, dances and otherdiversions — are prized as evidence that the grouppossessing them has some sort of collective innercoherence, that it has become a nation within thelarger nation, and that it merits therefore a greatermeasure of control over its own affairs.Aside from noting this persistent connectionbetween political agitation and cultural consciousness, I do not intend to consider the consequences for governmental policy of this upsurgeof ethnicity. Instead, as a student of literature,specifically of American literature, I want to examine the consequences of this movement for theway we look at literature, for the way we understand and criticize it, for the way we teach it. Inparticular, I shall place this emphasis on culturalparticularism within a broader historical context,that of the American literary experiencegenerally — not in an effort to put down or diminish these recent stirrings, but rather to reach aperspective which invites a sober assessment oftheir strengths and weaknesses.Anyone who received his literary educationback in the days when literature appeared to unfold itself in monolithic majesty from Beowulf toThomas Hardy is in for a shock if he looks intopresent-day college catalogues, the proceedingsof professional societies, or some of the journalsin which students of literature communicate theirfindings, their theories, or their intuitions. Therethe yearnings toward cultural particularism whichI have thus far described generally find local habitations and names. Black studies have been withus for a decade, promptly followed by academicattention to the literature and lingo of other ethnicgroups. In 1974 the Congress passed the EthnicHeritage Studies Program Act "to encouragegreater understanding of the ethnic backgroundsand roots of all American citizens." We are toldthat under this program there have already beendisbursements of $5.9 million in 140 separategrants, and that last year's budget of $1.8 millionhas been increased to $2.3 million for 1977. Thecurriculum bulges with the proliferation ofcourses in the literature of immigrants, the Jewishexperience, the Balto-Slavic heritage, the arts ofthe Third World. The ethnic impulse is not alone,of course, in generating this drive toward particularism. The women's movement, reacting35against what it sees as male -dominated literarycriticism, fashions its own form of intellectual autonomy. Devotees of popular culture, of sciencefiction, of mass media entertainment create theirown curricular enclaves. In short, the republic ofletters begins to look like a collection of mutuallyexclusive satrapies.It may seem that I am making an excessive to-do about a rather ordinary phenomenon in callingattention to the exuberant growth and subdivisionof the literary curriculum. After all, ever since theabandonment of the classical curriculum in themid-nineteenth century, the courses of studies inAmerican colleges have been characterized byever-increasing diversity, responses to highly particular social and individual demands, spin-offsfrom traditional disciplines, specializations breeding subspecializations, and the like. Stringentcounterrevolutions, such as the one undertaken inthe College of The University of Chicago somethirty years ago, have been infrequent and brief.What, then, is so special about the present seductive disarray in literary studies? Chiefly, I think,the importance of this compartmentation lies inthe way we are encouraged to think of literaryworks and to respond to them. If we persuadeourselves that novels and plays and poems arewritten by members of an identifiablesubgroup — whether that group be defined in national, ethnic, sexual, class, or special interestterms — and can be properly understood and appreciated only by those who know the code of thesame subgroup, we should be prepared to acceptthe implications of the position we are espousing.If, to cite a specific example, what is called theBlack Aesthetic points to a mode of artistic apprehension that is not available to non-Blacks, itcasts the rest of us, however curious and interested, in the roles of voyeurs and eavesdroppers. Here, as so often, our best writers anticipateand dramatize notions which become solemn critical propositions later on. In Saul Bellow's secondnovel, The Victim, published thirty years ago, theprotagonist, Leventhal, recalls a party at whichtwo of his friends, both Jewish, were singingspirituals and old ballads. They were being needled by a drunken New England WASP namedKirby Allbee." 'Why do you sing such songs?' he said, 'Youcan't sing them,'" 'Why not, I'd like to know? ' said the girl." 'Oh, you, too,' said Allbee with his one-cornered smile. 'It isn't right for you to sing them.You have to be born to them, it's no use trying tosing them.' " And a moment later Allbee urges them, "Sing apsalm. I don't object to your singing. Sing one ofthe psalms. I'd love to hear it."Subsequently, there occurs this exchange between Allbee and Leventhal:" 'It may not strike you as it struck me,' saidAllbee. 'But I go into the library once in a while,to look around, and last week I saw a book aboutThoreau and Emerson by a man named Lipschitz." 'What of it?'" 'A name like that?' Allbee said this with greatearnestness. 'After all, it seems to me that peopleof such background simply couldn't understand.In these exchanges, one notes that Kirby Allbee, the WASP, is himself functioning as an ethnic critic, and is defending his turf — Concord andWalden Pond and the appropriated territory of theNegro spiritual — from those who are not entitledto approach them. In this view literature is inextricably bound up with its origins, and only thosewho share these origins are fully able to appreciate the work.The belief that a work of literature is best understood as expressing the situation, the needs,and the aspirations of a specific subgroup living ina particular place at a particular time bears upontwo interrelated ideas that have been, for manycenturies, influential in literary studies: the idea ofthe Classic and the idea of the Canon. Howevervariously defined, the Classic work has alwaysbeen thought of as one which, through the humansignificance of its matter and the perfection of itsform, has overridden local distinctions of time,place, language, and social condition. Whateverthe particular Classic — The History of thePeloponnesian Wars, War and Peace, Huckleberry Finn — it transcended the limits of its ownhistoric conditions, it aspired toward the universaland the eternal. For many centuries, the intellectual and artistic works of ancient Greece andRome — separated from their readers by morethan a millenium of historic time — were the idealexemplars of the Classic. More recently, in thiscountry and even in England, as students commanded little Latin and less Greek, the educational and normative functions of the Classicworks were simply transferred from the ancientliteratures to English literature, with Chaucer,Shakespeare, and Milton replacing Homer, Vergil, and Horace. These Classic works — broadlyappealing, compelling in their form, endlesslyprovocative — constitute the Canon, that body oftexts which bear the imprimatur of an established36literary culture. The analogy with the Christianecclesiastical use of the term canon, to designatethose texts which might be admitted to the Bibleas both genuine and inspired, is very close. TheCanon has had very practical advantages for boththe student and the general reader. A five-footshelf is less intimidating than a library. A hundredgreat books are less formidable than a thousand.Thoreau, who put most things succinctly, wascrisp on this matter: read the best books first, oryou may not read them at all. Or we may considerMaloney's Law, formulated by the humorist Russell Maloney, writing in the New Yorker: give thevalue x to all the books you will read in yourlifetime, then read a book, and the adjusted totalbecomes x-1 . In a finite world, sorting out is essential, and the Canon has a function.Clearly, both of these ideas, the Classic and theCanon, rest upon the assumption that discriminations of real value can be made among literaryworks: that is, some are more important, moreartistic, just plain better, than others. Furthermore, it is assumed, these discriminations ofvalue can be supported publicly, whether throughthe authority of recognized arbiters of taste, theprocess of rational critical discussion, or the observed preferences of generations of generalreaders. Just as clearly, these assumptions, andthe ideas of the Classic and the Canon whichthey lead to, are undermined by the drift toward cultural particularism I surveyed a whileback. If the test of literary quality is theability of a work to engage the reader as a kindof "groupie," to hit him (as the phrase goes)"where he lives," then the ideas of the Classicand the Canon associated with a general andbroadly catholic literary culture become simply chimerical. To make this more specific, Irecognize that, as a Pennsylvanian who cameof age in the thirties, I still get more of abang, deep down, where the cultural hormonesbubble and seethe, from works which evoke thattime and place, from John O' Ham' s Appointmentin Samarra and John Updike's Berks Countyfictions, than I do from The Great Gats by or Invisible Man. And yet I hope I am not betrayingmy buried life when I concede, as I sometimesgrudgingly do, that Gatsby and Invisible Man aremore likely to be canonical works than are myregional favorites. As we old sportswritersquickly learned, the Eastern League is not quitethe same as the majors.Perhaps what I have said so far, with its references to classics and canons as opposed to thecultural diffusion fostered by ethnic studies and cognate developments, may sound like a wistfulprofessorial bleat for the vanished golden dayswhen all high school students were supposed toread Silas Marner and Wordsworth's IntimationsOde, and to follow the traditional calendar ofJulius Caesar in the freshman year, As You LikeIt in the sophomore year, Macbeth in the junioryear, Hamlet in the senior year. Nostalgia maytinge my tone, but I would not wish to be understood as endorsing an unrelenting literary regimenof the high-minded, the classic, the mind-stretching. At frequent intervals we need to slipout of our high canonicals and relax in loosergarb. There is a time for Joseph and His Brethren, and there is a time for Pal Joey. Also, evenin our most canonical moods, we must be wary ofmistaking our personal taste for the criterion ofthe Classic. Indeed, one motive for the specialvigor with which some among us stomp upon theembers of high culture is the suspicion, occasionally well-founded, that the resonances of termslike the classic, the liberal arts, the universality ofart are used to muffle the urgent stomach rumblings of purely personal or group self-interest. It issurely not surprising that to the outsider, thelatecomer, the enthusiast urging the relevance of ahitherto-neglected body of writing, high talk aboutgeneral standards and touchstones comes outsounding like thinly disguised WASP snobbishness. If, as this outsider sees it, the world of literature, and of literary education, is primarily anarena for competition among special-interestbaronies, then spokesmen for the Classic and theCanon become simply another ethnic contingent,harried and dwindling, ranging themselves wearily, with Mr. Bellow's Kirby Allbee, alongside theembattled farmers at Concord Bridge.There is a good deal that is exciting and liberating in this pellmell pluralism. It parallels muchthat is happening in our present-day journalism,for example. Though it remains fashionable totalk about the homogenization of audiences inmodern America, the facts seem to me to pointtoward separatism. Magazines directed at a crosssection of readers struggle to stay alive; the mostsuccessful ventures in recent decades have beenspecial-interest periodicals like Sports Illustrated,Scientific American, and Psychology Today.Pause in front of the magazine racks in the supermarket: hot-rodders, motorcyclists, CB radio enthusiasts, rock music fans — all have their organsof information and inspiration. Even that last bastion of comprehensiveness, the New York Times,has succumbed to the trend. On Wednesdays thereader of the Times is sated with food and37guided toward better living, on Thursdays he istold how to make a house a home — or perhaps it isthe other way around — and on Fridays he isplunged into the arts and the prospective delightsof the weekend. Many newspapers, in their selection of editorial columnists, no longer seek outsuch qualities as wisdom and range of information, but rather put together a "balanced ticket"on the basis of such criteria as age, sex, ethnicbackground, and political commitment. In thisheadlong solicitude for our specialized interests,our private worlds, even our individual fantasies,the notion of what used to be called the generalreader flickers and fades. Thus, journalism, likethe literary tendencies I discussed earlier in theseremarks, increasingly speaks directly to our condition as members of clearly defined subgroups,each following its own path.Where will it all end? Given the combination ofartistic ingenuity and high technology — cabletelevision, computer storage, the works — the possibilities of cultural fission are nearly infinite. Letme construct and narrate a vision of this future.Sitting in front of a television screen, somewherein northwest Cook County, is a woman, aged 42,mother of three, employed as a dietitian in thelocal high school. Her parents emigrated from avillage near Janina, in Greece, late in the 1920s.Her father was Greek Orthodox in religion andAlbanian in ethnic stock. Her mother was a Hungarian Roman Catholic whose parents moveddown through the Balkans during the Bela Kuntroubles at the end of the first World War. Sheherself was brought up as Greek Orthodox, but,following her marriage to Newland Archer, anEpiscopalian, she became a Jehovah's Witness.She knows that green is her best color. As sheswitches on the television set, she turns to an adjacent console and punches the appropriate buttons which register the data of her personal history I have just summarized. Immediately, circuits are activated, transistors transist, memorybanks disgorge, and there emerges on the screenan hour-long drama — interrupted by eight minutesof commercials custom-crafted for this audienceof one — dealing with a perfervid romance between Skanderbeg and a beautiful Circassianslave girl. The heroine is not wearing a great deal,but whatever cloth is visible is green. We need notfear that our viewer is condemned to a lifetime ofwatching reruns of the same play. Through a cunning device known as the randomizing scrambler,story lines, characters, and settings are constantlyvaried— all subject, however, to the artistic imperative that the product appeal directly to the patron's needs and circumstances. The centralcircuit exercising this control is known in thetrade as the Double A — the Aesthetics of Acquiescence.In much of this assessment of the implicationsof ethnicity and other forms of cultural particularism, and certainly in the whimsical lookinto the future I have just invented, I have beenproceeding on the basis of what the theologians ofnuclear strategy call "the worst case hypothesis."Perhaps my reading of these phenomena and theirsignificance is distorted by their closeness, theirrecency, the shock of first impact. Let me alterthe perspective, then, and consider in some detaila campaign for literary separatism which continued, with varying degrees of intensity, for morethan a century and which only now may bethought to have run its course. I have in mind thecrusade for a national American literature whichenlisted the energies of creative writers, critics,and readers throughout the nineteenth centuryand well into this century. This concern withliterary nationalism arose from the fact thatAmericans as a people, like the categories ofAmericans discussed earlier, believed themselvesto be regarded as barbarians skulking along theouter frontiers of the empire of letters— undervalued, discriminated against, insecure inidentity, deficient in pride. Let us listen first tosome of the familiar voices on this theme. Emerson, The American Scholar (1837): "We have listened too long to the courtly muses of Europe.The spirit of the American freeman is alreadysuspected to be timid, imitative, tame." Melville,"Hawthorne and his Mosses" (1850): "NoAmerican writer should write like an Englishmanor a Frenchman; let him write like a man, for thenhe will be sure to write like an American. Let usaway with this leaven of literary flunkeyism toward England." Whitman, Democratic Vistas(1871): "I say it were a standing disgrace to theseStates — I say it were a disgrace to any nation,distinguish' d above others by the variety andvastness of its territories, its materials, its inventive activity, and the splendid practicality of itspeople, not to rise and soar above others also inits original styles in literature and art." Andfinally Henry James, in his biography of Hawthorne (1879), commenting as a fellow craftsmanon the thinness of texture in American life duringHawthorne's youth: "No State, in the Europeansense of the word, and indeed barely a specificnational name. No sovereign, no court, no personal loyalty, no aristocracy, no church, noclergy, no diplomatic service, no country gentle-38men, no palaces, no castles, nor manors, nor oldcountry-houses, nor parsonages, nor thatchedcottages, nor ivied ruins; no cathedrals, nor abbeys, nor little Norman churches; no great Universities nor public schools — no Oxford, norEton, nor Harrow; no literature, no novels, nomuseums, no pictures, no political society, nosporting class — no Epsom nor Ascot!" A bit lateron James concedes that the American does indeedpossess a sense of humor — a commodity doubtless much needed in the face of these terrible deprivations.If these four great men were, in turn, challenged, bumptious, inspired, and rueful when theyconsidered the situation of the writer in America,one can imagine the emotions of lesser folk. Letus examine for a moment the plight of the youngAmerican writer around the year 1815, just at theclose of the second war with England, when themost vigorous burst of literary nationalism wasabout to appear. He was writing, not in a distinctive national language, but in English, which hadalready provided the vehicle for a magnificent literature. In 1815 Scott and Byron were the reigning popular poets, and a year earlier, with the publication of Waverley, Scott had launched theseries of novels which were to dazzle the world.Within a few years the other Romantic poets wereto become better known in America. The importation of English fiction continued steadily, capped by the tremendous vogue, in the late 1830sand the 1840s, of the inimitable Boz, Charles Dickens. And, we must remember, this influx of current English literature was cheap, dirt cheap. Likethe underdeveloped nations of our own time, theAmericans of the early nineteenth century saw nopoint in international copyright. They were happyto gobble up inexpensive reprints of standardworks by English authors at a fraction of theprices they had to pay for homegrown products byfellow Americans. If by some chance the youngwriter's work were published, it would reach onlya small and largely local audience. If by someodder chance his work received notice in one ofthe great British quarterlies, the review was likelyto be hostile, derisive, or at best condescending.Washington Irving, we recall, was praised by theBritish critics because he wrote "quite like an Englishman." And indeed the American writer'sown conceptions of proper literature and criticalstandards were more often than not those of theEnglish eighteenth century.Against this discouraging background, then,Americans launched their campaign for literaryindependence. Anglophobia and pride in the new republic may have generated the impulse, butthey needed arguments, literary arguments, toundergird their pleas for a distinctively Americankind of writing. And they found them in an assortment of critical ideas which encouraged aturning away from the belief in literary universality and classic forms and toward the conception ofliterature as a historically conditioned phenomenon drawing its materials and inspiration from aparticular place and people. This cluster of ideas,which may be loosely labeled as historicist, wasespecially current in Germany and Scotland— both of them, significantly, possessing literarycultures very much overshadowed by the nearpresence of great literatures, French and English,respectively, which might be thought to harboruniversalistic ambitions.This tendency to look upon literature historically and nationally took many forms. Some critics stressed the influence of physical milieu andclimate. Others investigated, and drew lessonsfrom, the folk origins of particular ethnic groups.Still others were interested in linking the Geist,the spirit, of a people to its literature. Americanpartisans of literary independence found all theselines of argument appealing. But some of the mostemphatic nationalists, those who wrote in theNorth American Review of Boston, founded in1815, made a psychological case for American literature which it will reward us to look at moreclosely, in part because it is congruent, at least,with present-day arguments for literaryseparatism. These young Bostonians admired andappropriated the ideas of a Scottish aestheticiannamed Archibald Alison who insisted, onpsychological grounds, that there are no intrinsicqualities of beauty or sublimity. A poem is beautiful, Alison thought, not in itself, but only becauseit has the power to stimulate in the reader's mind achain of ideas associated with its subject andperhaps its form. And these ideas have beenplaced in the reader's mind by his own particularexperience, both as an individual and as a memberof a group, in particular of a national group. As aScotsman, Alison was fond of citing the sound ofthe bagpipe — an intolerable wail to the rest ofmankind, but, through its capacity to summon upassociated ideas of valor and suffering, a thing ofbeauty to the native. As Alison explained it, national associations increase "the emotions of sublimity and beauty, as they very obviously increasethe number of images presented to the mind." Anapplication of Alison's aesthetic associationismcould accomplish one all-important thing for thosecritics supporting a new national literature in39America. The doctrine explained why the rawmaterials of an American literature — the cisatlantic scenery, local customs, peculiar traditions— possess aesthetic validity. The reader'sstrongest associations are naturally those springing from his own country's history and geography; therefore nationalistic writing is best.One's appreciation of an American poem or novelneed not be a matter of parochial pride, but ofassociationist principle.Although these psychologizing critics did notforbid forays into the wider world — after all, mostof them were proud of their Greek and Latin— they did want their fellow citizens to seeAmerica first. The primacy of what we would nowcall psychological conditioning is urged, on solidly associational grounds, by Samuel L. Knapp,a literary lawyer, whose Lectures on AmericanLiterature, published in New York in 1829, hassome claim to be considered as our first literaryhistory. In the peroration of that work, Knappestablishes the proper priority between the cosmopolitan and the national:It is not to narrow the circle of information that Istrive to induce my countrymen to make our ownaffairs the centre of that circle; do this, and thenextend them as far as you please; to embrace allcountries, and ages, and all forms of humanknowledge. A youth bred at home, becomes familiarwith all in his village, and the country around; hisheart and memory never forget a single circumstanceof his boyhood; his fishing, skating, and even histruant frolicks, all become endeared to him in afterlife from the charm of retrospection. His early associations are forever fresh; the farther he is off, thedearer his early associations; his heart, untravelled,fondly turns to the scenes of his childhood; and hecontemplates them when he wishes to forget otherscenes and many unpleasant events; but had he beeneducated abroad from his infancy, passed the bloomof his youth in Greece and Italy, had then travelledinto Asia, and had in manhood come back to theabodes of his forefathers, would not the gable ends,the Lutheran windows, and the low rooms of thepaternal mansion, seem tasteless and almost vulgar?I have dwelt on these far-off critical wars, ofcourse, because the argument for literaryseparatism in 1815 resembles so closely similararguments we hear today. Behind both is theyearning for a specific (and admired) identity. Behind both is the fear of an overbearing cosmopolitan culture. In both cases it is assumed that ourcapacities to respond to literature are created byour specific environment and experience — "welove our country," one North American reviewerwrote, "because our minds seem to have beenfurnished from its surface" — and that therefore the best literature is that which addresses itself toour situation as Americans, or New Englanders,or Southerners, or Blacks, or WASPs, orAlbanian- Americans .It would be possible to write the history ofAmerican literature, at least up until the firstWorld War, in terms of the tug-of-war betweencosmopolitanism and particularism adumbratedby these early critics. Don't be alarmed, I shallnot attempt to write that history in the few minutes remaining this afternoon. It will be instructive, however, to note a few examples of howpersistent some of the attitudes associated withearly literary nationalism have been. Ambivalence toward what used to be known as themother country certainly continued; for his recentbook on Anglo-American literary interchange,Stephen Spender chose the title Love-Hate Relations. Americans who sedulously ape Englishways become targets for many of our writers. InHawthorne's The House of the Seven Gables, thesteady decline of the Pyncheon family is attributed in part to their colonial fixation on regardingthemselves as English gentry. In HuckleberryFinn, the King and the Duke mock the gullibilityof Americans in accepting high-falutin' Englishpretensions. Perhaps the most incisive, as well asbest-tempered, of these critiques was Emerson'sEnglish Traits, published in 1856, which shouldbe read by anyone who thinks it impossible to besimultaneously Transcendental and witty. Although Emerson concludes that England is "thebest of actual nations," he fills his books withexamples of English egotism, eccentricity, arrogance. I cannot forgo one excerpt: "An Englishlady on the Rhine hearing a German speak of herparty as foreigners, exclaimed, 'No, we are notforeigners; we are English; it is you that areforeigners'."As this quest for national identity continued,some parts of the United States, and someAmericans, began to be regarded as more American than others. Regional types were introduced:the Yankee pedlar, the Kentucky frontiersman,the fire-eating Southerner. Americans grew secretly fond, and finally openly proud, of theSouthwestern humor definitively chronicled byour colleague Walter Blair. QuintessentialAmericanism moved away from the drawingrooms and from the Eastern seaboard. Whennovelists — one thinks of both James andHowells — wanted to present deep-dyed Americancharacters, they were likely to have them comefrom such "Western" locales as Albany,Schenectady, Buffalo, and Indianapolis. Ques-40tions of social class and education began to betaken into account in determining degrees of authentic Americanism. Farmers, lumberjacks, andcircuit-riding backwoods lawyers were found toexpress the spirit of the country more genuinelythan effete Easterners. Surprisingly, this notion ofthe two Americas — the division between thetame, derivative, Europe-oriented East and apowerful, original, lower class West — was expressed most pointedly by a Bostonian, the historian Francis Parkman, a Brahmin of theBrahmins. Reviewing the novelist James Feni-more Cooper's career in 1852, Parkman wrote:An educated Englishman is an Englishman still; aneducated Frenchman is often intensely French; butan educated American is apt to have no nationalcharacter at all. The condition of the literature of thecountry is, as might be expected, in close accordance with these peculiarities of its society. With butfew exceptions, the only books which reflect the national mind are those which emanate from, or areadapted to, the unschooled classes of the people;such, for example, as Dr. Bird's Nick of the Woods,the Life of David Crockett, the Big Bear of Arkansas, with its kindred legends, and, as we may add,the earlier novels of Cooper.This discovery of hard-core Americanism in theboondocks was paralleled by a growing awarenessthat people on this side of the Atlantic talked differently than their English cousins. Observersearly in our history remarked upon the incursionof Americanisms into the lexicon. American spellings diverged from standard English practice.Early in the nineteenth century, for example,Federalists, who tended to be pro-British, weremore likely to preserve the u in words like colourand splendour than were Jeffersonians. One surmises, as well, that the Chicago Tribune'slong-lived attachment to simplified spelling,modified only within the last decade, may havesprung from its late editor's reluctance to be suspected of Anglophilia. At first many Americanswere apologetic about their deviations from theQueen's English, but later on, when Mark Twainand other humorists captivated the masses andthe classes in the old country, the tone changed,and the new vernacular became a source of pride.With the appearance of H. L. Mencken's TheAmerican Language half a century ago, thetriumph was regarded as complete. "Let American confront a novel problem alongside English,"wrote Mencken, "and immediately its superiorimaginativeness and resourcefulness become obvious. . . . 'When we Americans are through withthe English language,' says Mr. Dooley, 'it will look as if it had been run over by a musical comedy'." Eventually, word of this linguisticachievement percolated, as I can now report,even into the military bureaucracy. At the end ofthe second World War, I was working for theU.S. military government in South Korea, teaching in an establishment known as the EnglishLanguage Institute. One morning there camedown a demure memorandum from the militarygovernor. "Would it not be better," he inquired,"if this installation were known as the AmericanLanguage Institute?" We allowed as how it wouldbe better and changed the name.From the beginning I have interpreted mytheme to be literary separatism, not only in thegeneral culture, but also in the academic setting.How prompt and how hospitable were the mandarins of literary education in admitting Americanworks to the Canon? The answer is that they wereslow and grudging. We must remember thatuniversity -level literary study in English is a fairlyrecent development, dating only from the last decades of the nineteenth century. Reformers whohad successfully subverted the classical curriculum were not likely to endanger the fruits ofvictory by endorsing the untested and theephemeral. There is evidence on this point in thehistory of our own English department. The department recommended its first candidate for thePh.D. in 1894. It was not until 28 years and 56dissertations later, in 1922, that the first thesis onan American subject was approved. The second"American" Ph.D., incidentally, was the lateNapier Wilt, who earned his degree in 1923 andwhom many of us here knew and learned from.From the 1920s on, academic interest in American literature expanded apace. Nevertheless, thisstrapping newcomer received the treatment customarily accorded to the parvenu. I recall that aslate as 1941, when I went through the old-fashioned three-hour oral examination for thePh.D., the first two hours were devoted toAnglo-Saxon texts, medieval literature, and theRenaissance. As the three-hour mark approached, we were briskly polishing off the English Romantic poets, and the chairman of the examination, a Chaucer scholar trained in this University by John Matthews Manly, remarked, witha sigh of relief, "You know all that Americanstuff, so we can skip it."In the quarter century following the secondWorld War, there was an immense explosion ofinterest in American literature. Books with titleslike The American Character, The AmericanMind, The American Experience tumbled from41the presses. Interdisciplinary programs in American studies burgeoned in the colleges. Scholarlyeditions recaptured the most tentative marginalannotations of our celebrated writers. Nor wasthis ferment confined within the boundaries of theUnited States. Young writers throughout theworld came to know and admire the work oftwentieth-century American poets and novelists.The most distinguished literary periodicals of Britain and the continent published lengthy and appreciative critiques of American literature. Theterm Americanist entered the language, doubtlessby way of Germany. And fanning out to the remotest reaches of the Eastern Hemisphere, fromHokkaido to Helsinki, went the Fulbright lecturers, expounding American history and the American arts to a curious world. The scope and forceof this cultural mission can best be conveyedmetaphorically by quoting Edmund Burke'scelebrated tribute, in the Conciliation speech, tothe New England whalers: "We know that whilstsome of them draw the line and strike the harpoonon the coast of Africa, others run the longitudeand pursue their gigantic game along the coast ofBrazil. No sea but what is vexed by theirfisheries. No climate that is not witness to theirtoil."As I have proceeded through this compact andperhaps tendentious account of how Americansgroped toward literary identity, and how scholarsand critics reacted to this quest, I suspect that theapplication of this example to the present-daypush for literary separatism has been plainly apparent. It seems evident, for instance, that thenatives of this little-regarded subprecinct of English letters — the young Americans of the earlynineteenth century — were right in believing thatthe road to the universal lies through the particular. Literary works that have attained the status ofclassics, that have made their way into the universal canon, have almost without exception beenprofoundly expressive of attitudes, impulses, anddilemmas arising in a definite time and place.There is no aesthetic Telstar which overleaps andannuls the limitations of the human condition.Thus, the Americans schooled themselves towrite about what they knew. Fenimore Cooper'sfirst work, Precaution, was a novel of mannerslaid in England and narrated in the manner, verydistantly in the manner, of Jane Austen. Then heturned to the history and lore of upstate NewYork and found his vein. Similarly, the poetslooked for more plausibly American details andimages. Instead of hearkening to the lark and thenightingale, they urged each other to listen to the mockingbird. Most important of all, these writersdiscovered a distinctive voice, or rather a varietyof American voices: Thoreau's Yankee assert-iveness, Mark Twain's Missouri drawl, HenryAdams's waspish sardonicism. In short, thesewriters found the confidence to set to work wherethey were, with what they had. When Thoreauwas asked why he did not take more journeys andsee the world, he replied, "I have travelled widelyin Concord."It was this same Thoreau, however, who readdeeply in Greek literature and Hindu thought, andwho ended the "Pond in Winter" section of Wal-den with a brilliant evocation of imaginative empathy between his work and that of the Brahmins.Even in their most bumptious and self-reliantmoods, most Americans recognized that theirliterary culture was inextricably mixed up withthat of the larger world. Their national literaryconsciousness had not been bestowed upon themas the palpable outcome of long centuries of historical development; instead, they were creatingthis consciousness, quite deliberately, year byyear, book by book. However resolutely theyhitched their wagon to their particular star, theycould not ignore the presence of Europe, as agoad, a measuring stick, a source of examples tobe adopted, modified, or rejected. Under thesecircumstances, they were, perforce, cosmopolitan.With the passing years, this literary wanderlust,this unwillingness to write and live according tothe stamp of birth, education, and place of origin,became ever more common. Literary trafficacross the Atlantic, in both directions, was increasingly heavy. American-born writers likeHenry James and Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliotfashioned their careers largely in Europe, withoutever succeeding in covering their Americantracks. Even Robert Frost lived in England duringyears crucial to the establishment of his positionas a poet. From the opposite direction have comeW. H. Auden, and Christopher Isherwood, andAldous Huxley, and, yes, P. G. Wode house, allof whom spent many years in the United States.Most shimmeringly cosmopolitan of all has beenVladimir Nabokov, an ornament to Russian letters, and an ornament to American letters, whomcircumstance has forced to emulate the migrationsof his beloved lepidoptera. The density of thiscosmopolitan texture was strikingly revealedsome years ago by a dissertation proposal presented to our Department of English. The student, a Chinese woman living temporarily in theUnited States, proposed to study the influence of42Turgenev, a Russian novelist who lived manyyears in western Europe, upon Henry James, anAmerican who likewise spent most of his adult lifeoutside the country of his birth, and who knewTurgenev' s work through French translations.The cross-cultural traffic could not get much morecomplicated than that.More could be said on this theme — on how, forexample, British and continental critics helped usto appreciate the qualities of some of the greatwriters in our own canon — Melville, for example,and Whitman and Faulkner. But I have saidenough, I hope, to make clear my conviction thatthe course of American literature demonstrates,not the triumph of a feisty isolationism, but thematuration of a national culture which, whileenergetically attentive to its own concerns, wasalways in touch with a wider world. An authenticliterary culture, and the academic studies whichare a part of it, require a generous and persistentinterplay between what is urgently local and whatNote: As will be obvious in most cases, some ofthe figures in the following have changed. Amongother things the natural gas prices and budget estimates are stated as of early last November(1976) when the memo was initially distributed.The budget projections have been substantiallyrevised (upward) because natural gas prices haverisen even faster and higher than the followingindicates. Nevertheless, the basic thrust of thememo still seems valid and useful.William B. CannonTo: D. Gale Johnson, ProvostFrom: William B. Cannon, Vice-President for Business and FinanceNovember 2, 1976This memorandum presents my outlook onutilities costs for this year and the next severalyears, and my proposals regarding the steps theUniversity should take to conserve energy thisyear and in subsequent years. It also provides my is comprehensively human. Indeed, in the ecology of literature, the health and survival of thespecies themselves — be they WASP orotherwise — are endangered by separatism, inbreeding, and collective introspection. If a minority culture is to remain vital, it must draw livingwater from both the Pierian spring and the parishpump. We need to recognize our roots, but weought also to look for the leaves of grass whichfoliate from these roots, and perhaps sometimes,in rare and happy cases, we shall see the banyantree which spreads its branches far and wide untilthese branches in turn take root and engenderfresh growth.Robert E. Streeter is the Edward L. Ryerson Distinguished Service Professor in the Department ofEnglish and in the College. The Ryerson Lecturewas given in the Glen A. Lloyd Auditorium of theLaw School.budget estimate for utilities for 1977-78. It is intended to be useful to the Deans' Budget Committee if you wish.In summary, the analysis below concludes that:1 . We should take certain additional conservation steps during the present fiscal year in order toinsure staying within the present budget levels.We see the possibility of a budget overrun of atleast $100,000 otherwise.2. For future years, in order to meet the trendof constantly and significantly rising fuel prices, amuch more intensified and extensive conservationprogram should be launched. At a minimum thesesteps should be aimed at conserving a milliontherms of energy a year (i.e., $350,000); and at theideal of offsetting price rises. Such steps willrequire sacrifice.3. The total utilities budget for 1977-78 shouldbe set at $7,362,000,* an increase of 15 percent1. This is an estimate based on special conservation efforts.Without special conservation efforts, the utilities budget for1977-78 should be set at $7,758,000, an increase of 21.2 percentover the approved budget for this year. Included in this total is$5,353,000 charged to the unrestricted budget, an increase of 21percent over the approved budget for this year.THE BUDGET AND ENERGY COSTSAND CONSERVATION43over the approved budget for this year. Includedin this total is $5,153,000 charged to the unrestricted budget, an increase of 16.5 percent overthe approved budget for this year. The increasesinclude a substantial increase for new plants coming on line.The Base: The Current Fiscal Year OutlookThe total approved budget for the present fiscalyear provides $6,397,000 for energy. Of this total,$4,422,000 is paid for from the unrestrictedbudget,2 and the balance from income obtained byincome-producing units of the University. For thereasons given below, this estimate appears now tobe low; specifically the unrestricted budget maybe understated by as much as $100-200,000, unless certain conservation steps, also given below,are taken during the remainder of the fiscal year.The present estimate may be too low because:1. It was derived from a 1975-76 base (the approved 1975-76 budget figure) which turned out tobe significantly below the actual 1975-76 costs.The approved budget for 1976-77 derived from a1975-76 approved budget of $3,750,000 (excludingplant expansion). Last year's Deans' BudgetCommittee projected a 15 percent increase (excluding plant expansion) over that level (i.e., to$4,313,000). The projection assumed specifically apositive program of conservation. The year1975-76, however, yielded an actual cost of$3,916,000 (also excluding plant expansion). Thepresent 1976-77 budget figure, therefore, is in effect a 10 percent increase over the 1975-76 approved unrestricted budget, not 15 percent. A 15percent increase over the $3,916,000 level wouldyield a budget overrun of about $190,000. Thereare no major one-time costs in the $3,916,000figure.2. The gas and electricity price assumptions inthe 1976-77 estimate are too low. The best information I have is that the original 1975-76 estimatewas based on a gas purchase price per therm estimated at .15334 cents and an electricity purchaseprice per therm of .7163 cents. Now that the1975-76 experience is in hand, these prices lookquite low. They are only a 14.0 percent and 9.0percent increase over 1975-76, which is low in thelight of recent history. Gas purchase price increased by 23.1 percent, 15.6 percent and 23.5percent in the fiscal years 1973-74, 1974-75 and1975-76.Further, recent information from Peoples Gas is2. This figure includes $4,313,000 for utilities for facilities inoperations; $92,000 approved budget for new facilities comingon line in 1976-77; and $17,000 miscellaneous. that gas prices for the present year will be . 15900cents or 3.7 percent above the budget level. Electricity prices are estimated to be .7244 cents pertherm or 1.1 percent higher than assumed in the1976-77 budget.Though these are relatively small changes, theyforecast about a $100,000 budgetary overrun, allother things remaining the same.3 . Cost experience during the first two monthsof the fiscal year points in the same overrun direction. Plant Department extrapolations of that experience show about a $100,000 overrun. Thesource is largely in price. There was a reduction inboth gas and electricity used compared to thesame period last year. But for 4.6 percent lessKWHRS we paid 14.9 percent more dollars. For1.4 percent less gas we paid 31.2 percent moredollars.In the light of these three conditions, we believewe should operate on the assumption of a$100-200,000 overrun.What each $100,000 means in terms of energyconserved should be stressed. To offset each$100,000 overrun (using the currently estimatedprices) requires a reduction of 629,000 gas therms.That gas therm amount is about 5 percent of thetotal gas therms assumed to be conserved in the1976-77 budget, whether total or unrestricted. Toconserve at this level will be difficult. We shouldnot count on the weather to save us (see Attachment A3).It seems to me that the outlook for the year (andfor the future for that matter) indicates an increased effort, beyond that in the past, andbeyond the things which have been done in response to the Deans' Committee injunction to increase conservation efforts. I propose thesesteps.1. Begin to reduce lighting levels significantly.Most campus buildings are overlit by the electrical engineering standards. If we were to complywith FEA lighting standards (see Attachment B),there is the potential of $100,000 when completed.We could make a start yet this year.2. Lower heating levels for this winter. ThePlant Department estimates that holding to a68-70 degree temperature range (instead of thepresent 70-72) would yield $50,000 in annual savings. This would be accompanied by a policy ofno air conditioning (except certain parts of thehospitals and research areas) in May and June.3. Experiment with "shutting down" the Uni-3. The various Attachments A through F mentioned in thismemorandum are available from the Office of the Vice-President for Business and Finance.44versity (except again in certain parts of the hospitals and some research areas) in the period fromthe end of the autumn quarter — December 12 — tillJanuary 3. Shutting down involves reducing theheat to 50-55 degrees. Experience at other universities indicates a saving of up to $5,000 a day(see Attachment C).Of course these specific steps would be accompanied by continuing efforts to eliminate waste,etc.Steps such as these will cause discomfort andresistance. There is a persuasive argument, madeby certain faculty, that a better approach is toobtain optimum performance from existingmechanical and electrical equipment. In responseto this suggestion, we reviewed the performanceof the present equipment and concluded thatfurther efficiencies would require moderate tomajor capital investment. This would have littleeffect in the current year, even if it went aheadnow.All things considered, I believe we should takethe actions indicated.The FutureThe problem of energy conservation, of course,will not be solved by actions in the current yearalone. And the problem appears to be, if anything,getting worse and, as such, requiring even morefar-reaching conservation actions as a permanentway of life for the future, as the following sectionshows.As is true in general, utilities costs in the University have been rising swiftly (though at a declin ing rate in 1975-76). Between 1971-72 and1976-77, such costs will have about doubled.They are soaking up an ever greater percentage ofthe unrestricted budget. Table I portrays this picture.There is little reason to believe these damagingchanges will alter significantly for the better; thefuture is likely to be much like the past. The pricesof oil and coal will almost certainly continue torise, along with the price of electricity. The factthat they may rise at a declining rate is only smallcomfort if they rise at a rate that is greater than therate of increase of our income. Even morethreatening is what is likely to happen to gas— which supplies 70 percent of our energy — in thelight of FPC policy to deregulate natural gasprices. At least in the short term they could welldouble or triple.The rate trends are clear in Table II. From thistable, if the future is like the past, at a minimumprobably we face a 15 percent increase in total fuelcosts in fiscal year 1977-78 over the approved1976-77 budget. A 15 percent increase amounts toabout a $780,000 increase in total fuel costs aloneor about $660,000 in unrestricted budgetfuel costs .A 15 percent increase cannot only be inferredfrom the past rate trends but from other factors: (a)the 1976-77 approved budget base is too low; (b)inflation and other factors influencing the rise ingas and electricity costs are still operatingstrongly, even if at reduced levels; and (c) naturalgas prices can be expected to increase abnormally.A 25 percent increase in gas fuel costs would leadto an increase of $465,000 alone. This leaves lessTABLE I: TOTAL COSTS, CREDITS, UNRESTRICTED BUDGET(IN MILLIONS— 000 OMITTED)1971-72 1972-73 1973-74 1974-75 1975-76 ApprovedBudget1976-77Total Budget Costs% Change $3,312 $3,525+6.4% $4,023+ 14.1% $4,987+23.9% $5,683+ 13.9% $6,397+ 12.5%Less Credits% Change 1,118 1.192+6.6% 1,291+8.3% 1,559+20.7% 1,767+ 13.3% 1,975+ 11.7%Unrestricted Budget% Change 2,194 2,333+6.3% 2,732+ 17.1% 3,428+25.4% 3,916+ 14.2% 4,422+ 12.9%Utilities Costs as % of TotalUnrestricted Budget Costs 4.3% 4.5% 4.9% 6.2% 6.6% 7.1%45TABLE II: TOTAL UNIVERSITY FUEL COSTS1(IN MILLIONS— 000 OMITTED)1971-72 1972-73 1973-74 1974-75 1975-76 ApprovedBudget1976-77 CurrentFuel CostEstimate(compared to1975-76)GasTotal Costs% Change $ 907 $ 922+ 1.6% $1,139+ 23.5% $1,438+ 26.2% $1,676+ 16.5% $1,865+ 11.2%Price PerTherm% Change .07386 .07640+ 3.4% .09407+ 23.1% .10882+ 15.6% .13443+ 23.5% .15334+ 14.0% .15900+ 18.2%ElectricityTotal Costs% Change 1,571 1,713+9.0% 1,988+ 16.0% 2,490+ 25.2% 2,924+ 17.4% 3,362+ 14.9%Price PerTherm% Change .3720 .4064+9.2% .4574+ 12.5% .5879+ 28.5% .6569+ 11.7% .7163+9.0% .7244+ 10.2%Total Gas andElectricity —Total Costs% Change 2,478 2,635+6.3% 3,127+ 18.6% 3,928+ 25.6% 4,600+ 17.1% 5,227+ 13.6%1 . Restricted and unrestricted budget; includes only fuel costs — does not include staff and supporting costs.than a 10 percent increase for electricity.A more realistic picture may be a 20 to 25 percent increase in total fuel costs. We have receivedrecent information from Peoples Gas that theymay well raise gas prices by 20 to 25 percent nextyear, even without deregulation.Looking beyond the next year, I believe wecould take an even more pessimistic view and acton the assumption that (a) there will continue to besignificant increases in electricity prices and (b) gasprices will approach the level of electricity prices.Assuming (1) a constant 10 percent increase inelectricity prices (which is what CommonwealthEdison is assuming in its planning), (2) deregulation beginning to bite even in 1977-78, and (3) thatover the three-year period deregulation leads togas prices equaling electricity prices, the picturefor the next three years would look as follows in the"constant base" buildings.44. There are 131 campus buildings which have been in steadystate status. ApprovedBudget1976-77 1977-78 1978-79 1979-80ElectricityGas $2,7211,686 $2,8844,254 $3,0586,822 $ 3,2419,380Total FuelCosts $4,407 $7,138 $9,880 $12,621Figures shown in millions — 000 omitted.The proposed increases in fuel costs are something of a horror story, and there may be incomeoffsets. Moreover, gas prices may well not rise thisfast.However, even if gas prices only approachedone-half the level of electricity prices, our total fuelcosts would almost double over the next threeyears.46Every bit of present evidence or analysis pointsto a revved up conservation program. Ideally sucha program would aim to offset the price increasesfully, through drastic reduction in therm consumption. Obviously, there is a point beyond whichreductions cannot go. But they can go significantlybelow where they are. This is evident from a lookat the past efforts which show there is still muchroom for further conservation, at studies of energyconservation potentials in other universities, andfrom what we know can be done on campus.The Potential For Future Energy Conservation According to General Theories and StandardsThe general theory has it that energy conservationrests on two broad approaches (or a mix thereof):altering the quality of the internal environment offacilities and/or obtaining the optimum output andmost efficient, nonwasteful, operation of energy-consuming equipment (from window units totypewriters). The general belief is that the formeris cheaper and faster and easier to accomplish thanthe latter, though all these virtues tend to come outof the hide of the using population.The general theory holds there are three techniques for following out these approaches, in thelanguage of the trade: quick fix (e.g., raising orlowering temperatures); refit (e.g., moderate capital investment for such things as insulating mainrisers); and systems convert (major capitalinvestment — e.g., central air conditioning systems).The main proponents of the general theory— The National Association of College and University Business Officers (NACUBO) — has surveyed a number of collegiate institutions and hasarrived at rough estimates of savings from eachtechnique:Quick Fix 10% reduction in energyconsumptionRefit Another 10 to 15%Systems Convert Another 5 to 15%Total 30 to 40%These estimates probably cannot be preciselyapplied to this University. For one thing, we mayhave been more attentive to conservation overmany years and thus start from a much lower consumption base than other institutions. We are notlike many other institutions in many respects.Nevertheless, the above standards might well beheld in view as some kind of indication of what ispossible for us to do in the future. Future Energy Conservation Potential: UniversityExperience BaseOur past experience indicates there is still room forsubstantial conservation.The detailed history of the University's effortsto date is given in Attachment D. The record islargely a record of quick fixes, with refit gettingpriority particularly since the oil embargo fiscalyear of 1972-73.Between the year preceding the oil embargo(1971-72) and the past fiscal year (1975-76), theUniversity has reduced its total (restricted andunrestricted budget) therms consumed by about 6percent, independent of weather. This is a shakyestimate that emerges from several different calculations.Between 1971-72 and 1975-76 therm consumption reduction in the "constant base" shows anoverall downward trend as the following tableshows:Year ThermsConsumed*inMillions —000 Omitted) % Change1971-721972-731973-741974-751975-76 15,29015,04514,40814,75014,050 -1.6%-4.2%+2.4%-4.7%?Consumption is shown for constant base = 131 buildingsand 6.7 million square feet.The greatest downward change is a decrease of8.1 percent between the first and last year of theperiod. The year 1974-75 is a perturbation, in partprobably explanable by unusually cold weather.That year saw the greatest number of heating degree days of any year in the group and it was morethan 11 percent higher than 1975-76. Even so,1974-75 still shows a 3.4 percent reduction intherms compared to the starting year (1971-72).Our intuition is that the 8. 1 percent change is probably on the high side and 3.4 percent on the low.Together they point to an intermediate 6 percentfigure.47The 6 percent figure turns up in other calculations. Akos Kiss of the Plant Department hasmade a calculation similar to the above using asthe base year calendar 1973, and he arrives at a6.5 percent reduction. Roy Mackal made a studyof gas consumption (which is used in both coolingand heating) between 1971-72 and 1974-75, usinga formula which he believes corrects for weathervariation and that comes out to about 5 percent.A 6 percent reduction is a respectable result.But if the NACUBO potentials are anywherenear the ball park, there is still a long way to go.According to those standards, additional quick fixand refit measures might yield an additional 10 to15 percent reduction in annual therm consumption. In the constant base buildings, this wouldmean a reduction on the order of 2 million therms,or about $600,000 annually, based on current costper therm.Energy Conservation Potential — Known PotentialAside from a potential indicated by external standards, we know that substantial reductions intherm consumption are possible in fact on thiscampus. For example:As already alluded to, lighting levels are generally much too high, higher than required forreasons of vision or operations. Generally reducing footcandles to an FEA recommended level(see Attachment B) would save an estimated150,000 therms annually.Reducing the heating and air conditioningtemperatures can also have substantial effects.Currently heating levels in most buildings are heldto the 70-72 range. For every degree we shift thisrange downward, we would save 135,000 therms.A 67-70 degree range, which some universitiesand most Federal buildings adhere to, would yielda reduction of about 400,000 therms.We are certain additional hundreds ofthousands of therms could be conserved if we canfind some way of inducing staff to make more parsimonious use of gas and electrical equipment.Two-thirds of the gas used is consumed byequipment ranging from kitchen ranges to Bunsenburners or sophisticated laboratory equipment ormachinery. Large amounts of electricity are alsoconsumed for purposes other than air conditioning. The vast range of potential conservation actions is shown in Attachment E, which lists 123different actions (some of which are being carriedout here, and some of which are inappropriate forthe University), ranging from establishing "on"schedules for electrical typewriters, calculators,Xerox machines, etc. , to adjusting window blinds. We are also certain, though not clear on thespecifics yet, that much more can be done in therefit area. We have taken most of the obvious refitactions as Attachment D outlines. We know ofsome other items. We know that an investment ofabout $40,000 for an auxiliary cooling unit at Re-genstein to maintain proper humidity levels in therare book area could result in substantial savingsin the entire library. At present we have to provide air conditioning for the entire building in theearly spring and continuing in the late fall just forrare book purposes. Finally, it is quite likely thata thorough review would turn up other refit items.System conversion options are also obviouslyavailable. Some possibilities are listed in Attachment D. The economics and financing of suchitems are not now clear.Every indication — whether comparison of pastaccomplishments against external standard orknowledge of specific major conservation stepsthat can be taken — shows a margin for significantadditional energy conservation, though it cannotbe accomplished without pain, struggle, criticism,or impact on comfort or University operations.Specific conservation actions fall into twocategories: measures to be applied generallythroughout the campus and a special effort concentrating on conserving energy in thosetwenty-five University buildings which consumeabout 60 percent of the total energy used in theUniversity.Conservation Proposals and Plan1. Across campus measures.A. Intensification and extension of the campus-wide quick fix activities. Specifically this means:• A campus-wide program to reduce lighting tothe minimum levels necessary. Certainareas — e.g., patient care, certain laboratories— may have to be partially exempted from thisaction. However, lighting in offices and commonspaces should be reduced to the levels indicatedby FEA (see Attachment B). We would proposelighting levels in the specialized areas of thesespecial activities be reviewed by the researchersand other users to see if FEA standards should beapplied even in those areas. The program is notintended to impose uniform darkness across thecampus. It should yield an annual reduction intherms consumed of 150,000, as indicated above.• Generally, reduce heating and cooling temperatures. Presently heating temperatures rangefrom 70 to 72. We would reduce this range to67-70. Presently, cooling temperatures average 78degrees. We would increase that to 80 degrees.48Air conditioning would not be turned on (withsome exceptions) before June. Both these actionscould yield savings of up to 600,000 therms.• "Shut down" the heating, not on an experimental basis as suggested above, but between everyautumn and winter quarter, and do not turn on airconditioning in September. Again, there are sections of the University which should not be andwill not be shut down. We estimate this actioncould yield a savings in therms consumed of200-300,000.• Initiate a highly visible energy reduction education program, directed at the numerous personscontrolling the use of energy-consuming equipment. Involved here would be signs placed onXerox machines, electrical typewriters, gasstoves, air conditioners, lights, etc.; repeatednotices in the Bulletin, the Tablet, the InglesideItem, etc. These would be supplemented by spotchecks to identify areas where energy practicesare not adequate. A program to monitor and control the use of lights, air conditioning units, andoffice equipment would be launched and enforcedwhere there are poor practices. This may requirea monitor in each building as well as formalschedules to use xeroxes, etc.B. An expanded refit program. We propose toemploy a topflight mechanical engineer consultant, to supplement the services of a recently employed mechanical engineer, to augment ourknowledge of what can be done technically to increase the efficiency of our energy- consumingequipment. We, like other institutions for example, need advice on the "phantom tube," theefficiency of present ventilating and air conditioning systems, etc.It is to be expected that this step will lead tobudgetary proposals for refits in 1977-78 and lateryears.C. Development of an approach and program ofsystems convert. With the possible exception ofbuildings now under construction, we have donelittle in this area. Two lines of action are indicated: (a) making sure in all future new buildingsthat they are optimized for energy conservationand (b) initiating a series of studies to determinecosts and benefits of possible system conversions,such as central air conditioning. Again, there arebudget implications but for the more distant future.2. A 25-building program.We believe a special program of conservation addressed to twenty-five buildings could have animpressive payoff. Attachment F shows the pat terns and trends in consumption for every University building. Sixteen buildings account forabout 50 percent of total therms consumed;another nine buildings raise the total to 60 percent.These buildings should not be thought of as"culprits" but as a manageable number of units inwhich an intensified conservation program couldlead to measurable reductions in energy consumption. The savings in each building probably canaccumulate to a large total saving.Therefore, it is proposed that the twenty-fivelargest user buildings be subject to (a) the development of an energy conservation plan foreach building and (b) continued monitoring withrespect to its implementation. The planning andmonitoring would be carried out by a small groupspecifically designated for each building, consisting of a person(s) designated by the dean or unithead and of the staff of the Vice-President forBusiness and Finance. The plan would involvequick fix, refit, and system conversion elements.The dean's representative would be mainly responsible for reviewing the interaction betweenthe program needs and energy uses of the building, as well as for monitoring the energy practicesof the building. The vice-president's staff wouldprovide technical help. Each plan should represent extensive consultation and input of buildingusers; and disagreements should be fully resolvedbefore proceeding to its implementation.3. University Energy Conservation Committee.In view of the far reaching nature of the conservation program proposed as well as the seriousnessof the energy problem, it is recommended that aUniversity-wide committee be appointed. Likethe Committee on Space Utilization, the committee proposed here would deal with major issuesthat arise from the above proposed conservationprogram.Problems, Reactions, RationalityNone of the above planned measures will escapecriticism, not only strong but penetrating. TheFEA lighting standards are dim by contemporaryhabits. We already encountered quite a bit of resistance when we tried to lower the lighting incertain laboratory halls.Making buildings colder and hotter encounterssets of personal preferences that are difficultenough to handle in an unconstrained energy situation, and even harder to handle when the heatingand cooling equipment cannot often be fine tunedto particular zones.49C/>oo ^Q O2Sii°3>- _iS!O LUO H<QO UJ— T>x oOctOOe<UJO>EzoHI-JCD<50 C.2 ONT3 *i c/D 0043 8*1 en00«7 .'tn «o © CN en£ £ g So si ^5- NOen »o1 oo" r^ »or^ 1—1 ^e-ON U1~Hrt ce 3o .2W ffl ¦*-!8 ^ 1 en CN <o ON00en© 00 eno CN o CN ^e- io »oi 00^r" «o ONON1— i enUc#o 00*~2 -^ c/3 NO43 ra ra +j en * •X-si1^ ."t- & £ ,o CN o CN d xr- CN^o 00en o©^en 00en v* Osen CNOS U-owto1 ce #2 00</3 "3o43 T3 "5 <*>CO o en NOend K> »oo CN en «o «/* O CN% 00Tf" en ON NOno" NO^^f"^e-U•oNO enr- en1 o © o d en NO*o io r- CN se- 00iON © 00^ ON NO^ ON^f CN NO"^5- en"»o»o 00r^ CN4 o O o d r^ 00»o o ^ ^5- 00 CNON r^ r^ ^t ON ^f^t CN r^^5- enTl-rt ^fr^ CN1 00 *— < ON d en CNCO o »o w~> &r CN enON <*fr O Tt O^ r^^f" CN NO" ^f"V5- CN^Oen 1— 1CNON »o en ON d >0 enTfr ^r 00 ^e- CN en©^ CN CN >o en«o NO" en" CNoCN o1^ CN1 o ^ «A) d CN ^f1 ON o «/* OnCN CN »n en»o" NO" enV5- (NC/52 g S 0>c/3c 43H 43 enOU£ 03g CQ 1.3 3o O 13oU < H U H D oo00cuoaa3<L> C/3C<1> 03C4-H 3 5^C/33 •o 3CT u 42wr/i C/DC D C/5oo.2 O4=S 9r- 00 ci-i\D -a >.-o c Cc Oc^ 0301) C/3c oc<L> a •o C/3CD>0> -a '3^ D 4J 3<u X) vo c>^H ^^ Co en II aa> ur- II 00 Q>r» 03 43Ar- 03 4JOON PQ '*-'T3 c GO O)O 03 O> on ,+i ooa O "O 45U < H<* T-H CM en"Shutting down" the University in interimperiods or weekends may not yield enough savings to compensate for the social reactions(though I am inclined to think this may be an important move symbolically).Refits and system conversions are expensiveand the cost/benefit conclusions are not alwaysthat certain. They may affect aesthetics, e.g.,storm windows.The 25-building plan and monitoring programmay be seen as a regulatory, bureaucratic approach and may be feared to have serious implications, whether deliberate or by inadvertence, forthe academic program itself, affecting the outputof the laboratory, the library, the classroom.These are all serious matters. Yet so is a drainof utilities costs on the University's finances.Even though there may be temporary ameliorations, increased costs for the energy needed forthe University are inevitable. When it is at allpossible to cut into these costs in a significantway, then, in my view, we have to try to do so. Ibelieve that we should take conservation effortsall along the line, large and small actions, savingeven small amounts of therms. Our aim should beto offset as much as possible low price increaseswith therm reductions. I doubt this can be done100 percent; but it is possible to cut into it in amajor way.There are too many uncertainties for us to beable to predict the total therms savings if we successfully took all the actions indicated above. Wedo not know, for example, what the 25-buildingsprogram would save; and we have no fix onenergy savings from refit and system conversions.Our feeling from working with the engineers, and just generally with the energy numbers, is that it isfeasible to reduce therm consumption by morethan one million therms per year ($350,000 annualsavings) through lighting level reductions, heatingand cooling temperature range changes, and by anintensive effort to get at daily consumption notrelated to heating or cooling. We doubt we coulddo all that in 1977-78, but we could go a long waytoward that goal.The 1976-77 and the 1977-78 BudgetFinally, the budget estimate for 1977-78 is presented (see Table III). I thought it might be usefulto present it in the context of the experience sincethe energy crisis began.As can be seen, a special conservation effortmay save as much as $100,000 to $200,000 in1976-77 and another $200,000 in 1977-78. In1977-78 we may be able to do better than conserving 1 million therms and thus better than a$200,000 savings, depending on how well the conservation effort works. The ideal would be tomake it work so that therm consumption wouldremain the same as in 1976-77 (i.e., to 17,382,000therms). If this were to happen, the total costswould be $6,762,000 and the unrestricted budgetwould be $4,733,000. To achieve these dollar goals— themselves still an increase over 1976-77 — willbe very difficult since they involve offsetting substantial increases in consumption deriving fromnew buildings (Surgery Brain Research, ViralOncology) being in full year-long operation.These alone are 1.7 million therms. However, it isthe goal toward which we should try to move. Ouronly chance of coming at all near it is by thestringent conservation measures proposed above.51CHOICE AND INITIATIVE:ANNUAL REPORT OF THE STUDENTMENTAL HEALTH CLINIC, 1975-76March 1977The drive to master intellectual understanding ofseveral different academic areas, the struggle toacquire skills and professional attitudes, the strainto achieve a responsible self, all place an enormous burden on young students. In sharing theresults of our work, we do not open private strivings to public scrutiny but rather attempt to distillgeneral experiences which, if appropriately understood and responded to, may diminish unnecessary despair and failure.Although in the past two decades we have presented statistical tables of clinic activity, we haveelected this year to present our findings withoutthe tables; they are available on request. Our report reflects trends for the past academic year(1975-76) and covers the fall quarter of the currentyear (1976-77); this gives us an opportunity toscan the experiences of newcomers to our campus.Certain trends may be summarized. Clinic useremained at seventy-two per thousand students.Undergraduates continued to use the clinic at 10percent above their proportionate numbers oncampus. But it was of interest that more than halfof the graduate students we saw were in their firstyear at this University. Once again undergraduatewomen sought clinic service at double the rate ofundergraduate men. Though last year graduatewomen were about 10 percent above their proportionate numbers on campus, in the fall quarter of1976 both undergraduate and graduate womenwere the major users of our services, far beyondtheir proportionate numbers on campus. We willdiscuss each of these groups below.UndergraduatesBy the end of their first year, 10 percent of anentering class will seek special help with emotional problems, and another 10 percent will cometo us in their second year. For two decades thishas been a consistent finding. We do not, as wehad in the past, find disproportionately largenumbers of undergraduates flocking to the clinicin their first quarter on campus, an indication that,at least in the initial process of acculturation, thehousing and advisory systems are functioning well. But it is clear that in their first two years,one-fifth of an entering class are in need of a special response to their doubts, their fears and longings.Does the clinic perform a role in relieving crippling doubt and despair? Does our interventionpermit more students in an entering class to complete their education at this University? Consistently, fewer clinic users leave the Universityprematurely; when they do withdraw, they returnto complete their education more often thannonusers.From convocation lists we have observed thatin every graduating class about one-fourth havecome to the clinic at some point in their undergraduate years. Of these, one-fourth to one-fifthwill be high award and honors winners. Sinceconvocation lists include transfers and membersof other undergraduate classes, we can learn moreby following a given class from the point of entrance to departure from this University. Manystudents come to us on their own or are referred atthe point of leaving because emotional difficultiesintrude upon their academic work; others whoseacademic work is at a high level find life itselfworthless. Those who leave the University are inthis vulnerable population. Yet the experiences ofthe classes of 1973 and 1974, as well as earlierclasses we have studied, demonstrate that ahigher percentage of clinic users than nonusers dograduate. Eighteen months after the date of expected graduation, clinic users in the class of 1975are virtually equal to nonusers in the percent whograduate, but, based on the number still enrolled,we anticipate that a higher percentage of usersthan nonusers will graduate.With the class of 1976 (those who entered in thefall of 1972 expecting to graduate in June of 1976),we thought we sensed a change. Six months afterthe date they expected to graduate, clinic userswere 10 percent under nonusers in the rate ofgraduation. But the percent still enrolled is threetimes the number of nonusers. We anticipate that,unless this class differs sharply from the classesmentioned above, and those of earlier classes wehave studied, they will close the gap and may exceed nonusers in the percent graduating. Wewould emphasize that, with only a few excep-52tions, continuing in school was not related tobeing currently in therapy.A special study of clinic users from the class of1976, particularly those who left prematurely, revealed certain common problems. They wereidentified early, more than half in their first year.In contrast to their classmates who came becausethey knew they were in trouble, more than a thirdof students who ultimately withdrew were referred by administration, faculty, or studenthealth physicians. They were unable to monitortheir own needs; indeed, they were oblivious tothem.A higher number came from homes madechaotic by severe physical and emotional difficulties of one or both parents for whom hospitalizations had been frequent. These very youngstudents had been accustomed to assuming responsibilities which adults in their families periodically had to abandon. With their own growthneeds neglected, they were very unsure of themselves. They had a great need to please others, afear of being rejected, and a diminished sense ofpersonal value. They were often untrusting andunable to respond to a benign relationship inwhich their needs were seriously responded to,for they expected to be manipulated.Our work with such students required patienceand intense vigilance to their unspoken longings.Away from the immediate demands of family andhigh school, demands which at least gave structure to their days, such students lacked basicself-esteem which would permit gradual evolutionof initiative in finding academic goals, developingpersonal ties to their peers and to their mentors.Feeling empty, their view of their surroundingswas of emptiness, meaninglessness.Not all students who left came from familiesbeset by such difficulties. In families whichseemed supportive, the high order of achievementwhich parents or brothers and sisters attained leftsome students with the feeling that they mustfulfill exacting demands beyond their capacity.Despite demonstration of a high level of achievement, they would succumb to severe depressivestates.Among these students were a number who hadmade "silent" suicide attempts while still in highschool. They confided in no one and concealedtheir distress by subterfuge. When a suicidal attempt could not be concealed, a few parents became frightened or angry. They would not facethe intensity of despair which led their child tomake such an attempt. In other instances a periodof psychiatric help was undertaken but the child either withdrew prematurely with a pretense thateverything was fine, or, despite the length oftreatment, vulnerability to severe depression remained.We often found that such students were enraged by the failure of those around them to respond with the intensity and frequency theylonged for. They were ashamed of such longingswhich they felt were more consistent with ayounger self. We had to work intensively withthem to recognize and tolerate these feelings, tofind ways of communicating with others, to beable to modulate their own common humanneeds, and to find and pursue reasonable goalswith vigor and passion.When it sometimes became necessary to encourage these students to leave school and, as apriority, undertake treatment for their emotionalproblems, we faced a new dilemma, for some students had their warmest and most supportive experiences on this campus. They were loathe toleave. A few were totally rejected by theirfamilies and not welcome to return. In a muchearlier report we labelled such students academicwaifs, as truly turned out into the cold as thecharacters in some of the novels of Dickens. Wehad to direct much effort to make their leaving apositive experience, to expand their sphere ofself-understanding, to set the stage for an increasein cognitive mastery of what they must do to return.We would emphasize that among clinic userswho graduated were some who also experiencedsevere family disruption because of hospitalizations of parents for emotional or physical illness,death or separation, or severe economic dislocation. We cannot say what in the human equationbetween individual child and parent made the difference for these students. Both for those who leftand those who stayed, feelings of helplessnesswere triggered in each separate instance by internal or external events which only a painstakingscrutiny could reveal. We can speculate that earlychildhood experiences were less traumatic for onegroup because of timely intervention by otheradults, or that sufficient growth had taken place sothat a wider array of adaptive behavior was available and could be employed.Our task was to enable these students to freethemselve from the expectation (which kept themimmobilized or engaged in self-destructive behavior) that their experiences with new adults— instructors, advisers, househeads — would onlyrepeat the disappointments of the past. It was aslow process to facilitate the emergence of a sense53that "I can" when the "I" was submerged underthe fear of unreasonable expectations and demands. The danger perceived from without wasactually less ominous than that perceived fromwithin. Once the slow untangling of these distortions was accomplished, they were free to usetheir energies productively and to find pleasure inwork and friends.The equation between student and universitywhich permits emotional and intellectual growthis complex and frequently shifting, but one important and consistent finding emerges. One-fifth ofan entering class will come to the clinic within thefirst two years of residence. It is also in theseyears that the largest dropout rate occurs amongboth clinic users and nonusers. We know that ourintervention does affect to a degree the numberswho continue to graduation. The Commission onInstitutions of Higher Learning of the North Central Association has noted that it might be usefulto extend our services and to make them morecentrally available to the student body. We believe there could also be more general benefitsfrom spending additional time with our colleaguesin the faculty, administration, and student health.But our small staff is strained to the utmost tomeet the needs of people who do come to us. Weare thus limited in pursuing important areas ofintervention and in monitoring their usefulness.Nevertheless, we are persuaded that it is in thesehazardous first two years, years full of promise,that our intervention has the potential for beingmore effective in preventing premature withdrawals from this campus.Graduate NewcomersMore than half of graduate clinic users are newcomers to our campus. They are for the most partyoung men and women who have achieved a veryhigh level of accomplishment. Yet the buoyantsurge of anticipation with which they come to anew environment can be rapidly eroded whenthey are confronted by a seemingly impersonalcommunity of scholars.We have called attention to the distress ofgraduate newcomers in previous reports and havepointed out that some departments and professional schools seem to have ways of easing students into their first year of graduate work; othersassume that young adults should be able to findtheir own direction. The latter is a reasonable assumption, but it overlooks a deeply imbeddedneed for young adults to have an affirming contactwith those whose scholarly work has attractedthem to our campus. We know that the strain of undertaking a majorstep in training may initiate painfully regressiveego states. The clinic is accustomed to workingwith students in whom such subjective difficultiesemerge, but the problem is more complex. Not allstudents who arrive to study here find themselvessuited to the work they have undertaken, othersare found unqualified by the University. The latter may present themselves to the clinic withacute symptomatic reactions. Although we can beof help in ameliorating such states, an evaluationof their performance and appropriate action by adepartment on the basis of such an evaluation ismore relevant.But there are promising students who arewholly unrealistic in assessing the passage of timeand the serious impact this has upon their work.We are reminded of the comment of a very smallfriend who hung up his stocking the day afterChristmas. When he was told that Christmas wasa whole year away, he solemnly asserted, 4T canwait." His abundant sense of confidence that hisneeds would be met was as yet unmatched by adeveloped sense of the time span involved.Responding to a different sense of time, somestudents remind us of Franz Kafka who beratedhis love because not only did she not write to himall day but by her own admission she did not writeuntil late that night. Some of our students sufferfrom the same unreasonable expectation thatothers must be at hand immediately. They experience intolerable tension and frustration in securing and ordering facts, organizing ideas, presenting the whole for examination. They yearn tohave the wish taken for the deed, the thought forthe act. The attention they require is out of allproportion to the effort they seem able to putforth.By contrast, the response of some facultymembers is like that of Chekov writing a letter tohis wife in an attempt to console her. She feltdeprived by their long separation and the distancebetween them occasioned by her work as an actress in Moscow and his ill health which requiredhis wintering in a warmer climate. "Soon," hewrote, "sometime later we will be reunited."There are necessarily frustrations and delay inthe process of defining a field for research, presenting it for examination, and the period of timeneeded for the response of mentors to such work.Our concern is that we identify conditions whichmay intensify difficulties which young adults experience in making a transition to graduate workat this University. In this, more frequent contactsand a concerned interest will go far.54Opportunities in certain fields are shrinkingrapidly; we do not as yet have a concrete designfor new approaches to old problems or to newlyemerging fields. Accordingly, many of our departments and schools are in the process of review and redirection. We are temporally caught infixed patterns and searching for innate releasingmechanisms which will free us from tension anddoubt. To this is added the spiraling cost of education and of living expenses. Beset by doubts ourselves, uncertain of what future directions maybe, it is easy to become absorbed and seeminglyunavailable. Therefore, a sense of timing in ourwork with students in their first year here is crucial. If we share realities with them in a candidfashion, we can provide them with a sense ofsome support and understanding. This in itselfwill enable many students to endure uncertaintiesand work more productively to find creative solutions for themselves.Young WomenWe need go back only thirty years to an article onadolescence published in the EncyclopediaBritannica in which we are advised "to let girlsrun and leap with their brothers until age twelve. . . but that instead of pressure being put on agirl's intellectual education . . . time devoted toschool and books should be diminished." We arewell aware that the advice was antiquated eventhen, but it is only ten years ago that for womenthe largest single cause of leaving school was marriage. Large numbers were forsaking careers outof fear that their pleasure and success in achievingintellectual competence would interfere withforming close and lasting ties to men. It is onlywithin the past five or six years that the women'sliberation movement has gathered sufficientstrength to require gradual implementation ofequal opportunities in universities and colleges.The young women who come to us today haveexperienced one set of ideals and assigned roles intheir earliest formative years and must now respond to newly emerging ideals and roles. Thereis, thus, an added intensity to the typical strugglesof late adolescent and young adult years in relinquishing dependent ties to adults, learning toknow what standards and values are internallyconsonant with their own aspirations and ideals,equipping themselves for meaningful vocations,achieving intimacy which is based on more thanbody contact.The large number of young women who arecoming to us now attest to the fact that these areemotionally draining tasks. Severe depressive states, unmanageable anxiety, confusion, loss ofmotivation and incentive may occur.As society goes through the process of reorganizing deeply cherished and long held ideals ofdevelopment and assigned roles, many youngwomen are struggling to master seeming freedomsand finding old enslavements. They have beenquicker to question whether their needs are beingmet in goal choices and in relationships. Theyquestion whether they are being manipulated orexploited, and, as is common in human interactions, this is sometimes true; at other times youngwomen are themselves exploitive and manipulative. The words, in fact, are an overlay whichmask the difficult problems which must be resolved.Among the young women we see are many whoare living singly or with other women as roommates. Some are content with this state and ableto tolerate a period of ambiguity as to whether thewish to marry and to rear a family arises fromdeeply felt needs within themselves. Others feeltheir loneliness intensely and question their abilityto develop personal relationships. At the sametime they experience a loss of interest in theirwork.At this period of economic uncertainty, theshrinking job market erodes opportunity forchoice and necessitates settling for lesser goals.Thus, what had seemed like an opening of widevistas for experimentation is abruptly cut off. Thereality is that there is much drudgery even in themost exciting endeavors. When these youngwomen are in relationships which are meaningfulto them and of some permanence, there are issuesof whose work will take precedence. Frustration,rage, old hurts, and temptations toward vindictivebehavior must be relieved and overcome so that adecision when reached will not be destructive. Animportant missing element at times appears to bethe capacity for pairs to function in a mutuallysupportive manner. One way of helping may be towork with both women and men in groups, toprovide an interval of thought and reasoningwhich can inform their direction and replace an attimes chaotic and purposeless casting about ingoal choices and in relationships.Choice and InitiativeTo distinguish between our own beliefs and thebeliefs of others, to uncover and respond to ourdeepest needs in an appropriate way, to searchout a field of endeavor which will absorb ourenergies and our capacities in a constructive manner are tasks which must be assumed and revised55throughout life. But they are most keenly felt byyoung people. The problem of choice can be mademore difficult by many issues. Our work is in helping students to free themselves from unnecessarystrictures upon their choice and to assist them inavoiding ceaseless and meaningless experimentation. When their choice is informed by a reasonable understanding of their needs and capacities,they are then freer to initiate behavior which willhelp them to accomplish the goals they have chosen.John F. KramerMiriam ElsonApril 15, 1977The student ombudsman's office dealt with a variety of specific, individual student complaints during the winter quarter. A number of students wereconcerned about lack of heat or hot water duringthe prolonged cold spell. The housing office responded to these problems as fully and quickly aspossible, although serious plumbing difficulties atthe Shore land made repairs there lengthy. Loanproblems continued to plague us, and studentscontinued to suffer frustration and delay beforethese were satisfactorily resolved. The loanoffice's new and larger quarters on the sixth floorof the Administration Building may enhance theorganizational efficiency of the office; I continueto press for a larger staff as well, so that studentproblems can be met by staff members with moretime available.Two kinds of difficulties arose with the library.First, several students complained that they werebeing fined for books which they insisted had beenturned in on time. Students may petition for a finereview by Library Circulation in such cases, but Istrongly urge students to avoid this kind of situation altogether by requesting receipts for all booksreturned. It takes a few minutes — the studentmust make a list of titles and call numbers andwait to have it checked and signed by a circulationclerk — but a receipt settles disputes once and forall about whether a book was in fact returned ontime and has since somehow disappeared into the Clinic StaffPsychiatristsPeter B. JohnstonJohn F. KramerPsychiatric Social WorkersMiriam ElsonAlice IchikawaBetty KohutThayer LindnerAnna Mary WallaceSecretariesPaula FisherPenny Juergensbowels of the library. Second, students complained that they were being assessed for finesalready paid. These complaints were occasionedby a new library policy which restricts registrationfor any outstanding fines over $5.25, rather than$25 as has been the case in the past. This meantthat long-forgotten fines suddenly reappeared tohaunt students who, if they had in fact paid, hadlong since lost the receipts. Since library copies offine receipts are filed by date of payment— something easily forgotten — I urge studentswho pay fines to retain the receipts until graduation, just in case. I have also requested that thelibrary initiate a second, alphabetical file to makereceipts easier to retrieve.Perhaps the most serious grievance addressedto this office during winter quarter concerned acourse in which the division of responsibility forgrading between graduate assistants and professors was unclear. Students contended not onlythat sole responsibility rested with the course assistants, but that the process of assessing papersand exams was being done negligently. By thetime the issue was brought to our attention, theclass had developed into something of a hostilestand-off between students and course assistants.Faculty members involved in the course agreed,as a result of our request to the divisional master,to make clear that they held final responsibility forgrades, to take a more active role in the gradingprocess, and to supervise the assistants moreREPORT OF THE STUDENT OMBUDSMANFOR THE WINTER QUARTER, 197756closely. Before the course is offered again, however, its staffing structure needs to bereevaluated. This highlights a problem withstaffing in large undergraduate classes which hascome to our attention in other courses as well.Our concern about this is shared by College administrators.A second serious issue which brought a numberof student complaints to this office was the denialof an appointment renewal to a popular assistantprofessor. In response to student concern, wecompiled information from former students whichwas summarized and passed on to those involvedin the decision. Clearly, the ombudsman lacks access to sufficient information to request a reversalof an appointment decision, but a request for review of such a decision seems to me a legitimatefunction of this office, when student concern warrants it or when new information is available. Inthis case, our request is being considered.Finally, to demonstrate the variety of problemshandled by this office, here are a few of the lesstypical — but not necessarily less serious- — complaints that have been laid on our doorstep thispast quarter:A dog owner in Married Student Housing wasupset that the white rock salt used outside hisbuilding this winter seemed to damage his dog'spaws, when the blue salt used in past years hadnot. In an attempt to run down a supply of lastyear's salt, we tracked the building's previousjanitor to southern Indiana. The upshot of it all,however, was the news from geophysics professor Paul B. Moore that all rock salt dries anddamages animal paws, that blue salt (calciumchloride) in fact is more harmful than white(sodium chloride), and that the only solution is animmediate wash — or booties. Perhaps other pet owners will appreciate this information.A left-handed student complained about thelack of lecture room chairs and tablet-arm writingchairs designed for left-handers. Finding out whoorders new classroom furniture was an arduoustask, but we finally discovered that the individualdepartments themselves are responsible for replacing furniture in the rooms they use. Furniturefor new or renovated buildings is ordered by theUniversity architect. Our memos to the divisionaldeans, who must approve departmental orders,and to the architect, presumably will insure theinclusion of some left-handed furniture in futureorders.A concerned student wanted to report that thefire alarm in Eckhart Hall was out of order; it hadgone off during a morning class, but so softly thatstudents and professor ignored it. The Plant Department investigated for us. The Eckhart alarmturned out to be working very well indeed — aswas the Ryerson alarm, which was in fact thealarm that the students had heard. One mightargue that a fire alarm works too well when itdisturbs folks in next door buildings. There wasno fire in either building.A new mother had heard that some organization loosely affiliated with the University rentsused baby equipment; she asked our help in tracking it down. Student Activities knew the answer(the Women's Service League) as they oftenknow answers to a variety of unusual questions.The above list of examples underlines the continuing need for the student ombudsman's office.No seemingly comprehensive list of "who handles what" in the University could predict thesekinds of questions — and in the more labyrinthineproblems, no single administrator controls all thepieces.57TUITION INCREASEThe University of Chicago will increase tuitionrates for the 1977-78 academic year.The tuition rates have been approved by theBoard of Trustees, acting on the recommendation of the administration and the Deans' BudgetCommittee. In December 1976, the committeesuggested that tuition be raised at least $100 perquarter from current levels.Beginning in the autumn quarter 1977, tuitionincreases for a normal three-quarter academicyear will be as shown in the table below.In order to help students meet the cost of aprivate education, the University will continue tosupport and offer a wide range of student aid. For1977-78 the University will devote $5,250,000from its general funds for direct student aid andabout $2 million in restricted scholarship funds.The University also expects to have more than $4million in available loan funds. In a recent survey of tuition and fees for undergraduates and graduate students in the arts andsciences at Chicago, Columbia, Cornell, Harvard, MIT, Northwestern, Pennsylvania, Princeton, Stanford, and Yale, the University had thelowest combined tuition and fees for 1976-77. Therange of difference at the undergraduate level was$515 (Columbia) to $873 (Yale). In the graduatearts and sciences, the range of difference betweenthe University's divisional tuition for 1976-77 andthat at the other institutions listed was $300(Northwestern) to $770 (Princeton and Yale).The proposed increase of $300 for all areas ofthe University except the Graduate School ofBusiness ($375) is not expected to changesignificantly the University's level of tuition incomparison with those of the other institutionslisted.Charles D. O'ConnellVice-President and Dean of Students$ increase1976-77 to1975-76 1976-77 1977-78 1977-78 % increaseCollege $3,210 $3,420 $3,720 $300 8.8Divisions 3,420 3,630 3,930 300 8.3SchoolsMedicine 3,420 3,630 3,930 300 8.3Law 3,690 4,050 4,350 300 7.4Business 3,750 4,050 4,425 375 9.3Divinity, Library,and SSA 3,360 3,570 3,870 300 8.4ROOM AND BOARD INCREASESRoom charges in the University residence hallswill increase by an average of 10 percent andboard charges by 8.5 percent for the 1977-78academic year. This increase is necessary tocover the projected increase in operating costs.The University's residence halls and food services, as a unit, had an operating balance of$37,000 in 1976-77. When the nonoperating costsof debt service on outstanding mortgages are included, the overall net deficit was $296,000. Despite a 10 percent increase in room charges for1976-77, an increase in fuel charges sharply beyond projection, and necessary but unanticipated maintenance and repairs will leave anoperating balance of only $10,000 in 1976-77,while the nonoperating subsidy for debt servicewill bring the net deficit to $323,000. Fortunately,some unanticipated savings elsewhere in the residence halls and commons budget, where high occupancy made it unnecessary to pay rent guarantees for empty summer spaces at the Shorelandand at leased commercial space in 5050 SouthShore Drive, mean that the overall budget forsingle student housing and food services is likely tomeet 1976-77 budget projections.Nonetheless, it is apparent that a 10 percent58increase in room charges and an 8.5 percent increase in board for 1977-78 are necessary if the1977-78 nonoperating deficit is to be maintained at1976-77 levels.Typical room and board charges for an enteringstudent at the University will be as follows.1976-77 1977-78 %increaseDouble roomFull boardTotal $ 8001,1751,975 $ 8751,2752,150 9.48.58.9Single RoomFull boardTotal $1,0001,1752,175 $1,1101,2752,385 11.08.59.7Room and board charges at various institutionsare somewhat more difficult to compare than tuition because of different services covered. Thetypical freshman board contract at The University of Chicago, for example, covers charges for adouble room and 20 meals a week; at some otherinstitutions, such as Pennsylvania and Northwestern, the charges cover a double room and 15meals a week.With these reservations, a survey of typicalfreshman room and board charges at the same tenuniversities referred to in the discussion of proposed tuition increases indicated that Chicago's1976-77 charge of $1,975 for a double room andfull board ranked sixth among the ten institutionssurveyed; Harvard was highest, with $2,425, followed by MIT ($2,400) and Columbia ($2,205);the lowest charges were Northwestern' s ($1,756)for a double room and 15 meals a week. The8.9 percent increase should not affect theUniversity's relative standing in any significantfashion. Yale announced an increase in its roomand board charges of 8.6 percent, bringing its1977_78 charges for a double room and board to$2,200. Other institutions are expected to increasetheir charges proportionately.Charles D. O'ConnellVice-President and Dean of Students CHANGES IN DEVELOPMENT OFFICEADMINISTRATIVE ASSIGNMENTSTo: Development Office StaffFrom: John T. Wilson, PresidentFebruary 22, 1977For your information, Mr. Eugene F. Gerwe,Vice-President for Development, has accepted aposition as Vice-President for Development atSanta Clara University, Santa Clara, California,effective April 1, 1977. In order to enhance thetransition, he has asked to be relieved of day-today administrative responsibilities. Consequently, I have, effective as of this date, askedMr. Chauncy D. Harris, Vice-President forAcademic Resources, to assume overall responsibilities for Development Office functions withinthe University. The position of Vice-President forDevelopment will not be filled.Further administrative reassignments recommended by Mr. Harris and concurred in by meinclude the creation of a position as Special Assistant to the Vice-President for Academic Resources, to be filled by Mr. Herbert E. Newman,currently Director of Development. The positionof Director of Development will be filled by Mr.Clyde P. Watkins, currently Associate Directorof Development.All day-to-day operational activities of the Development Office will report to Mr. Harristhrough Mr. Watkins. Regarding functions relating to the Campaign for Chicago, Mr. Charles R.Feldstein will continue to serve as Consultant tothe Campaign and to the Development Office (insofar as campaign activities are concerned), reporting directly to Mr. Robert S. Ingersoll, Deputy Chairman of the Board of Trustees andChairman of the Campaign Strategy Committee.NEW TRUSTEE ELECTEDJames F. Bere, Chairman and Chief ExecutiveOfficer of Borg-Warner Corporation, has beenelected a Trustee of the University.59THE 362ND CONVOCATION ADDRESS:CEREMONIOUS WORDSBy PHILIP W. JACKSONMarch 18, 1977Ceremonious words. Bloated prose. Fat talk.Polysyllabic pontifications. Speeches on occasions such as this. Faced with the prospect ofhearing them, my first impulse is to flee the scene.Bolt. Vamoose. That possibility barred, I dutifully settle down, prepared to grin and bear it,mentally bracing myself for the inevitable pomposities, the flatulent phrases that serve upwarmed-over thought on dented tin plates or, ifyour taste runs to liquid metaphors, the same oldwine in the same old bottles. Either way, mushand slush. Favorite themes from graduation addresses long past. The challenges that lie ahead.The future in your hands. Standing on thethreshold of a new tomorrow. You know them all.I will spare you a full recitation.As a reluctant listener at such affairs, my ownstrategy rarely varies. I lie in wait for the plumageto make its showing before snatching out. Then,having ensnared one or two plump beauties fromthe orator's flock of platitudes, verbal gems fatuous enough to make Edwin Newman snort withdelight, I tuck them away for the future amusement of those lucky enough to have stayed home.This much accomplished, I gradually lapse intoinattentiveness, convinced once again that commencement addresses and other ceremonial pronouncements are less to be heard than endured.Many of you, I suspect, share my convictionand have already made your exit into a world ofprivate reverie, so far removed from the reach ofmy voice that you are quite unaware that you arenow being talked about. To those of you who arestill with me, I say, "Let them be. No offense istaken. I understand, really I do. In fact, I wish Icould join them."But today, alas, the shoe is on the other foot forme, and the fit, I assure you, is even tighter andmore uncomfortable than it is for those of youwhose attention has not yet wandered. For thereis no escape, physical or otherwise, from the position I am in, nor am I agile enough, beforewarned, to sidestep artfully all the traps intowhich others have fallen. Confronted with thetask of deciding what to say on this occasion, Ifound my mind moving down the same worn grooves that others have traveled before me.Those tattered phrases that set my teeth on edgerushed in like unwelcome guests to set up house inthe brain's deserted chambers. Challenges. Anew tomorrow. The future generation. There theywere, the whole lot of them. And they wouldn'tleave.My failure to banish the unwanted residue ofother people's solution to my problem inducedmild panic. What if I can think of nothing else tosay? Surely, if that happens, I will be unable to gothrough with it. On the day in question, when thetime comes to trot out the same old lines yetagain, the organs of speech will themselves revolt,constricting the throat and cleaving the tongue tothe roof of the mouth.Given all this discomfort on both sides of thepodium, you would think that by now we wouldhave done away with the custom entirely and instituted instead, for the benefit of all concerned, aspeechless convocation. After all, the ceremonyis rich enough to stand the loss. Even without aspeaker, today's sights and sounds are sufficientto cram our memory books chock-full. Whybother adding words?"Well," a cynical voice within me answers,"there is the matter of time. Without a speakerthe affair would be too short. And we cannot justadd another song or two or the whole ceremonywould begin to resemble a concert more than aconvocation. So, you see, a speech is needed tokeep us in place for a respectful interval."The cynic is right, of course. We must maintaina sense of dignity about these matters. Movingslowly helps. Rushing about does not. Yet, thereis also something false about his observation andsomething irritating about his smirk, for surely wecommission a speech to be given at such affairsfor more important reasons than to fill the time.We seek not simply words, but words that aresatisfying and fit. Words that uplift the spirit.Words that contribute in some unique way to thefullness of the experience for its chief participants: graduates, relatives, and friends. But theold problem remains: how to accomplish what isexpected without saying what is expected. Theverbal coinage must be freshly minted, but to benegotiable, it must be issued in standard denomi-60nations. There's the rub.In the midst of trying to extricate myself fromthis little dilemma, I chanced to read an essay byW. H. Auden, which, though it did not solve myproblem for me, did give a fresh direction to mythought. Though the essay focused on the poetryof Robert Frost, its real theme had to do with theage-old question of the relationship betweenbeauty and truth. Using as his starting placeKeats' famous lines that declare, "Beauty isTruth, Truth Beauty!", Auden proceeds to putforward almost the opposite case. Not only aretruth and beauty far from identical, he argues, butas qualities embodied in works of art, they are insome sense incompatible with each other. Here ishow he puts it.Art arises out of our desire for both beauty and truthand our knowledge that they are not identical. Wewant a poem to be beautiful, that is to say a verbalearthly paradise, a timeless world of pure play,which gives us delight precisely because of its contrast to our historical existence with all its insolubleproblems and inescapable suffering; at the same timewe want a poem to be true, that is to say, to provideus with some kind of revelation about our life whichwill show us what life is really like and free us fromself-enchantment and deception, and a poet cannotbring us any truth without introducing into his poetrythe problematic, the painful, the disorderly, the ugly.Thus, Auden' s view warns, beauty is sometimes achieved at the sacrifice of truth and viceversa. The trick, of course, as he points out, is tofuse the two, to find some balance, some compromise that allows the beautiful and the truthfulto coexist in a single work of art.Now, to be sure, the composition of today'sremarks can hardly be likened to the creation of awork of art. To do so is to risk confusing thesublime and the ridiculous. Yet something aboutAuden' s observations gripped me. Even thoughhe was clearly talking about a much nobler pursuitthan the one in which I was engaged, his wordsseemed to apply to the task at hand. In my searchfor something fitting to say on this occasion, I,too, felt torn in the way Auden describes. Truthwas pulling me in one direction, beauty in another. Truth was represented by my cynical side,the part of me that thumbed its nose atcommencement-day speakers. Beauty was thatside of my being that savored the inspirationalphrase, that gets slightly choked up when the almamater is sung, and that would gladly lay beforeyou today the gooiest repast of commencement-day fare that you have encountered in a long time.However, instead of resolving the tension be tween these two impulses, the way Auden sayshappens in a good poem, my own thoughts wereirresolutely flipflopping back and forth betweenthem. First the smirk, then the sigh, then thesmirk again. Further thought, a mixture now ofAuden' s and my own, did finally resolve thedifficulty for me (or else I would not be standinghere!) but not quite in the way I had anticipated.The resolution entailed a fusion all right, but notbetween truth and beauty. What congealed in theend were some thoughts about myself, about thisUniversity, and about you — today's graduates. Imust share them with you, for they are all I haveleft to say.First, I have come to the conclusion that myvacillation during the writing of these remarks,my flipflopping as I have called it, does indeedhave something to do with the search for truth andbeauty, though it is not very comforting to haveto say what that something is, for I now believethat both my quickness to make a harsh judgmentand my secret craving for sweet talk are parts ofthe same vice. They are corruptions of bothhalves of Auden' s dichotomous search. If wewere able to locate them spatially, they would befound in regions that lie beyond the pale of bothtruth and beauty. One gets there by failing toapply brakes. Unchecked by critical faculties, theseeker of beauty wanders off into the swamplandsof sentimentality. Unremitting in his determination to face up to the worst possible view ofthings, the seeker of truth winds up on the barrenwastes of cynicism. The sentimentalist and thecynic, both victims of good intentions goneastray.Sobered and reigned in by the thoughts thattrailed in the wake of Auden' s argument, I nextfound myself thinking about this University. Forif I were going to be perfectly honest, I had toadmit that my cynical mood, the spirit in which Ibegan these remarks, was really a pose, or at leastit did not match my experience as a facultymember at this institution. Thinking back onthe many convocation addresses I have heardhere, extending over nearly a quarter of acentury, I confess that the number of We-Are-Standing-on-the-Threshold-of-a-New-Tomorrowspeeches, the kind I was so quick to make fun of,was very small indeed, almost infinitesimal. Oh,not that all of the rest were great, I grant you. Ienjoyed some much more than others, as youmight guess, and my mind did indeed wander fromtime to time, that much is true. But on the whole,the quality has been unusually high, almost as ifthe speakers had each been warned in advance61not to dare fall back on shopworn ideas and secondhand thoughts. And in a sense, they had, youknow.To explain why I believe that to be so, I mustmake a second confession. I must admit that myreal fear as I sat before my silent typewriter wasnot that by resorting to cliches or hackneyedphrases I might wind up putting some of you tosleep, but that in so doing I would be, in someimportant way, letting the University down. Thefact is that the tradition of this place simply willnot tolerate anything less than the best we cangive. That fact certainly does make us uncomfortable from time to time, as it did me in the preparation of these remarks, but it also drives us to dobetter than we might if the tradition were absent.Finally, to you, today's graduates, the most recent beneficiaries of the tradition of which Ispeak: each of you has by now been steeped in theideals of this University long enough, I hope, forthem to have soaked in. That condition is not anunmixed blessing as you probably already know.It will cause you, I predict, ample discomfort inthe years ahead, not only because as alumni and,therefore, official guardians of our traditions, youare under some obligation to do the best you canin every undertaking, but also because a strictadherence to all this University stands for requires you to face up to the imperfections in allyou do, even your best. The task is unending, foras T. S. Eliot reminds us,. . . every attemptIs a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure.Though the penalties are there, the rewards ofthe traditions associated with this institution areyours as well, of course. And in the long run, Ialso predict, those rewards will more than balancethe cost of their attainment. They will come toyou in the form of an enriched life, studded withaccomplishments made possible by your adherence to the values of this University.With the utterance of those last words I feel anodd stirring in my bones. I think it is an old-fashioned, non-U-of-C commencement speechcoming on, so it is obviously time for me to stop.Let me end with a wish, a bit redolent of swampflowers perhaps, but then I warned you at thestart that I would not avoid completely the sins ofspeakers past. I wish you a deeply satisfying, if slightly tormented, future. May your efforts be constrainedby the dual embrace of beauty and truth. May youavoid better than have I the pitfalls of sentimentality and cynicism. Rethink, rewrite, revise untilthe deadline is upon you. May your lifelongsearch for the best words and the best deedspersevere long after your diploma's ink is bonedry, even unto the day when its parchment is brittle with age.Philip W. Jackson is the David Lee ShillinglawDistinguished Service Professor in the Departments of Education and Behavioral Sciences(Human Development), Chairman of the Department of Education, and Member of theCommittee on Public Policy Studies.SUMMARY OF THE 362NDCONVOCATIONThe 362nd convocation was held Friday, March18, 1977, in Rockefeller Memorial Chapel. JohnT. Wilson, President of the University, presided.A total of 329 degrees were awarded: 42Bachelor of Arts, 10 Master of Science in the Division of the Biological Sciences and The PritzkerSchool of Medicine, 21 Master of Arts in the Division of the Humanities, 4 Master of Fine Arts,14 Master of Science in the Division of the Physical Sciences, 52 Master of Arts in the Division ofthe Social Sciences, 11 Master of Arts in the Divinity School, 11 Master of Arts in the GraduateLibrary School, 1 Master of Arts in the School ofSocial Service Administration, 1 Master of Artsin Teaching, 2 Master of Science in Teaching, 133Master of Business Administration, 1 Master ofComparative Law, and 68 Doctor of Philosophy.Philip W. Jackson, David Lee Shillinglaw Distinguished Service Professor in the Departmentsof Education and Behavioral Sciences (HumanDevelopment), Chairman of the Department ofEducation, and a member of the Committee onPublic Policy Studies, delivered the principalconvocation address, entitled "CeremoniousWords."62VISITING COMMITTEESVisiting committees are official committees of theUniversity, provided for in the by-laws and reporting directly to the Board of Trustees of theUniversity. They are composed of individualsselected by the Board for their varied insights,interests, and abilities relating to a given academicarea.Upon the recommendation of the dean or director of the academic area involved, and with theconcurrence of the President, the following persons were appointed members of the visitingcommittees.Council for the Division of the Biological Sciencesand The Pritzker School of MedicineClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)Orville C. BeattieMarshall BennettB. E. BensingerDr. Robert M. ChanockNathan CummingsOscar GetzHunt HamillHarold H. Hines, Jr.Wallace D. JohnsonThomas F. Jones, Jr.Burton KanterEverett KovlerRobert G. MyersLyle E. PackardDavid D. PetersonDr. Clarence C. ReedJoseph Regenstein, Jr.Dr. John S. SchweppeEarl W. ShapiroMilton E. StinsonJohn Earl ThompsonArnold R. WolffClass 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)George W. BeadleNathan BedermanPhilip D. Block, Jr.Dr. Catherine L. DobsonWilliam E. Fay, Jr.Maxwell M. GeffenDr. Robert J. GlaserStanford J. GoldblattDr. John W. Green, Jr.J. Ira HarrisDr. Charles B. HugginsMartin J. KoldykeJohn D. MabieA. N. Pritzker (Chairman) Class 3 (Term expiring September 30, 1979)William O. BeersJohn J. BurnsWalter A. ComptonMaurice R. HillemanDr. John R. HognessDr. Attallah KappasAlbert L. LehningerDr. Paul A. MarksHoward M. PackFrank W. PutnamDr. Mitchell T. RabkinRobert A. SchoellhornDaniel J. TerraDr. Cornelius A. Vander LaanCouncil on the Graduate School of BusinessClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)William O. BeersKarl R. BendetsenEugene P. BergJames W. ButtonDonald N. FreyRalph E. GomoryThomas HancockWilliam G. KarnesRay A. KrocAlvin W. LongRay W. MacdonaldJohn A. MattmillerOscar G. MayerHart PerryEli ShapiroT. M. ThompsonCharles R. Walgreen IIIChristopher W. WilsonWilliam T. YlvisakerClass 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)Norman Barker, Jr.Philip D. Block, Jr.James BurdW. Newton Burdick, Jr.Raymond N. CarlenMarvin ChandlerW. Leonard Evans, Jr.John P. GallagherJames J. GlasserRobert C. GunnessDavid K. HardinLawrence A. KimptonHarry W. KirchheimerJohn H. KornblithC. Virgil MartinWilliam C. MushamPeter G. Peterson63Philip J. PurcellBeryl W. SprinkelRobert D. Stuart, Jr.M. P. VenemaTheodore O. YntemaClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)Thomas G. AyersRoland BarstowArchie BoeWallace BoothRobert E. BrookerFairfax M. ConeWillie DavisCharles H. DavisonJames H. EvansRobert P. GwinnIrving B. Harris (Chairman)Robert S. IngersollDavid JonesHarvey KapnickThomas A. KellyPaul F. LorenzGeorge V. MyersTheodore W. NelsonJohn NevinEllmore C. PattersonRobert W. RenekerDon H. ReubenGeorge G. RinderRalph S. SaulRobert M. ShehanGeorge L. ShinnAllen P. StultsPhilip W. K. Sweet, Jr.J. W. Van GorkomEdward J. WilliamsJoseph S. WrightVisiting Committee to the CollegeClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)Barbara Phelps AndersonRochelle D. AschheimDr. Richard Allen ChaseJohn F. Dille, Jr.John T. HortonWilliam JosephsonJohn G. MorrisKeith I. ParsonsChristopher S. PeeblesRobert B. SilversDaniel C. SmithHodson ThornberPhilip C. White Class 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)Edward L. Anderson, Jr.Robert J. GreenebaumCarl F. HovdeAlbert Pick, Jr.Walter PozenSaul S. ShermanDr. Nancy E. WarnerThe Hon. Hubert L. WillClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)John Jay BerwangerVirginia ButtsEmmett DedmonJoan N. HertzbergW. Rea KeastJulius LewisJohn V. LongE. Wilson LyonLeslie J. MaitlandBradley H. Patterson, Jr.The Hon. Charles H. PercyWilliam ProvineMina S. ReesDavid B. TrumanRobert C. Upton (Chairman)F. Champion WardEdwin P. WileyVisiting Committee to the Divinity SchoolClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)Rosecrans BaldwinKenneth BlockRobert E. BrookerMarvin ChandlerJohn C. ColmanPatty CrowleyMilton F. Darr, Jr.Charles H. DavisonJames C. Downs, Jr.Donald A. GilliesStanley HillmanCharles W. Lake, Jr.Leo R. NewcombeKeith I. ParsonsJames T. RhindGeorge L. SeatonWeathers Y. SykesGeorge H. WatkinsClass 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)Herbert B. AndersonRussell M. BairdRobert L. Berner, Jr.Leo J. CarlinJohn F. Connor64R. Neal FulkJohn P. GallagherJohn GiuraJames D. HemphillElmer W. JohnsonMrs. John NuveenMrs. Robert W. RenekerRobert StuartClinton YouleClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)Herbert Bron steinEarl B. DickersonGaylord DonnelleyKingman Douglass, Jr. (Chairman)Dr. C. Phillip MillerGeorge F. SislerVisiting Committee to the Department of EducationClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)Mrs. Richard AlschulerManuel FinkRobert McDougal, Jr.Harry M. Oliver, Jr.James F. RedmondPeter N. Todhunter (Vice-Chairman)George H. Watkins (Chairman)Mrs. Peter L. WentzClass 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)Charles BentonWilliam S. Gray IIIAndrew McNally IIIHenry RegneryLouise Hoyt SmithClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)Max I. StuckerClinton YouleVisiting Committee to the Center for Far EasternStudiesClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)Neal BallRobert L. BeanJames H. IngersollPeter T. JonesLucy LeungMrs. Edward H. LeviSimon C. S. LingRobert F. McCulloughWilliam J. McDonoughEdward F. SwiftClass 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)W. Stewart AddisThomas H. CoulterShigeyasu KatoMrs. Robert H. Malott Hiroshi MatsushitaIra QuintErwin A. SalkClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)A. Robert AbboudKunihiko AdachiGeorge R. BakerJack D. BeemJames F. BereJoseph L. BlockLeland C. CarstensFranklin A. ColeEmmett Dedmon (Chairman)Louis F. Dempsey IIIJeannette Shambaugh ElliottRobert S. IngersollMrs. Robert S. IngersollPaul R. JudyMary S. LawtonMrs. John Sterry LongEmerson J. LyonsKenneth F. MontgomeryMrs. Robert PritzkerMrs. George A. RanneyThe Hon. John D. Rockefeller IVMrs. Lyle SpencerOliver StatlerVisiting Committee to the Division of theHumanitiesClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)James W. AlsdorfCharles BentonEdwin A. BergmanMrs. Andrew BlockMrs. George V. BobrinskoyMichael BraudeMrs. James R. CoulterGaylord DonnelleyPaul FrommMrs. Willard A. FryJames R. GetzLeo S. GuthmanCharles C. Haffner IIIJoan B. JohnsonSigmund KunstadterEarle LudginLinda M. MayerRobert L. MetzenbergMrs. C. Phillip MillerMrs. Luther I. ReplogleClass 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)Bowen BlairMrs. Lester CrownMrs. Edison Dick65Stanley M. FreehlingBertrand GoldbergMrs. Glen A. LloydGeorge A. PooleNorman RossCalvin P. SawyierGeorge B. YoungClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)Mrs. Eugene A. DavidsonMrs. Kingman Douglass, Jr.Lee A. Freeman, Jr.Mrs. Frank D. MayerMrs. Gilbert H. OsgoodMrs. Walter P. PaepckeMrs. Paul S. RussellJoseph R. ShapiroAlfred C. Stepan, Jr.Gardner H. Stern (Chairman)Mrs. John Paul WellingMrs. Frank H. WoodsVisiting Committee to the Law SchoolClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)William W. D arrowEli E. FinkThe Hon. Marvin E. FrankelWilliam B. GrahamWilliam N. HaddadThomas L. NicholsonKarl F. NygrenThe Hon. Barrington D. ParkerF. Max SchuetteMilton I. ShadurThe Hon. Herbert J. SternLowell WadmondClass 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)The Hon. Harry A. BlackmunThe Hon. James M. BurnsThe Hon. Brian B. DuffBert H. EarlyRaymond G. FeldmanDaniel FogelElizabeth Bonner HeadThe Hon. Ivan Lee Holt, Jr.Lawrence T. Hoyle, Jr.Jerome S. KatzinThe Hon. Abner J. MikvaByron S. MillerAlexander PolikoffMaurice RosenfieldThe Hon. Mary Murphy SchroederThe Hon. John Paul StevensMaurice S. WeigleClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)The Hon. William J. Bauer Bennett BoskeyJo Ann L. ChandlerMilton H. CohenLloyd N. CutlerSybille C. FritzscheMaurice FultonJames T. Gibson, Jr.William B. JohnsonPaul KitchGeorge A. Ranney, Sr. (Chairman)Don H. ReubenJames T. RhindEsther R. RothsteinDaniel C. SmithWilliam Bowman Spann, Jr.Harold R. Tyler, Jr.Ira T. WenderThe Hon. William Sylvester WhiteVisiting Committee to the LibraryClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)Ann Dudley GoldblattO. B. HardisonGordon N. RayMrs. H. Alex Vance, Jr.Class 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)Roger BensingerDavid BorowitzEven T. Collinsworth, Jr.Eugene A. DavidsonJames R. DonnelleyDaniel J. EdelmanRichard EldenW. Leonard Evans, Jr.Maurice FultonKatharine GrahamGertrude HimmelfarbHenry Luce IIIStephen McCarthyAndrew McNally IVMrs. C. Phillip MillerMrs. John U. Nef (Vice-Chairman)Max PalevskyGeorge A. PooleVictoria Post RanneyMrs. Joseph RegensteinSamuel R. RosenthalHermon D. SmithArthur B. TourtellotRalph TylerRobert A. WallaceEdward H. WeissClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)Mrs. Michael ArlenGaylord Donnelley (Chairman)66Visiting Committee to the Department of MusicClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)Milton BabbittBruno BartolettiGitta Gradova CottleMrs. James H. DouglasCarol FoxMartha Asher FriedbergPaul FrommRaya GarbousovaTito GobbiBertrand GoldbergMargaret HillisGeorge M. IrwinGeorge Fred KeckNorman RossSir Georg SoltiPeter Gram SwingMrs. J. Harris Ward (Chairman)Class 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)Mrs. A. Watson Armour IIIMrs. Granger CostikyanMrs. Lester CrownBenny GoodmanJoan HarrisMarian S. HarrisDonal HenahanMrs. H. Thomas JamesMrs. Henry MeersAlbert H. NewmanMaria Tallchief PaschenRobert SempleMrs. Robert D. Stuart, Jr.Class 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)Mrs. Claude BarnettAnita Straub D arrowMrs. William R. DickinsonMrs. Willard GidwitzJohn SteinerVisiting Committee to the Oriental InstituteClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)Arthur S. BowesMrs. G. Corson EllisJohn W. B. HadleyMrs. John LivingoodAlbert H. NewmanWilliam J. RobertsClass 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)Harvey W. Branigar, Jr.Mrs. Cameron BrownGeorge G. CameronMrs. Albert H. NewmanJeffrey R. Short, Jr.Gardner H. Stern Mrs. Theodore TiekenMrs. Chester D. TrippRoderick S. WebsterMrs. Roderick S. WebsterClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)Russell M. BairdMrs. Russell M. BairdMrs. Margaret B. Cameron (Chairman)Isak V. GersonMrs. Isak V. GersonAlbert F. HaasMarshall M. HollebMrs. Marshall M. HollebWilliam O. HuntMrs. C. Phillip MillerWilliam M. SpencerVisiting Committee to the Division of the PhysicalSciencesClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)Luis W. AlvarezEdwin N. AsmannMalcolm K. BrachmanCharles L. BrownEdward E. David, Jr.James B. FiskHerbert FriedmanLeo GoldbergHerman H. GoldstineCrawford H. Greene waitRobert P. GwinnJohn S. IvyWinston E. KockJohn O. LoganJoseph MayerDale R. SnowHorace D. TaftWernher von BraunG. H. WestbyLynn WilliamsJoseph S. WrightClass 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)Robert M. HalperinJames S. HudnallClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)Robert C. Gunness (Chairman)Peter G. PetersonVisiting Committee to the Committeeon Public Policy StudiesClass 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)A. Robert AbboudJames H. DouglasRobert C. GunnessArthur C. Nielsen, Jr.67Peter G. PetersonCharles B. StauffacherEdgar B. Stern, Jr.Donald C. StoneJerome W. Van GorkomClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)Alan S. BoydIrving B. HarrisStanley G. Harris, Jr.Ben W. HeinemanRobert S. IngersollFerdinand KramerJohn W. McCarterRichard B. OgilvieArthur E. Rasmus senHermon D. SmithElmer StaatsSydney Stein, Jr. (Chairman)Visiting Committee to the Division of the SocialSciencesClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)William H. AveryThomas J. BataCharles L. BrownSilas Strawn CathcartPeter B. ClarkLA. GrodzinsFrederick G. JaicksJohn J. Louis, Jr.Charles J. MerriamArthur C. Nielsen, Jr.Arthur W. SchultzRichard L. TerrellClass 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)John S. CoulsonJane CoulsonMaurice FultonF. Sewall GardnerHuntington HarrisAugustin S. Hart, Jr.Margaret HartLyle M. Spencer, Jr.Edgar B. Stern, Jr.Class 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)Mrs. Edwin AsmannVincent BarabbaJames W. Button (Chairman)Joseph EpsteinJustin FishbeinCarl R. HansenJames H. IngersollJoseph KraftDavid ProwittMrs. Charles P. Schwartz Leonard SilkBeryl W. SprinkelCharles B. StauffacherRichard A. WareVisiting Committee to the School of Social ServiceAdministrationClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)Mrs. John J. BerganMrs. Robert L. FooteMrs. Zollie FrankIrving B. HarrisElliot LehmanKenneth F. MontgomeryKenneth NewbergerJoseph Regenstein, Jr.Lawrence K. SchnadigMerrill ShepardBernice WeissbourdMaynard I. WishnerClass 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)Philip D. Block, Jr.James Brown IVDavid W. DanglerSidney EpsteinCharles R. FeldsteinMrs. Herbert S. GreenwaldMortimer B. HarrisMrs. W. Press HodgkinsPeter HuntMrs. Anna J. JulianMrs. Lazarus KrinsleyMrs. Remick McDowellClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)Joseph P. AntonowJohn A. Bross, Jr.Dr. Kenneth B. ClarkWilliam W. DarrowStanley G. Harris, Jr. (Chairman)Mrs. Ben W. HeinemanDavid C. HilliardMrs. Robert B. MayerHenry W. MeersMrs. Bernard D. MeltzerPaul L. MullaneyMrs. George A. RanneyJames T. RhindHermon D. SmithGardner H. Stern, Jr.Visiting Committee on Student Programs andFacilitiesClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)Mrs. Samuel W. BlockLawrence B. Buttenwieser68Mrs. Hammond ChaffetzSolon B. CousinsLester CrownFerdinand KramerRobert N. MayerMrs. John J. McDonoughJames RuddleJoseph R. ShapiroMrs. Louis Skidmore, Jr.Class 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)John P. DaveyBarbara Cook DunbarFrances Moore FergusonIra J. FistellJonathan KovlerKenneth H. NealsonRay RahnerMrs. Richard J. SmithMrs. Harold E. StraussMrs. Richard WehmanBernard WeissbourdClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)William H. AbbottMrs. Lester S. AbelsonRussell M. BairdJohn Jay BerwangerBernard J. DelGiornoJohn F. Dille, Jr.Robert J. Greenebaum (Chairman)Mrs. William KarnesMichael NemeroffMrs. George A. Ranney Robert SamuelsDaniel C. SmithDr. Andrew ThomasMrs. George Harry WatkinsVisiting Committee on the Visual ArtsClass 1 (term expiring September 30, 1977)Edwin A. BergmanMrs. Eugene A. DavidsonStanley M. FreehlingAllan FrumkinRichard HuntJohn RewaldFranz SchulzeHerman SpertusClass 2 (term expiring September 30, 1978)Frederick M. AsherLeo S. GuthmanScott HodesH. W. JansonJulius LewisM. A. LipschultzEarle Ludgin (Chairman)Mrs. Robert B. MayerMrs. Mary M. McDonaldMrs. C. Phillip MillerFrank H. WoodsClass 3 (term expiring September 30, 1979)Leigh B. BlockMrs. Henry T. RickettsRaymond L. SmartTHE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO RECORDVICE PRESIDENT FOR PUBLIC AFFAIRSRoom 200, Administration Building?o8o_ o zT I om £ c 33D O TJ2 > -n w 3POSTAGAIDO,ILLINTNO.31 o(Q0)31^ O m*¦ r- OO) 3