Maroon and White: Mississippi State University, 1878-2003

M is sis si ppi Stat e U n i v e r si t y

1878–2 003 Michael B. Ballard

mississippi state university university press of mississippi

www.upress.state.ms.us The University Press of Mississippi is a member of the Association of American University Presses. All photographs courtesy of Mississippi State University Copyright © 2008 by Mississippi State University All rights reserved Manufactured in the United States of America First printing 2008 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Ballard, Michael B. Maroon and white : Mississippi State University, 1878–2003 / Michael B. Ballard. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-1-57806-999-6 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 1-57806-999-8 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Mississippi State University—History. 2. Mississippi State College—History. I. Title. LD3381.M62B35 2008 378.762'953—dc22 2007021134 British Library Cataloging-in-Publication Data available

Jacket and book design: David Alcorn, Alcorn Publication Design

To the memory of John K. Bettersworth

Contents

A Tribute to John K. Bettersworth (1909–1991) Preface and Acknowledgments

ix xi

chapter 1. Roots and Birth

1

chapter 2. The Formative Years under General Lee, 1880–1899

9

chapter 3. Hardy Expansion, 1900–1912

41

chapter 4. Hightower, Smith, and World War, 1912–1920

64

chapter 5. Hull, Walker, and Critz: The 1920s and the Dark Years, 1920–1934

83

chapter 6. Humphrey and Mitchell: War and Peace, 1934–1953 106 chapter 7. Hilbun and Colvard: A University and Racial Challenges, 1953–1966

131

chapter 8. Giles: Low-Key, High Results, 1966–1976

166

chapter 9. McComas: Seeking a Balance, 1976–1985

206

chapter 10. Zacharias: The Starship Years, 1985–1997

258

chapter 11. Portera and Lee: Big Business and Steady Hands, 1998–2003

304



351 385 393 395

Notes Addenda Miscellany Bibliographic Notes Index

A Tribute to John K. Bettersworth (1909–1991)

W

ith good reason, John Bettersworth was widely known as the historian of Mississippi State University. In 1953, he published People’s College: A History of Mississippi State, in conjunction with MSU’s seventy-fifth anniversary. People’s College was the first history of the university ever written. Twenty-five years later, to mark the university’s centennial year, Bettersworth published People’s University: The Centennial History of Mississippi State. He also published many secondary and high school textbooks on the history of Mississippi, and cowrote a book on the post–Civil War period. Aside from his research and writing, Dr. Bettersworth was a popular classroom teacher because he was such a terrific storyteller. Then he moved on up into administrative posts, and he founded the Social Science Research Center. His footprints on paths of MSU history thus went far beyond the university histories he wrote. This book, Maroon and White, is constructed on the foundations of the university’s story as told by John Bettersworth. He went where no one else had gone before, digging into the university’s archives and finding additional pertinent material to flesh out the evolution of an A&M land-grant college into a major state university. My approach to Maroon and White differed markedly from Bettersworth’s, but his efforts in the earlier editions eased my task. I took his centennial history and did much reconstruction, copyediting, adding and deleting of material. This was a complicated task • ix •

a tribute

at times, and I suspect that Dr. Bettersworth, were he still around, might have told me to leave well enough alone. Though the result is different in many ways for the time period covered in his centennial edition, I made an effort to sustain much of his vision of MSU history. I felt it would indeed be foolish to throw out all that this brilliant historian had done and start from scratch. So, though his name is not on the book’s cover, the impact of his research makes it a far better volume than it might have been. As I attacked the daunting job of taking the university’s history twenty-five years beyond where he had left off in his centennial book, I came to understand and appreciate his pioneering efforts. So I dedicate Maroon and White to John Bettersworth, whom I never knew as well as I would have liked, and yet who remains, in memory, one of my favorite people. He paved the way, first plowed the ground, and because he did, he made my journey much more pleasant and inspiring. By the time I reached the end of this project, I felt that he and I had coauthored portions of this latest history of our university, and that made me feel very proud. I can only hope that he would be more pleased than annoyed. Being the southern gentleman that he was, I think he would. Michael B. Ballard

•˘•

Preface and Acknowledgments

T

his history of Mississippi State University covers, and celebrates, the first 125 years of the institution. When I was asked to undertake this project, I decided to write basically an administrative history, for it has occurred to me during my many years of association with the university that each president sets the tone for his administration, and what happens during his term of office is a reflection of his leadership. Therefore, I thought this approach would give the reader a clearer understanding of how the university has developed over the years. My approach does not focus only on presidential administrations but also on the many aspects of the university affected by presidential and upper-level decision making. Allow me to insert here that I am aware that the period 1878–2003 is actually 126 years. However, the decision to locate MSU at Starkville was not made until mid-December 1878, and I felt that adding the year 2003 was fitting under the circumstances. I trust this will not create a major controversy. The title of this volume came about after much soul searching and discussion with Craig Gill of the University Press of Mississippi. I wanted it to say something special to the many alumni that I hope will read the book. Maroon and white are colors that are deeply ingrained in the history of the university and not only in the uniforms of its various athletic teams. The words resonate, in my opinion as an MSU alumnus, more profoundly than any others because they are Mississippi State University. The athletic teams were once known as “Maroons,” despite the fact that the • xi •

preface and acknowledgments

bulldog had long been the mascot and eventually became the nickname. The words are the name of the university’s beautiful alma mater, and, I believe, the substance of it. I do not think I am naïve in my belief that those who graduate from and/or work for the university view those colors with pride. They symbolize much more than athletic contests and various sweatshirts, jackets, caps, and the like. MSU has long been a university of outreach, to every county in the state of Mississippi, to the Southeast, to the nation, and indeed to many countries around the world. While the colors may not always be visible, they are there, in the love of alumni for the university and in the pride and dedication of MSU faculty and staff, whose teaching, research, office work, and administrative duties come together to affect so many individuals and groups beyond campus borders. Maroon and white may tell others who we are by what we wear, or they may know by the way we go forth, onward and upward. I would like to thank the MSU Foundation for asking me to write this book and for providing financial support. Also, I thank my good friend Sammy McDavid of the Department of University Relations, with whom I had many conversations about the more recent history of the university. His insights and knowledge are remarkable, and we had a great time exchanging ideas about interpreting what has happened on the campus since we both arrived here as students and stayed on as employees. Roy Ruby, an alumnus and longtime administrator who recently retired, read the manuscript and offered much appreciated advice and clarifications of the subject matter. Roy is a remarkable storyteller, and he shared some wonderful tales with me; I regret I could not fit every one of them into the book. I hope someday he writes his memoirs, which would surely be a special addition to the university’s history. David Sansing, professor emeritus of history at the University of Mississippi, did a magnificent job of reading the manuscript, carefully proofreading every page and offering numerous suggestions which made the final product much better than it would have been. David has been a good friend for many years, and I appreciate his insights and his candor. Craig Gill of the University Press of Mississippi provided his usual support and encouragement. Carol Cox did her usual outstanding job of copyediting. Those who have worked with her along the way, as I have, expect no less. • xii •

preface and acknowledgments

I also thank my wife, Jan, for bearing with me through this project, which at times proved tedious. I know she is as glad as I am that it is finished, and she will be even more so when she completes all the proofreading that will take place before this book reaches bookstores. Most of all, I thank all those past, present, and future Maroons, or Bulldogs, who have made Mississippi State a great university in spite of hard financial times and many bumps in the road. Persistence, devotion, and dedication have prevailed, and I trust those qualities will continue to sustain the institution for the next 125 years and beyond.

• xiii •

1

Roots and Birth

D

uring the turmoil of the 1850s in the United States, when the issue of slavery gave birth to a new political party, the Republicans, and tore apart an old one, the Democrats, Justin Smith Morrill, a U.S. congressman from Vermont, had something on his mind more important to him than abolitionists, fire-eaters, Bloody Kansas, and Dred Scott. In February 1856, Morrill addressed the House of Representatives and proposed a board of agriculture empowered to set up “one or more national agricultural schools upon the basis of the naval and military schools, in order that one scholar from each Congressional district, and two from each State at large, may receive a scientific and practical education at the public expense.” Morrill’s father, a blacksmith by trade, had always regretted that he did not have access to a school that would have enhanced his life, so Morrill had very personal reasons for pursuing the creation of institutions that focused on agricultural and mechanical arts, in effect making practical educational opportunities available for the masses. Political realities set in; Morrill was a Republican in a House controlled by Democrats, including southern Democrats who would oppose anything sought by Republicans. Morrill had a fight on his hands, but he was able to use his parliamentary and political acumen to get his bill approved by the House. The legislation would have brought about the agricultural schools he sought, but the bill languished in the Senate. Though finally making it through that body, it was vetoed by President James Buchanan, ••

roots and birth

a Democrat. Yet Morrill’s vision set the stage for the land-grant college acts that were successfully enacted in 1862, during the midst of the Civil War. In December 1861, Morrill tried again by introducing his College Land Bill, which was reported unfavorably by the Committee on Public Lands. Apparently, in the milieu of a national crisis, the committee did not see such legislation as a high priority. Morrill refused to be dissuaded, and he gave a copy of the bill to Republican Senator Ben Wade of Ohio, who agreed to introduce it in the Senate, and did so on May 2, 1862. The bill was opposed by some who doubted that the government had the right to set aside public lands for even educational purposes, and opponents like Senator Jim Lane of Kansas kept the legislation hung up until June 10, when it passed by a vote of thirty-two to seven. In the House, Morrill managed to fend off continuing opposition from some House members. Delaying tactics finally failed, and the bill passed the House on June 17 by a vote of ninety to twenty-five. President Abraham Lincoln signed it on July 2, 1862. The legislation granted thirty thousand acres for each senator and representative from each state, as apportioned according to the census of 1860. States and territories receiving the acreage had authority to use the land to “provide Colleges for the Benefit of Agriculture and the Mechanic Arts.” Section 4 of the bill elaborated on the purpose of the establishment of “at least one college” in the states: “[T]he leading object shall be, without excluding other scientific and classical studies, and including military tactics, to teach such branches of learning as are related to agriculture and mechanic arts, in such manner as the legislatures of the State may respectively prescribe, in order to promote the liberal and practical education of the industrial classes in the several pursuits and professions in life. . . .” States then belonging to the Confederacy were, of course, denied the land grants until after the Civil War ended in 1865.1 Then came the political turmoil of Reconstruction, a period when white Mississippi males spent most of their efforts trying to regain control of the state. They had to wait for twelve years after the war ended. The presidential election of 1876 resulted in the Compromise of 1877, which led to Rutherford B. Hayes ascending to the White House, and Hayes, who was beholden to southern support for his victory, ended federal military occupation of the former Confederacy. Hayes’s action in effect ended Reconstruction and cleared the way for the “return of the predominantly ••

roots and birth

white Democratic party to power” in Mississippi. Democrats won big in state and local elections in 1876, and Republican whites who saw the direction of political winds began deserting their party. Within two years, blacks took over the state Republican Party, while Mississippi and other southern states eventually were controlled by white Democrats. The Republican presence in Mississippi did not die out right away, but its days were numbered, and it soon became irrelevant.2 The Reconstruction legislature of Mississippi acted on the land-grant program in 1871, when the University of Mississippi (the state’s first white university) and Alcorn University (a school for blacks) were named landgrant schools. Alcorn would have to wait a few years before its designation came to mean something, and the University of Mississippi’s attempts to establish an agricultural program lasted until 1876 when lack of student interest and disgruntled faculty leaving for other jobs led to the extinction of the land-grant mission.3 From 1876 through 1890, white politicians, many of whom had been Confederate officers, took over the state. These so-called “Redeemers” had been prewar Democrats. They promoted reconciliation with the North, rebuilding the state’s economy and maintaining white supremacy. They supported the railroad industry in the belief that an expansive railroad system would fuel other industrial growth. Agrarians, who hoped to see the state return to its prewar agricultural power based on cotton production, were not pleased to see the Redeemers emphasizing other economic venues. Redeemers in fact supported reemphasis of cotton production, but they believed that agricultural and industrial development must be balanced. The Redeemers’ Achilles heel proved to be their conservative economic tactics, which held down the tax base. Funds for state programs such as education proved sparse. While some blamed low taxes, others, especially agrarian leaders, accused Redeemer leaders “of corruption and incompetence.” Whatever the cause, the state’s economy grew slowly, despite advances in railroading, manufacturing, and diversification of agricultural products.4 By 1880, many small farmers were struggling to make a living on land that had once been a part of large plantations. The war and Reconstruction had resulted in the breakup of large holdings, and “the average size of a farm dropped from 370 acres in 1860 to 83 acres by 1900.” Many problems plagued farmers; the lien system kept them in debt and promoted ••

roots and birth

cash crop farming, which translated to cotton, thereby working against diversification. Scientific farming was unknown, so that land was abused, and farmers were further victimized by unscrupulous merchants who took advantage of the lack of economic knowledge among tillers of the soil. Farmers faced a longtime agrarian problem; they had to sell in a free, fluctuating market and buy in one restricted and controlled by businessmen and politicians who were wheeling and dealing at farmers’ expense.5 As a result of such developments, which also occurred beyond Mississippi borders, farmers began organizing within and outside the South. The Patrons of Husbandry, more popularly known as the Grange, began in the Midwest in 1867, and by the early 1870s had reached Mississippi. The Grange promoted fellowship among farmers and gave them a political voice. However, the Compromise of 1877 brought about the death of the Grange, mainly due to the reduced threat of Republicanism, poor structural organization, the failure of farm cooperative efforts, and the increased activity of farmers in the Democratic Party. Grange leadership preached against overt political activism, and its members were no longer willing to listen. Yet the Grange had exerted political influence in the state. At its peak, it had nearly thirty-one thousand members, a number which state government leaders could not afford to ignore. Individual Grange leaders, such as Putnam Darden, focused on one particular goal—the establishment of an agricultural and mechanical college. Only by educating young, potential agriculturalists could agrarians hope to operate their agricultural pursuits on a level playing field with those who had taken and would continue to take advantage of uneducated farmers.6 The state legislature, supported by Governor John M. Stone, responded in 1878 by establishing two agricultural schools, one for blacks and one for whites. Once again Alcorn, located in southwest Mississippi at Lorman, between Vicksburg and Natchez, was designated for transformation into an agricultural and mechanical college. The white school, called the Agricultural and Mechanical College of the State of Mississippi, was established “for the education of the white youth of the State.” The bill was passed in the senate by a vote of thirty to seven and in the house of representatives by fifty-nine to twenty-six, with some thirty-five not voting. Resistance had more to do with regional politics than the idea of the colleges themselves, though at the time the bill was passed, no one knew exactly where the new white school would be located. Governor Stone signed the bill into law on •˘•

roots and birth

February 28, 1878. According to the legislation, Stone had the power to appoint, with the advice and consent of the senate, nine persons to act as the board of trustees of the new college. At least five of the board should have agricultural and mechanical backgrounds. Each would serve a sixyear term, though in the beginning some served shorter tenures so that appointments could be staggered to provide continuity.7 The legislature expected the new college to provide a basic education, with emphasis on “scientific and practical” agriculture, as well as horticulture and the “mechanical arts.” An “experimental farm” of at least 160 acres would be available for practical training. Further, the school’s faculty was to train students in “the proper growth and care of stock, without, however, excluding other scientific and classical studies, including military tactics.” The shadow of institutions such as the United States Military Academy in West Point, New York, clearly influenced the thinking of those who established land-grant schools, especially in the South. Military instruction and activities had long been a part of the social fabric of southern society, and a lost civil war had not dampened the ardor of young southern males to learn the science of war.8 The initial board of trustees included Governor Stone as ex-officio president, Frank Burkitt of Okolona (secretary), W. B. Montgomery of Starkville, W. B. Augustus of Macon, T. C. Dockery of Hernando, C. L. Gilmer of Sharon, J. Z. George of Jackson, L. B. Brown of Enterprise, J. M. Causey of McComb, A. M. Paxton of Vicksburg, and W. L. Hemingway of Jackson (treasurer). Dockery’s, Gilmer’s, and Montgomery’s terms expired in 1882, Augustus’s, Burkitt’s, and George’s in 1884, and Brown’s, Causey’s, and Paxton’s in 1886. The board’s executive committee consisted of Montgomery, Burkitt and Augustus.9 The college’s first board of trustees had to immediately take up the issue of selecting a site for the building of the new white university. Governor John M. Stone called the board together for the first time on April 11, 1878, in the state senate chamber in Jackson. Almost all the board members had Grange backgrounds, and men like Frank Burkitt of Chickasaw County and Colonel W. B. Montgomery of Starkville wielded considerable political influence. The board met in Meridian on July 24 to begin the process of sorting through bids for the college by various towns, ranging in location from the Gulf Coast to the northern reaches of the state at Corinth. The board decided not to depend solely upon written presentations; soon •˘•

roots and birth

they boarded trains, provided by the Mobile and Ohio Railroad, to check out several locations. From the beginning of the selection process, it seemed obvious the board was leaning toward a location in east-central Mississippi. The Black Belt was there, which meant that young farmers would have excellent soil for their experimental work. Also, it seemed the board felt that the University of Mississippi adequately served west and central Mississippi. Southern Mississippi was not known for its fertile farmland. By December 13 when the board met to make the decision, the choices had been narrowed to Meridian and Starkville, with West Point still having some hope. Reasons for the board’s ultimate choice of Starkville remain somewhat vague and elusive, though there is little doubt that Colonel Montgomery played a key role in influencing other board members to bring the school to his hometown. Criticism from other parts of the state was to be expected, and indeed it came, though not in sufficient strength to change the decision.10 Starkville, the county seat of Oktibbeha County, was attached to the Mobile and Ohio by a branch line from Artesia, and that, plus a telegraph line, provided the town’s main access to the outside world. The town had its beginnings in the 1830s when it was known as Boardtown; the name was changed to Starkville in honor of John Stark, a Revolutionary War hero. Starkville had not enjoyed the fruits of being on a major rail line, which, while slowing its economic development, had kept it from being razed during the Civil War. A brief visit by Union cavalry, commanded by Benjamin Grierson during his famous raid as part of the Vicksburg campaign, had been Starkville’s only brush with military action. After the war, the future looked bright for Starkville. A new county courthouse was planned, and Colonel Montgomery worked to get northern money to build up the town. Ties to the Mobile and Ohio had positive ramifications for shipping and receiving goods and services. Real estate, bolstered by the presence of a small female college and a boys’ preparatory school, seemed on the upswing. Major protestant denominations gave the area solid religious underpinnings. Lawyers, newspapers, and agriculture flourished; Starkville indeed seemed a good fit for the new college.11 The board of trustees now turned their attention to selecting a site for construction. Ultimately, they decided on a 350-acre area owned by William •˘•

roots and birth

Bell, who would later offer an additional 40 acres where his personal residence stood. The purchase price was a reasonable $2,450. The acreage of other lands included in Starkville’s bid package for the college is unclear.12 Next came the challenge of putting together plans for construction of buildings. In 1879, the Vicksburg, Mississippi, architectural firm of Manser and Zucker was awarded the contract to draw blueprints for a combination classroom and administration building and submit them to a board committee chaired by D. L. Phares. Once the board approved the submissions, bids were sought for construction and were received in amounts ranging from $13,000 to $27,000. C. M. Rubush had the low bid of $13,633.67, which was increased to $15,238.37 “to embellish the structure with a 210 foot onestory gallery on the east and south sides.” The building, featuring American Gothic architecture, was to consist of three floors and a basement. Evolving plans called for the first floor to contain the chapel and the offices of the college president and his secretary, the second to house agriculture, English, and mathematics departments plus a drawing laboratory, and the third would be home to the preparatory department (the local boys’ preparatory school would be merged with the college), the mathematical instrument laboratory, and the entomology department.13 Construction deadlines were not initially met; the building had been scheduled for completion by the first day of 1880, and construction did not begin until July of 1879. A cornerstone ceremony in September 1879 included Masonic rites, music by the Aberdeen High School Band, remarks by architect Adolph Zucker and by Frank Burkitt, and a lengthy speech by U.S. Senator James Z. George.14 Even as music and lofty rhetoric echoed across the prairie around the new campus, board members worried over how the new building would be paid for. Interest on land funds and private funds provided only limited resources, and the state legislature had appropriated no money. Leaders of the Grange once more stepped forward to pressure lawmakers into funding both construction costs and faculty salaries. Putnam Darden quickly pointed out the amount of recent state funding for the University of Mississippi (twenty-seven thousand dollars for annual expenses) and for the black school at Alcorn (fifty thousand dollars per year for three years). The trustees and Governor Stone also called for a significant appropriation. The legislature listened and approved fifty thousand dollars for 1880 and thirty-five thousand dollars for the following year.15 •˘•

roots and birth

The funding specifically targeted general improvements, purchases of books, maps, livestock, and farming equipment. The house attempted to force the college faculty to spend their breaks from classes to lecture to citizens around the state on subjects as directed by the board. The senate refused to go along, and the measure thus attached to the appropriations did not pass. Yet it is significant that the incident foretold a time when the college, through farmer institutes and its extension and experiment station operations, would reach out to the farming community throughout Mississippi. The Grange’s influence, especially as it represented agricultural interests, continued to play a strong role in seeing to it that the college got off to a good start upon a solid foundation. The A&M College indeed was a product of the times from which it emerged.16 Meanwhile, the board moved along with its planning; a three-story dormitory, designed to house 250 students in 115 rooms, would not open in time for the first class in 1880, but would be ready by the second year of operation. Adolph Zucker became part of the faculty, an instructor in drawing, and supervised landscaping of the new campus. Despite the planning advances and legislative appropriations, one great question remained. Who would lead the college through its formative years? The political leadership of Mississippi following Reconstruction had Confederate and agricultural roots. Thus it seemed likely that whoever became the institution’s first president would be in the same mold. After the board reviewed a rather lengthy list of nominees, that indeed turned out to be the case.17

•˘•

2 The Formative Years under General Lee, 1880–1899

S

tephen Dill Lee was born in South Carolina, September 22, 1833, to a well-to-do family in Charleston. Family trees indicated a very distant kinship to Confederate General Robert E. Lee, so distant that for many years Stephen believed that he was not kin to the famed Virginian. Educated at the United States Military Academy, West Point, New York, Stephen graduated seventeenth out of forty-six in the class of 1854. He was a veteran of the Seminole Indian wars in Florida and served in various midwestern posts before leaving the army to serve in the military of the Confederacy in 1861. At the beginning of the Civil War, he was a member of the three-man party that demanded the surrender of Fort Sumter. He fought with distinction at Second Manassas in the eastern theater and during the Vicksburg campaign in the west. By war’s end, he had risen to the rank of lieutenant general, the youngest to achieve that rank in the Confederacy. Near the end of the war, Lee, who had served for many months in Mississippi, married Regina Harrison of Columbus, located a few miles east of Starkville. After the war, Lee and his family settled in Columbus, and he had a relatively easy life during Reconstruction. He inherited large land holdings from his wife’s side of the family, but he did not thrive as a farmer, though erratic cotton prices during the postwar years made it difficult for anyone tilling the soil to do well. Lee gradually gravitated toward the insurance business and politics. He became one of the so-called “Redeemers,” southern leaders who wanted both a new South and vestiges of the old. ••

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

Like many ex-Confederate officers who had aristocratic airs, Lee plunged into politics in 1877, getting elected to the state senate. Unlike many other of the wealthier class of planters, Lee was a member of the Grange, so his credentials were in order when the trustees of the new A&M College began their search for a president.1 How Stephen Lee’s name came up for consideration for the presidential post is a mystery, though it can be assumed that some members of the board were not pleased with the initial pool of candidates. Even so, when the trustees cast their vote, Lee was not a unanimous choice; he won over an educator named G. S. Roudebush from south Mississippi by a six-to-three margin. As a consolation prize, the board made Roudebush head of the English department.2 In addition to Roudebush, the initial faculty consisted of D. L. Phares, professor of biology, R. F. Kedzie, acting professor of chemistry and physics, F. A. Gulley, acting professor of scientific and practical agriculture and horticulture, E. B. Bolton, a lieutenant in the Twenty-third Infantry of the United States Army, who was commandant of students and acting professor of mathematics and engineering, W. T. J. Sullivan, professor in charge of the preparatory department, T. B. Bailey, assistant in preparatory department and instructor in ancient languages, W. R. Harper, W. S. Roudebush, and J. F. Sellers, all assistants in the preparatory department, W. H. Gibbs, instructor in writing, W. B. Lucas, steward, and Frank Johnston, foreman of the farm. Initial enrollment included 14 sophomores, 73 freshmen, and 267 in the preparatory department, for a total of 354.3 President Lee based his strategic plan for operating the new institution on the legislative acts at the federal and state levels that led to the creation of the college. Lee understood that the focus must be on agriculture and mechanical arts. Other areas of studies would be secondary, “as instruments to more readily comprehend the sciences which underlie agriculture and the mechanic arts.”4 Lee went on to elaborate in his first report: The complexion of the College must be such as to familiarize students with the leading objects as set forth . . . viz: To educate and direct their minds and tastes to agriculture, horticulture, care and growth of stock, management of farms, manner of performing labor and the mechanic arts. • 10 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

â•… This necessitates that special stress should be laid on the sciences, such as chemistry, botany, geology, zoology, entomology, physiology, physics, mechanics, mathematics, etc., which underlie agriculture and the mechanic arts. To understand properly these sciences, a liberal education, especially in English, is requisite. The varied conditions contributing to an intelligent understanding of agriculture as a science and an art, includes an education as broad and liberal as that needed in mastering any profession; it differs, however in kind: it is to be industrial and practical. Students must be familiar, not only with farms and labor, but must also labor themselves, and this labor is a part of their education. It is educational in so far as it is in illustration of studies taught in the recitation room.5 The reference to recitation, rather than classroom, indicated a characteristic practice of nineteenth-century higher education. The opening date for the new college changed several times due to construction delays, but finally October 6, 1880, was settled upon. The dormitory was not ready and would not be until the spring semester, but the academic/administration building was. Lee asked local and area residents to help out with temporary housing by offering students an eight-dollars-amonth rate, and many complied. On the sixth, trains brought in students and visitors, and a large crowd, estimated at more than a thousand, filled the auditorium, called the chapel, for opening ceremonies that included Governor John M. Stone, who presided. The exact text of Lee’s address has not survived, but press accounts reported that he talked about the positives and necessities of industrial education, the essential nature of studying agriculture, and the college’s commitment to educating farmers and mechanics. Lee spoke hopefully of industrial development and growth across the South, indications of his embrace of the so-called “New South” philosophy of building economies compatible with the rest of the nation.6 Enrollment for the inaugural semester surpassed expectations, reaching 354, some 104 over Lee’s expectations. However, many students did drop out during the year, and Lee did not panic, for he felt that the physical facilities and faculty on hand could better handle 250. The college administration needed to learn its job before more students came and stayed. Most of • 11 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

the enrollees were from Oktibbeha County and the surrounding area, though young men came from all across the state. A potential political problem was apparent, however, for it was obvious that local lodging facilities were being monopolized by students from the area around Starkville. Voices calling for apportioning enrollment more equally across Mississippi soon emerged and grew in volume. Lee surely had more important things to worry about initially, like simply seeing to it that the college was able to meet the needs of students. The local boys’ school was taken under the administrative umbrella of the school to help out students who wanted to attend but were academically unqualified. Of the original 354, there were 267 who had to enter the prep school in order to get the background they needed to do college-level work.7 These pioneering students had to produce acceptable scholastic work, and they learned quickly that they were expected to be laborers at all sorts of tasks. General Lee, as well as the founding fathers, felt that students working at various jobs would be a basic underlying theme of the new college’s philosophy. The concept was democratic in nature, for it meant that a student’s financial status meant nothing; all who attended A&M had to work. Such a philosophy was a major factor in producing the idea of the new college being a “people’s college,” a place where a level playing field would be encouraged, indeed enforced. Whether living in the main dormitory or commuting as day students, enrollees were “required to work, and from two to three hours of the afternoon were set aside for this activity, the weather permitting.” Required labor was limited to the five class days, Monday–Friday, but students who wanted to do more could work on Saturdays or do extra hours during the week. Students were paid, the idea being that their earnings would be applied toward their college expenses, thus giving youngsters from poor families a chance to come to college without worrying about tuition. The plan did not always produce a positive budget situation for the college, but Lee and the board stuck with it.8 The impact of student labor had a positive effect on campus. The parade ground, or drill field, was cleared of stumps, and the college farm, including a garden and orchard, flourished with the help of the army of field hands. The students endured the labor, though they sometimes got boisterous in carrying out their jobs, to the point that a regulation to control loud, • 12 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

disrespectful vocal behavior had to be enacted. Lee bragged on the results at every opportunity, pointing out that the “labor feature” was consistent with the philosophies at the United States army and naval academies.9 Lee’s allusions to military schools were telling. The aging general did not try to turn his college into a school of military science, but he took to heart the land-grant legislative language calling for inclusion of military instruction in the curriculum. He had a West Point background, after all, and though all students became cadets, Lee did not become a martinet. In fact, the first commandant, Colonel Edward Bolton, left the college after trying to be too tough in implementing the demerit system. Lee would have none of that. The military concept was another democratic equalizer; all participated, regardless of their social status back home. Lee and the trustees did all they could to avoid a caste system on the campus.10 Gray uniforms made in south Mississippi by Mississippi Mills, located in Wesson, were purchased by the college and sold to students at a cost of twelve to fourteen dollars. Later, other suppliers would be involved in providing uniforms, and seniors would be allowed special clothing to set them apart. Lee managed to secure enough military equipment to give the cadets experience in drilling with weapons. The federal government supplied two artillery pieces. Four companies formed the college battalion, and the students quickly developed a sense of camaraderie and pride in their collective drilling skills. Many individual cadets went on to distinguish themselves in wars and in the Mississippi National Guard. The military tradition at the college became strong and endured up through the Vietnam War; the aftermath of that controversial conflict led to a nationwide decline on military requirements for male students. Nevertheless, General Lee’s support of military training was a significant thread of the fabric of the people’s college. As the pioneer historian of the college/university phrased it, Lee “found room in his scheme of things for both swords and ploughshares.”11 The early students no doubt found their college adventure both intimidating and exciting. Many made their initial journeys to the campus via trains, which had little climate control in passenger cars, other than windows, and usually smelled of smoke. A spur line from the Mobile and Ohio Railroad connected the community of Artesia, some ten miles southeast of Starkville, to A&M. The students arriving in the early 1880s found an institution of higher learning still in the physical building process and grounds that were hardly manicured, were in fact covered with all sorts of weeds. • 13 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

Homesickness prevailed, a traditional malady among new students; many decided they would rather be home, and home they went. Most stayed and endured the lack of facilities and amenities, and they drew strength from fellow students with whom they shared deprivations and uncertainties and a sense of pride that they had made decisions to tough it out in this new life. The challenges were many, such as having to live in local homes until the dorm was ready, and then when the dorm opened, they found rooms with beds and little else. Eventually iron bed frames replaced the original wooden structures, but students had to provide whatever other furnishings they could find and afford.12 Students also had to pay for their own heat, provided by a coal fireplace in each room. Coal could be bought from the college, but the dorm residents had to see to transporting the coal to their rooms. Upperclassmen quickly learned to use their seniority by intimidating new students to keep the fires going. The process of getting coal to rooms also provided opportunities for students to make noise with scuttles, which were metal pails used to transport coal. Tossing empty scuttles down halls or staircases, or tying them to calf tails and herding the calves down the hall were favorite pastimes. Students used kerosene to light fires and lamps, but the liquid proved to be a fire hazard; Lee began urging the board to consider electrification for lights, and eventually steam heating replaced coal.13 Bathroom facilities were not available in rooms, though with pitchers, pans, soap, bath cloths, and towels, one could get by. Early on, a bathhouse provided opportunities for a real bath, and in 1884 the board approved funds for bathtubs and a pool to facilitate cleanliness. Not until the 1890s did the administration propose heating the bathhouse during winter months. Faculty received a directive to see to it that the students bathed at least once a week. As for facilities for bodily functions, the privy, outhouse, or “dry air closet” proved to be the best the college could provide during the Lee years.14 Students had to launder their own clothes or hire them cleaned, for it would be several years before a campus laundry facility appeared. When hiring the job done, students followed a procedure of leaving their soiled attire for men, usually African Americans, to pick up outside the dorm, where the clothing was loaded into wagons for trips to the cleaners. Pickups were normally on Monday and returns on Friday.15 Students ate in the campus mess hall, later called the cafeteria, and, though they apparently ate rather well, complaints commonly filled the air. • 14 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

Complaining about college cafeteria food is another longtime tradition, and A&M was no exception. Nevertheless, the expressed irritations about food seemed to indicate more smoke than fire. The costs were reasonable; in the early years, students could eat for less than ten dollars a month, depending upon economic circumstances faced by the college in securing food. A typical meal during the Lee years might include slices of bread, biscuits, macaroni, corn bread muffins, beef, molasses, and tea, coffee, or milk (beverages were served at different locations which segregated students based on their choice). Since the college boys worked vegetable gardens, it can be assumed that the varying vegetables were available for most of the year.16 Aside from seeing to their daily living duties, students had a rather full schedule during the week. Reveille sounded at 5:30 a.m., breakfast was at 6:30, chapel at 7:45, and classes until noon. Other morning rituals included police call at 6 (cleaning rooms) and guard mounting at 7. Lunch, or dinner as it was then called, started at 12:05, study time lasted from 1 to 3 p.m., work from 3 to 6, recall from work at 6, military parade at 6:30, and supper at 6:45. Evening study lasted from 7:45 to 9:30; tattoo (a pre-taps bugle call) came at 9:30 and taps at 10. Even on Sundays, students had to endure a strict schedule with time allotted morning and afternoon for church. Local ministers not only encouraged students to attend their churches but also took turns conducting services in the campus chapel.17 Students had no opportunity to participate in their own governance, other than when student military leaders administered discipline as allowed by the Lee administration. Sometimes, however, students acted as vigilantes, when they saw the need, without sanction from the administration. For example, in 1884, some women of disreputable reputation detrained at the campus depot and were attacked with switches by some thirty students. One can only speculate that, given the attitudes toward women of young college men, these women must have indeed been despicable. A faculty committee refused to punish the spankers. Presumably the “spankees” got back on the train and left the campus. The students took pledges, especially not to drink or gamble, in order to get their colleagues reinstated after expulsion or freed from threats of dismissal, and their actions constituted self-government of a sort. Students also formed committees to attack social problems, such as gambling. Student juries in such cases were often more strict than faculty, so that those convicted would occasionally find themselves ironically appealing • 15 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

to faculty for succor. Lee and the faculty also appealed to students for their cooperation in stopping plagiarism and “jacking,” or cheating on examinations and written assignments. The practice proved to be a serious problem in spite of attempts to get the students to police themselves and would continue to plague future administrations.18 Despite the rigors of campus life, students found time to get away and relax, usually on Saturday. Some hiked and camped out, some hunted, though they were forced to use sticks, for example, to kill rabbits, since guns were not allowed except for drilling. The boys sometimes hunted en masse, which increased their chances of being able to bag with clubs fleet-footed small animals. Of course, a most popular pastime involved courtships with local females, a leisure activity increased by the enrollment of females beginning in 1882. A local female seminary and the establishment in 1884 of the Industrial Institute and College (later renamed the Mississippi State College for Women, or MSCW, and eventually the Mississippi University for Women, MUW) in nearby Columbus increased the possibilities for feminine companionship. Indeed, the Columbus girls’ school sometimes sent its entire student body to visit A&M and vice versa, especially on selected holidays. Athletic events also proved to be occasions of mixed company.19 Formally organized fraternities were initially illegal on campus, perhaps because Lee feared that such groups might exercise undue influence in the administration of the college. Nevertheless, students got a taste of social clubs in the form of literary societies. Two were established in the first year of A&M’s existence, the Dialectic Society and the Philotechnic Society. Meetings usually consisted of discussions, lectures, and essays, and the boys, who preferred socializing to intellectual sparring, did not appreciate the faculty’s insistence that the meetings be open to the public. Having an audience forced the boys to maintain a level of formality. Unlike future fraternities, the two organizations boasted of memberships that included as much as two-thirds of the student body. In the early years, the two societies used campus facilities, such as the second floor of the mess hall, but later they had separate structures for meetings. The two societies created a number of ongoing activities. The Dialectic group began publishing the Dialectic Star in the 1883–1884 school year, and the next year the name changed to the Dialectic Reflector. The publication was the forerunner of the campus newspaper, the Reflector. The early • 16 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

issues contained news and essays, and in 1887–1888, the Philotechnic group joined in production of the Dialectic Reflector, the name being changed to the College Reflector. The two societies also sponsored entertainment on campus, and members appeared on the commencement programs. Whatever they did at commencement apparently did not go over well with college officials, for eventually their participation ceased. In 1897, a couple of members wrote articles critical of the Lee administration, which resulted not only in the dismissal of the students but the forced resignation of two professors and the outright firing of two others who leaked details of the faculty vote on the student dismissals. The Reflector would continue to occasionally irritate, but Lee and future presidents learned to deal with the paper in a more peaceful manner.20 The Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA) organized a campus chapter in 1882, with future college president Buz Walker the first president. It shared facilities with the literary societies for a time, cramped though they were. The campus Y sent delegates to the state YMCA conventions and to summer training schools, and conducted Bible studies, prayer sessions, and Sunday afternoon services. It promoted physical recreational activities and competitions, as well as parlor games and campus recreational facilities. Eventually the Y would have a building, which still stands.21 Other organizations during the Lee era included the Lee Guards, an elite military organization of student cadets established in 1885, and the P. B. Club (what the initials stood for is unknown), which was apparently nothing more than a social club devoted mostly to rather infantile mischief by its members. Though fraternities continued to be outlawed through the Lee years, Sigma Alpha Epsilon was one of several that existed by the 1890s. Apparently, the groups escaped dismissal by the Lee administration, the SAE in particular because it lost its charter due to Lee’s influence, and the others because they never were officially chartered. The SAE caused a split among some members of the student body between those who supported and those who opposed fraternal organizations. Threats of fistfights caused the faculty to expel fourteen SAE members in 1892. The offenders were eventually reinstated after they signed a pledge to break up the SAE and after members of the sophomore, junior, and senior classes unanimously supported a petition drive asking for reinstatement of the expelled students. The fraternity controversy would continue well beyond the Lee years.22 • 17 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

An alumni organization was also established during the Lee years, and this group has persisted and thrived from its beginning in 1885, when R. M. Beattie of the first graduating class of 1883 was elected the initial president. Biennial meetings were held through 1900, when they were replaced by annual meetings. The existence of an alumni association encouraged class reunions and county and state alumni organizations, all of which promoted support for the college, both intellectually and financially. Alumni supported Lee during political attacks, spoke out in support of strict academic requirements, and made recommendations for improvements in the literary societies. The association’s influence would continue to grow and be conspicuous in a variety of ways.23 A popular social venue, a mixture of pomp, pride, and exultation, occurred periodically and with much anticipation. Commencement signaled a time of emphasis on oration competition and declamations, when students could expound and otherwise sound off. Literary societies held debates, and the graduation period seemed to culminate the rhetorical activities that students participated in throughout the academic year. At the first commencement in 1883, the respected U.S. senator from Mississippi L. Q. C. Lamar demonstrated his own considerable speaking skills in a two-hour oration. The oratorical phase of college life also gained inspiration from lyceum speakers, which included specialists in a broad range of knowledge. Graduation also gave all students a chance to show off their collective military acumen through dress parades. After parades, other formal activities began, including commencement balls, when visiting bands and young ladies enlivened and brightened the campus. When the balls for a time fell victim to anti-dance protests, receptions took their place, and bands still came to entertain. Senior classes also held banquets during the commencement periods.24 With all the activities of daily and academic life came the necessity for discipline, and one would expect with the West Point flavor on the campus that rules and regulations would be enacted in accordance with military tradition. The students were, after all, young men who would test the limitations of a college as they had those of their parents. Lee understood that his disciplinary tactics must be “mild but firm.” He had seen the problems of making free-spirited volunteers into an effective army during the Civil War years, and he understood that a combination of hard-line and gentle forbearance would be essential in handling the youngsters entrusted to his care.25 • 18 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

In fact Lee did not place regulations into print until 1887, and these apparently were adapted from the Alabama Military Institute (University of Alabama). The regulations included a pledge in which students promised to obey college rules, not to possess deadly weapons (except those furnished for military drill), to avoid any connection with any kind of secret clubs or societies, and to refrain from hazing of new students. The latter issue was rather benign during the Lee years, but it would emerge as a problem with later administrations.26 The rules and regulations included the keeping of uniforms clean and ready for inspection. Each had to maintain three pairs of gloves, two pairs of gray pants which contained a black stripe on the outside of each leg, one gray “blouse,” a forage cap (reminiscent of those worn during the Civil War), stiff collars, and other clothes to work in. Hair must be short. Students quickly learned that the military regimen included assembling in formation and marching back and forth to classes, meals, work, church, chapel, and a variety of other destinations. Another adopted West Point tradition involved having student sentinels and room and hall orderlies check on fellow students to make sure everyone was where he was supposed to be and behaving as expected. An overall superintendent watched over the sentinels and orderlies.27 Other rules involved proper hanging of curtains, regulation of playing musical instruments in the dormitory, no placing of items on dorm room walls, no defacing of any part of buildings or furniture, no personal servants (obviously aimed at students who came from upper economic tiers) or pets, no cooking or otherwise preparing food in the dorm, such as provisions for entertaining. Civilian visitors were not allowed in the dorm, but during graduation this regulation was often ignored. Other prohibitions included the tossing of items from windows, the pouring of water into the hallways, and the throwing of stone or any other kind of hard object near the dorm, unless one had permission, which was a curious caveat. To hold down noise, college officials declared there would be no “running, loud talking, scuffling, whistling, singing, or unnecessary noise” in the dorm.28 Absences without permission were especially frowned upon. Students leaving the dorm should report to sentinels, preferably, but in any case, they had to let someone know where they were if they left the dorm. An unauthorized absence of more than half an hour required an official investigation to make sure the absence was justified. Anyone gone for two hours • 19 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

or more without permission could be thrown out of school. Permission could be obtained to visit private families, to attend church, or for other purposes deemed appropriate by proper authority.29 Two vices that plagued Civil War armies, and therefore were certainly on General Lee’s mind in dealing with his students, were gambling and drinking. The legislature acted in 1880 to pass a law forbidding the drinking of alcoholic beverages within a five-mile radius of the new campus, the only exception being distribution of same for medicinal purposes, if approved by the mayor of Starkville. Physicians also had to file appropriate papers with the local chancery court to legitimize the medicinal prescriptions. Even after all that each student would be limited to a quart of such medicine per week. Strangely enough, college faculty could provide beverages to students for health reasons, which meant that faculty could, in effect, also act as physicians. Beyond these parameters, a student could not possess liquor in any form, could not visit places that sold liquor, and could be dismissed from school if found in such places or if judged by Lee to be a habitual drunkard. The legislature also provided fines and jail time for those who violated the law.30 The legislature also got in on a gambling ban at A&M. No gambling operation of any kind would be permitted within a five-mile perimeter of the campus. Lee and his administration reinforced this ban by making rules against any kind of gambling games, such as poker, on campus, and banning any cards or other devices used in games of chance from the dorm. Punishment would be severe, Lee warned, and could include being expelled from college.31 Lee and other campus officials quickly found out that the instituting of rules and regulations against drinking and gambling were little more than challenges to innovative students. Somehow they managed to sell liquor at graduation exercises, and certain entrepreneurs in Starkville chose to ignore legal ramifications by selling liquor to students. Lee particularly complained about some local drugstores which apparently were selling beverages illegally. Local law enforcement did nothing, and Lee concluded by the early 1890s that the liquor laws were hopeless and legal remedies a farce. Lee did try to make statements on campus, as when he dismissed from school a member of the junior class for drunkenness, and the rest of the class pledged total abstinence in order to get their fellow student readmitted.32 • 20 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

Students also managed to gamble in spite of restrictions. True, they practiced this vice off campus, especially at athletic events and fairs. Sometimes large groups attended regional fairs, and Lee would get word of gambling activities. Lee also knew that the dorm was a center of all sorts of gambling, and he would occasionally kick offenders out of school, most of whom returned when their classmates, as in cases of drinking, promised to abstain. A vigilance committee was set up to try cases of those caught participating in games of chance, and the board banned gambling among faculty in an effort to totally cleanse the campus. All these efforts may have encouraged caution, but it is unlikely such activities altogether ceased.33 Smoking was a military tradition, and the practice had not yet become known as a health hazard, so Lee initially did nothing to stop students from lighting up, chewing, or dipping. He made it clear that he personally opposed smoking, however, and cigarette-initiated fires in the dorm forced him to ban the practice in or near all buildings on campus. Student guards checked dorm rooms to ensure against violations. An apparent exception to the ban of smoking in buildings ended when the faculty abolished smoking outside classrooms during classes.34 With such strong concerns for shaping high moral standards for students, Lee, the faculty, and community leaders, not surprisingly, also wrestled with the issue of dancing. Located deep in the so-called Bible Belt, the college was closely watched by religious leaders, the most fundamental of which thought dancing to be sinful. Local ministers encouraged the abolition of on-campus commencement dances or balls. They especially detested using chapel facilities for such events. The college board left that issue to be decided by faculty, which suggested defusing the controversy by changing the name of the chapel to College Hall. In 1887, however, after no doubt becoming more sensitive to criticism, the faculty decided to abolish balls beginning the next year. Students continually petitioned for reinstatement of the dance, and in 1892, they were successful. During the interim, students took dancing lessons on a regular basis, which suggests that “illegal” dances were occurring all the while. The rebirth of the balls in 1892 caused one local pastor to announce that any students attending his church who decided to go to the dance would not be allowed to come to the church.35 Aside from disciplinary issues regarding college students, Lee had the additional task of trying to control preparatory enrollees, many of which • 21 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

were problem children from problem homes. Obviously some parents confused the word preparatory with reformatory.36 Despite Lee’s best efforts, supported by the faculty, board, and local citizens, A&M students frequently misbehaved, sometimes to the point of rebellion. Seniors feeling their oats as they looked toward leaving and entering the world to make their mark proved to be frequent leaders among troublemakers. Sometimes students, perhaps emboldened by a mob spirit, went too far and were sent home. Some wanted to go home, such as the young man who set the dorm on fire in 1898 in order to be kicked out of school. Despite such problems, the college managed for the most part to keep a lid on behavior, and perhaps Lee understood that young men would act like young men regardless of long lists of regulations. The troublemakers were apparently outnumbered to the point that the college moved forward in spite of those who insisted on testing the rules and those who attempted to enforce them.37 Most of the problems were more infantile, though doubtless somewhat annoying to those who tried to keep students on the straight and narrow. Many violations extended from the Lee years into future presidential administrations, and through their continuity many became traditions. Sometimes the boys misbehaved during chapel and church services, and members of the “Pick-’Em-Up Club” openly scavenged chickens, turkeys, soup, crackers, and other items from whoever might offer an opportunity, including careless faculty. Jumping aboard box cars and cowcatchers to get free train rides was not an unusual occurrence. Pranks abounded, especially with available firearms on campus. Cannon occasionally propelled missiles where none had been intended to go; firecrackers livened up the dorm; yelling out of windows, especially at faculty, was a popular pastime; blowing bugles and ringing bells at unauthorized times counteracted boredom; and the tried and true tradition of cutting classes to take care of some need, or, more likely, just for the heck of it, flourished from the college’s beginning. Accumulations of demerits and shipping students home blunted much petty misbehavior, though certainly did not eliminate it. A committee on discipline helped deal with offenders and offenses.38 The disciplinary problems tested Lee’s diplomatic skills, especially when a student was asked to leave. Lee sometimes had to deal with irate parents, who assumed their child must be innocent. In other instances, Lee tried to provide guidance so that a student who wished to continue his education • 22 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

might find a school less restrictive. Lee also counseled students who stayed, but who exhibited unacceptable behavior at one time or another. At times, he must have recalled his wartime experiences in dealing with troublesome privates.39 While setting up a disciplinary framework certainly occupied a large portion of Lee’s time, his greatest challenges involved setting a philosophical and pedagogical course for the new college. He promoted agriculture as his top priority. Agriculture meant in part a curriculum in dairying, and for many years the institution would be known as the “cow college.” In the twenty-first century that appellation has faded into history, except when used in a derogatory manner by the students and alumni of the archrival University of Mississippi. Yet Lee and the other founders were not embarrassed by the appellation; indeed, they embraced it with pride. Lee had something to prove, for his own farming efforts had not been very successful, and many doubted he could provide quality leadership in the agricultural realm. He was determined not only to establish agriculture as the main foundation stone, but also to entice northern capital to help create an agribusiness concept, long before that term came into use. He hoped to lead the way toward mechanization by using funds from wherever he could get them to educate his students in the use of agricultural machinery. Lee was a disciple of “New South” philosopher Henry Grady of Georgia, and, like Grady, he envisioned a future south where scientific agricultural principles and mechanization went hand in hand. Businessmen per se did not enjoy an especially high place in southern culture, and in an area that still contained vestiges of the frontier ethic— that is, one was expected to attain success through hard work, not college-learned business principles—the concept of business as part of the college’s early curriculum was confined mostly to bookkeeping. Lee understood well enough that business concepts could not be ignored, so from the beginning, bookkeeping was emphasized if not considered a top priority. The financial secretary of A&M taught classes initially, and after his death in 1887, the mathematics department assumed responsibility for instruction. The training helped several graduates find jobs in business, and planters began to adopt principles of merchandising.40 In 1892, Buz M. Walker, head of the math department, offered, with Lee’s blessing, a “commercial course.” Walker’s instruction included lessons in business arithmetic, which involved studies in interest, profit and loss, • 23 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

stocks, exchanges (foreign and domestic), banking, and business partnerships. Emphasis in other academic areas forced some entrenchment in the training offered in the late 1890s. Nevertheless, business, especially agribusiness, curricula had been born and would eventually grow more prominent.41 Frank Gulley was a northerner who believed in Lee’s ideas of expanding the South’s vision of agriculture, and Lee hired Gulley as the college’s first professor of agriculture. Gulley had studied agriculture, including the problems in the post–Civil War South, and he believed that the concept of “King Cotton” must go the way of plantation slavery. Gulley, like board member and Starkville resident W. B. Montgomery, preached that livestock and dairying were the waves of the immediate future. In effect, Lee, Gulley, Montgomery, and others wanted the college to promote agricultural diversification, rather than turn out students who continued Mississippi’s practice of depending upon cotton as a sole money crop. Montgomery had a love affair with the dairy industry, dating back to before the war when he imported Jersey cows. He planted seed around Oktibbeha to provide grasses and grains to feed his cows, and in 1875, three years before the college had been created by the legislature, Montgomery founded the Southern Livestock Journal to promote dairying. As long as Lee and Gulley pushed the teaching and practical applications of the cattle industry in general and dairying in particular, they would have a strong supporter in Montgomery. Montgomery no doubt played a key role, or at least had a great influence, in the development of a college herd, which grew to such proportions that the trustees had to insist on measures to keep the cows out of gardens and orchards. Cows became a tradition quickly, as demonstrated by a stock sale that became part of commencement activities, originating in 1882, only two years after the doors had opened. Lee made the most of the publicity, announcing that the college intended to develop a dairy, with the cows providing beef, butter, and milk for student consumption, and dairy husbandry soon became part of the academic milieu. In 1885, a college creamery was established to further Lee’s plans. The creamery led to the establishment of others in Mississippi, including two in Starkville, one each in Meridian and Macon, and one in Bolton, a small community west of Jackson. The college experiment station eventually got heavily involved in dairying as a result of the program’s successes in the agriculture department.42 • 24 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

Aside from progressive ideas gained from textbooks on agriculture, which he apparently read in abundance, Gulley had to set up the experiment-oriented farm, which the legislature had written up as part of the college’s charge. He and his students faced a challenge, for the land originally set aside for the farm was poor, though an additional 844 acres purchased in 1882, added to the 842 on the first track, provided flexibility. Nevertheless, students had to labor hard to dig drainage ditches, build fences, fertilize, plant, and harvest to make the farm viable. Though Lee, inspired by a trip to the northwestern states where mechanization was being implemented, and Gulley preached mechanization, they did not have the funding to carry it forth. Mechanization in fact would not come to Mississippi in a significant way until the mid-twentieth century. Lee and Gulley were indeed voices in the wilderness. Gulley plunged ahead, however, and under his leadership, agricultural activities at the A&M College were impressive. With support from Lee and the trustees, Gulley used cottonseed to fertilize the poor soil on the experimental farmland, and he studied the possibilities of using cottonseed and its by-products to complement grasses used for forage for cattle. He promoted cowpeas, readily and widely available across most parts of the South as feed and to produce green manure, which aided low-income farmers who could not afford to buy commercial fertilizer.43 Before his departure to work at the Texas Experiment Station in 1888, Gulley made other significant contributions to the college’s fledgling agricultural program. The experimental farm thrived enough to provide adequate food for students and to sell products to local and area residents. Gulley also wrote an agricultural textbook, elemental enough for training students in Mississippi schools and in the prep school at the college. When Gulley left, the agricultural department was led by two successors in the next five years, the second of which, like Gulley, found greener pastures in Texas. Thus, even in its formative years, the college faced a problem that has proved to be continuous, losing professors to states able to pay better salaries. A college alumnus, W. C. Welborn, class of 1886, became chair of the department in 1893 and restored some of the stability wrought by Gulley. In fact, Welborn played an important role in the expansion of dairying operations.44 A natural corollary to dairying was veterinary science, and in 1885 Lee urged the legislature to fund a position for a chair in that field. Lee hoped • 25 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

that a professional veterinarian could be employed to train students. Two years later, the funding came, though in an insufficient amount to attract a qualified veterinarian, but eventually the experiment station contributed funds, and whoever would take the job was promised the opportunity to engage in a private practice to supplement the salary. Tait Butler accepted the job, and by 1897 veterinary science had become a permanent part of the curriculum.45 Another major step in the area of agriculture was the organization of a department of horticulture. Available college property was divided between agriculture per se and horticulture. The horticulture department’s responsibilities included providing food for the cafeteria and to sell. Lee also insisted that the department become active in a silkworm project. Lee was not pleased with his first professor of horticulture, J. J. Colmant, and in 1884 Colmant left and was replaced by A. B. McKay. Apparently McKay became something of a campus character, largely due to his use of a hearing aid. Students called him “Echo,” which eventually was shortened to “Eckie.” McKay had a background in strawberry production, and within a short time after he arrived on campus, the college was selling the berries as far north as Chicago. Aided by the encouragement of the Mississippi Horticultural Society, the college department held exhibits annually at commencement during these formative years.46 Notable faculty in various agriculturally related fields enhanced the college’s image. D. L. Phares taught many courses in agricultural sciences and was college physician for a time. He published The Farmer’s Book on Grasses and Forage Plants for the South, notable as the first publication by a member of the A&M faculty after the establishment of the college. Phares also organized a society of natural history on campus, wrote several articles for the Southern Livestock Journal, and made himself available for consultation with many farmers throughout Mississippi. Phares’s successor, G. C. Creelman, quickly established a reputation as a superb lecturer in botany, geography, and geology.47 In the field of chemistry, Robert Kedzie, in addition to teaching a number of courses, did field research all over Mississippi. His able successors were H. H. Harrington, a member of the first college graduating class (1883), and John Myers. Myers, whose duties included commercial fertilizer analysis, was named by the legislature to be ex-officio state chemist so that he could spread his work on fertilizer research to all corners of the state. • 26 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

A new laboratory building on campus was a direct ramification of Myers’s work, and the fees charged to fertilizer manufacturers, required by law to submit samples for analysis, enhanced college coffers. Two other notable chemists were Professors W. L. Hutchinson and William Flowers Hand. Hand eventually rose through the ranks to become a dean and vice president of the college.48 Key aspects of the college agricultural program proved to be the extension and experiment components. After all, outreach had been a key charge to the college since its inception. Lee and his colleagues not only had to train young students but also provide guidance to Mississippi agriculturalists. Support of college programs and funding from the Grange and the state horticulture and livestock associations underscored the expectations that the college play a key role in educating state farmers. Lee built a close relationship with Putnam Darden and thus received especially strong support from the Patrons of Husbandry, including the establishment of a local Grange organization at Starkville. Lee encouraged annual Grange meetings at the college, or at least in the Starkville area. Darden’s close association with and support of A&M’s agricultural programs won him a monument of appreciation on campus, located near Montgomery Hall, after his death in 1888.49 The Grange’s interaction with Lee produced such programs as lecture series, which provided college agricultural professors to speak at local agricultural programs around the state. Out of this series came the farmers’ short course, held on campus, and the farmers’ institutes, which brought the college agricultural specialists to the people who could not come to Starkville. The institutes met with popular approval in a state where most roads were unpaved and many areas were not accessible to railroads. Within a short time, institutes had been scheduled from extreme reaches to the north and south and many areas in between. The program was a public relations boon for Lee’s fledgling college. The number of institutes ebbed and flowed in direct relation to funding from the legislature, but they survived past the end of Lee’s presidency in 1899 and well into the twentieth century.50 As with extension work, experimental farm work had been a part of the college’s original charge. Several departments engaged in experimentation, but it took vocal support by groups such as the Grange to bring such operations under one administrative umbrella. While waiting for funding that, • 27 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

as usual, was slow in coming, Lee promoted the work already under way, announcing in 1885 that results had been documented in projects involving cattle feed, fertilizers, drainage, dairying, and gardening. Not until 1887, when President Grover Cleveland signed into law the Hatch Act, did money become available for the creation of an experiment station to oversee all such activities at the college. The legislation provided fifteen thousand dollars annually for one experiment station in each state. Lee ordered his colleagues to prepare for the new administrative centralization at once, though the U.S. Congress did not immediately appropriate funds. Lee and his administration had gotten used to waiting on funding, but they had never let such things deter planning and preparation. Samuel M. Tracy became the first director of the experiment station, and the state legislature officially established the Mississippi Agricultural Experiment Station on January 26, 1888. Lee continued his practice of cultivating outside support, and an advisory board included heads of the state Grange, Farmers’ Alliance, and horticulture and livestock associations. Lee worked closely with Tracy and emphasized that projects should include work in dairying, cattle, scientific crop rotation, grasses, fruits, vegetables, and new crops. Tracy traveled to other colleges and universities in the north to study ongoing work in established experiment stations.51 The Hatch Act legislation had stipulations about what the Congress expected of recipients of federal money. Results of experimentation work must be published on a regular basis, and annual reports must be issued. In 1889, Tracy’s station published its first bulletin, and beginning with that first edition, all research reports were passed along to state farmers free of charge. The board of trustees allocated extra money to the experiment station so that publications could be advertised in various agricultural journals in order to increase circulation. The locally published Southern Livestock Journal provided one means of getting the news to state farmers, though this process was tenuous due to friction between the journal’s editor, Tait Butler, and the Lee administration. The trustees stepped in and authorized Lee to publish bulletins on campus, and by 1886 monthly publications were being produced locally.52 Early on, Tracy and Lee realized that Mississippi’s varying soil contents required regional experimental projects. Thus, branch stations came into being, the first in northwest Mississippi at Holly Springs in 1890, followed by others at Lake in the south-central part of the state, Ocean Springs on • 28 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

the Gulf Coast, and Booneville in northeast Mississippi, and plans were made for one in the Delta region, though it would be a few years in coming. These first few stations eventually closed, largely due to budget cuts by the legislature, which not only hampered experiment station operations but caused the loss of numerous experienced staff. Despite the early struggles, Tracy kept the on-campus station busy, as research underwritten by the U.S. Department of Agriculture proceeded on the destruction of Johnson grass, and Lee pushed forward projects to test irrigation procedures. Professor McKay got involved in the irrigation studies, and one of the results became legendary on campus. Eckie’s Pond, still located on the southeast corner of the main campus, became more than an experimental project demonstrating the capture of runoff water for irrigation use; through the years it has been a favorite student hangout, and home to numerous families of ducks. University historian John Bettersworth has noted of the pond that through the years it has been a “place to fish, a place to swim, a place to picnic.” Further, “it is older than any at Mississippi State. It just could be the oldest surviving artifact of homo academic on the campus!”53 The pond also led to an unfortunate outgrowth of the joint operation of the experiment station and the horticulture department. Tracy and McKay could not get along; apparently Tracy did not particularly care for the popularity the project brought McKay, and eventually the trustees sought and received Tracy’s resignation in 1897.54 Despite such disruptions Lee pushed ahead the agricultural programs. Beyond the normal outreach programs of extension and experimentation, faculty members were expected to correspond directly with farmers who had questions about personal farming problems. The college publicized its agricultural expertise via fairs and demonstrations, especially in towns in proximity to Starkville. The college reached beyond Mississippi, however, by sending students and faculty to New Orleans in 1885 to present examples of projects at the World’s Industrial Exposition. In the next decade, several exhibits were prepared for the World’s Columbian Exposition at Chicago, both to publicize the college’s work and to assist other organizations from Mississippi, which had demonstrated agricultural work. Lee’s agricultural outreach ideas brought much favorable publicity both within and outside Mississippi. The U.S. Department of Agriculture applauded work at the college in an 1883 report, and the state immigration • 29 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

commissioner mentioned A&M most favorably in a pamphlet issued in 1888. Despite funding problems, loss of faculty and staff, and infighting, Lee kept the focus of the college—agriculture—on course, pushing ahead to achieve, a tradition that became well entrenched and frequently emulated through the years.55 Of course, as much as Lee preferred emphasizing agriculture, he could not ignore the mechanical aspect of the college’s mission, especially since that was part of the institution’s name. During the first decade of operations, Lee pointed out quite rightly that he did not have the funds to build machine shops and other mechanical features needed to train his students. Yet pressure on Lee, especially from the Gulf Coast area of Mississippi where interest in nonagricultural training was considerable, persisted, for the courses in mechanics, particularly mechanical drawing, and surveying, the only ones offered in the early formative years, were not sufficient to satisfy parents and students who wanted more. Though engineering was implied as part of mathematical training in college catalogs, lack of funds prevented it from becoming a part of the curriculum. Professor J. M. Barrow called his surveying course civil engineering, which was as misleading as the word “mechanical” in the college name.56 Near the end of the decade, Lee bluntly reminded politicians in the legislature that the language of the land-grant act, as well as the enacting Mississippi legislation, had called for mechanical training. He requested money to set up physical facilities for iron and wood shops, promising that personnel costs would be minimal. Meanwhile, Professor Buz M. Walker, head of the mathematics department as of 1888, offered engineering theoretical training to interested students, and faculty offered expanded instruction in civil engineering.57 Tiring of waiting on additional state funding, the trustees set aside funds from the college budget in 1891 to establish a mechanical department. Plans were made to build physical facilities, which would include an engine, boiler, machinery, tools, a forge, and foundry. Harry Gwinner became head of the new department, as well as an instructor in drawing. As Lee had done elsewhere, he sent Gwinner to look at other programs, and Gwinner inspected a technical training school in St. Louis and the engineering department at Purdue University in Indiana. This step was promising, but lack of funding and Lee’s determination to keep agriculture as his number-one academic priority prevented the establishment of • 30 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

a mechanical arts degree program. Lee admitted that most training was limited to woodwork since the college did not have equipment to do metal projects.58 A good sign came in 1892, when the legislature appropriated ten thousand dollars to jump-start the mechanical curriculum. A second floor would be added to the mechanical building, and revisions in the curriculum would give mechanical courses more visibility. Lee emphasized, however, that a student’s first two years would be instructional and methodological. In effect, Lee did not want freshmen and sophomores receiving specific mechanical instruction until they had been exposed to various areas in a general manner. Yet curriculum revisions countered Lee’s words, for beginning in the freshmen year, students were exposed to intensive training in mechanical arts, higher mathematics, and complexities of civil and mechanical engineering.59 Lee grew somewhat concerned when enrollment in mechanical courses increased beyond what he had expected, and by 1893 figures indicated near equality of numbers in the agricultural and mechanical fields. Lee may have feared the numbers would trend even more heavily in favor of the mechanics. Despite his predilection for agriculture, however, he did nothing to stifle progress in the engineering realm. Pressure for instruction in electricity led him to ask for additional funding to electrify the campus, while at the same time setting up a laboratory so students could be taught various aspects of electricity projects. He pointed out the fire hazards of the current method of lighting the campus—kerosene lamps. Though he predictably did not get immediate legislative support, he continued to preach the gospel of electricity. Agriculturalist though he was, Stephen Lee also kept on the New South road, which meant branching out into industrial pursuits, and he knew electricity would play a key role in the future of technology.60 Gwinner’s replacement, A. J. Wiechardt, who had a mechanical background, echoed Lee’s sentiments, and in 1897, no doubt to pressure the legislature, the mechanical department became the mechanic arts and electricity department and offered three semesters of training in electrical fields. The trustees pitched in with money from the fertilizer fund to build an electrical plant and lab, occupied in 1898.61 Wiechardt also emphasized trade training, especially in the field of carpentry, though his efforts failed to take root. Undeterred, he pushed for • 31 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

instruction in textile engineering, and urged an expansion of mechanical arts well beyond wood and metal. Wiechardt made the lucid argument that Mississippi, with its concentration on cotton crops, would surely benefit from the training young men received in industrial applications of textiles. Lee quickly became a believer, and he used the textile angle to support his arguments that electricity was desperately needed on campus to run such things as textile machinery. Lee would not be on hand when a textile school became a reality on campus, but his support laid the groundwork.62 The evolution of the mechanical aspect of the curriculum, though irritatingly slow, had positive practical ramifications on campus. Students learned firsthand about digging wells and piping water, setting up a fire protection program, heating with steam, electrification, and general maintenance work required to keep the campus community going. The first mechanical arts graduates numbered fifteen in 1895, and by that time a fledgling graduate course had been instituted. Nevertheless, Lee’s worries that somehow agriculture might be supplanted as students’ preferred field were in vain. In fact, by the late 1890s, some professors were concerned about the lack of enrollment in mechanical courses. In spite of the vision of Lee and his professors, the state of Mississippi remained rurally and agriculturally oriented, and it would take time, as well as economic and cultural changes, to bring students in significant numbers into mechanical/ engineering fields.63 Aside from the challenges of developing A&M’s agricultural and mechanical features, Lee and his faculty had to coordinate the evolution of a general curriculum. Initially, the lack of necessary background skills among entering students forced the college to offer two years of preparatory work. The prep years grounded students in spelling, reading, arithmetic (basic and algebra), geography, English grammar, American history, and declamation (the art of oral presentations in class). Eventually the departments of mathematics and English took over preparatory curriculum responsibilities.64 The general curriculum went through many stages of evolution during Lee’s presidency. In the early years, general arithmetic was replaced by two terms of algebra and geometry, and mechanical instruction and two terms of astronomy were added. English went from one to two terms and back to one, and by 1883 had been increased to seven. Bookkeeping was on again, off again, and instruction in classic studies was limited to tutorial offerings, • 32 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

so related courses would not interfere with more practical courses. All of this led to feuding between departmental faculty and Lee over which areas of instruction were more important. Classicists lost early battles, though liberal arts advocacy remained an undercurrent on campus that periodically surfaced. Social studies offered included philosophy, political science, and history, though the courses did fall under administrative control of a particular department until 1892, when a department of history and civics was established. Lee addressed curriculum conflict largely via faculty changes, and only those who supported the president’s position on the priority of practical education tended to survive. Yet Lee was open to developing courses that fell out of the realm of agriculture and mechanics proper, as long as they supported in some way his commitment to the two major areas of training. Therefore, courses in chemistry, botany, geology, zoology, entomology, physiology, and physics eventually appeared.65 Despite academic progress, Lee, the trustees, and many succeeding presidents fell pitifully short in providing a sufficient library to support academic training and research. In fact, the college would not have a separate building devoted exclusively to a library program until 1950, seventy years after the doors were opened to students. During Lee’s term, the English department operated the library, what there was of it. With practically no funding devoted to the purchase of books and periodicals, the college depended upon donations to build a library collection. Materials on agriculture came from the University of Mississippi, the U.S. government provided various publications, and many state newspapers contributed gratis copies of their editions. By 1887, only about $130 was being spent on periodicals; book purchases were made as funds permitted, based on faculty recommendations. The faculty apparently did not take their recommendations seriously, for in one instance a recommendation was made by trustees to use unspent library funds to purchase thoroughbred cattle. Fortunately, that action did not take place, and faculty became more diligent in spending their book order funds.66 Yet building a solid library collection proved to be elusive. By 1898, the library contained 5,231 bound volumes and 7,640 pamphlets, unimpressive numbers for a college that had been operating for eighteen years. In addition to the small quantity of materials, the library, located in the basement of the dormitory, could only be opened a limited number of hours, due to • 33 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

lack of personnel. In the early years, the library facility was open for two and a half hours a day, 2–4:30 in the afternoon from Monday to Friday, 9:30– noon and 2–4:30 p.m. on Saturday, and 10:30–noon on Sunday, though the Sunday hours were soon shifted to 1:30–4 p.m. to avoid conflicts with church services. Professors had passkeys to enter the library whenever they wished. An assistant librarian usually ran the place, since the faculty librarian, who was not necessarily trained for the job, was a supervisor in name only. Student workers made the facility functional.67 Students in fact were expected to work to support themselves and the college. Economic status did not matter, and day students were expected to labor a few hours a day just like dormitory residents. Students had to work during the week and could have weekends off, but they could work on Saturdays if so inclined. The pay per hour was small in the beginning, eight cents an hour, and sometimes grew smaller as the fledgling school struggled with budget matters during its infant years.68 Students with good grades generally supervised work groups, which performed various tasks on the college farm and in machine shops, as well as raking the landscape and picking up trash. The students might have debated whether digging drainage ditches, or building fences, or taking care of cows, or digging up stumps, or clearing trees off various lots built character. Whatever they thought, they did their jobs, prompting much praise from General Lee, who once commented that it was “a slander” on the students to accuse them of being unwilling to work. They were, he argued, “as earnest in work as in their studies.” He believed the youngsters “capable of anything,” if “properly guided.” Boys would be boys occasionally, and they misbehaved now and then, but Lee was firm in his support of their character. The system worked well, even if it was not a financial boon to the college as legislators had hoped. Lee’s firm resolve and the respect he engendered among politicians no doubt kept the work program in place, despite economic questions.69 In the area of athletics, things moved slowly during the Lee years. The first team to be organized was baseball, when a student named W. J. (Bill) Jennings ran a team in 1885. That first year, the team played area teams in Durant, Columbus, and Brooksville, winning all three and outscoring their opponents 49–14. The team continued to confine its schedule to local teams through 1892, losing only once. In 1893, the team played its natural rival, the University of Mississippi (Ole Miss), twice, winning one and • 34 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

tying one called after three innings due to rain. Future baseball teams continued to play sparse schedules, playing no games in 1894 and a total of seven games from 1895 to 1897. The team continued to play Ole Miss, and in 1896 played Alabama twice, losing both games. In 1898 a yellow fever epidemic in Mississippi cancelled all games, and in 1899, the team split two games with a small military academy. The baseball team did not return to action competitively until 1902.70 Football began in 1895 as a student-led activity. W. M. Mathews, “a student from Harris, Texas, organized and coached the team which on November 16 of that year represented A. and M. in her first college game of football.” The team played Southwestern Baptist University in Jackson, Tennessee, and lost 21–0. They played one other game that year, losing in Memphis to the Memphis Athletic Club 16–0. The next year, the senior class employed a coach, James Bell Hilderbrand, who had a degree from Vanderbilt University, to coach the team. The first home game ever played in Starkville, at the local race track, resulted in a loss to Union University of Jackson, Tennessee, 8–0. Things did not get better, for the team played three more games that fall and remained scoreless, losing for the first time to the University of Alabama, 22–0, and being swamped by LSU, 50–0. There was no team for the rest of Lee’s term, due to both the outbreak of yellow fever and a lack of interest.71 Basketball and the so-called minor sports in track and field, tennis, and boxing would not become a part of the campus scene until after Lee’s presidency ended. The sputtering early days of baseball and football demonstrated clearly that Lee placed no great priority on organized sports. Of course, as president of a college still in its infancy, Stephen Lee had many things more pressing than worrying about athletics. Aside from establishing academic and other on-campus programs, Lee had to deal with events beyond the boundaries of A&M. The last two decades of the nineteenth century produced much unrest among farmers nationwide, and the political movements spawned by that unrest, including the Farmers’ Alliance and Populism, became a potent force in Mississippi. During the post–Civil War, post-Reconstruction era, the rise of big industrial businesses dominated the American economy, while the farming business suffered through lower prices for products and farmland was being bought up by nonfarmer investors. The Grange, which had helped bring about A&M, was melting away and being replaced by the Farmers’ Alliance. Populism, • 35 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

a movement spawned under the banner of the People’s Party, was a reaction against monopolistic business practices emerging around the country.72 The leader of the alliance-populist movement in Mississippi was Frank Burkitt, from nearby Chickasaw County. Burkitt was a newspaperman and state legislator who developed a narrow vision born of political beliefs and a personal grudge against General Lee. Burkitt had briefly been a member of the college board of trustees, but Governor Robert Lowry had removed him, very likely for political reasons. Then Burkitt’s newspaper, the Chickasaw Messenger, had been dropped from the college subscription list. So Burkitt, and a few like-minded friends in the legislature, began hounding Lee and the college, calling it a waste of money and launching investigations of its operations.73 The critics also called for apportioning admission to the college. The plan they proposed included allowing each county to send to the college a number of students based on the number of white educable children in said county. Students would have to be tested by county superintendents of education and chancery clerks to qualify for admission. If any vacancies still existed after September 1 of a given year, the college president could fill them, with special consideration given to the counties having the largest number of school-age children. The system cost A&M students, who, due to the apportionment, had to attend other institutions of higher learning. Very few out-of-state students were allowed in, for the board feared further ramifications. Burkitt championed the plan, because he said that previous enrollment had favored the wealthier counties in the state. Clearly, Lee and his college were under attack by reactionaries who meant business. The apportionment planned ebbed and flowed as the century wound down, and finally died, thanks to the expansion of college facilities in the early 1900s, which made possible admission for all qualified and desirous of attending.74 Lee also had to address general categories of students in and graduates from the college. The college had, after all, been created with sons of agrarians in mind, and he wanted to be sure that representatives of that group were the majority of the student body. They were, not by a large margin, but a comfortable one; yet many who graduated did not pursue agricultural careers. Burkitt jumped on that news as continuing fodder for his haranguing. Lee could quiet such critics by pointing out that his agriculture graduates were considered valuable employees at other colleges and • 36 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

universities. The fact that some, like his own son Blewett, who was a member of the first graduating class and went on to study law at Harvard, chose medical and legal professions was not a source of comfort to the general in his strategy to send agriculturalists out into the world.75 Burkitt, meanwhile, attired in Confederate gray, including the wool hat, prowled the legislature urging his colleagues to cut spending for just about everything, including A&M. Burkitt used his wool hat as a political symbol and attacked the upper, so-called privileged classes, calling for cutting all public funding for places like Lee’s college. He even proposed leasing colleges to private interests. Burkitt personalized his attacks by making derogatory comments about A&M professors, and he rejoiced when salary cuts forced by legislative budget cuts led to many, including several from outside Mississippi, resigning and leaving the state. Mississippi jobs should go only to Mississippians, according to Burkitt. Burkitt continued his vigorous bullying when he became chair of the House Appropriations Committee, which assured additional cuts for A&M. Burkitt also made sure that the language in appropriations bills cited specific salary amounts to keep the college board from shifting funds within the budget to prevent cuts. This kind of tactic targeted Lee’s college only; Burkitt clearly did not care that the state knew of his personal vendetta against A&M. If he intended to destroy the college, he made headway, for faculty resignations continued, including those of graduates who had stayed on to fill positions.76 Lee had his allies, too. Newspapers in and out of state praised A&M, and the U.S. Commissioner on Agriculture, Norman Coleman, said the college was “worth a thousand” of Burkitt and his wool hat cohorts. The Grange, down but not out, pointed out its long, friendly affiliation with the college, and in Burkitt’s home county, the local Grange organization resolved that Lee’s college was “one of, if not the very best, of its kind in the United States.”77 Meanwhile, the state Farmers’ Alliance came down on the side of A&M, and at the same time hinted openly at its displeasure with the legislature’s generosity to the University of Mississippi, especially regarding interest the state was paying to the university on an old fund. The whole thing was a bit fuzzy, but well-known Mississippi lawyer J. Z. George thought the state was not obligated to pay anything, and, combined with Alliance and Grange support, George’s opinion ignited a move to give more adequate funding to • 37 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

A&M. Burkitt, oblivious to his blatant hypocrisy, joined the cries for justice for A&M, and this after he had opposed adequate funding for the school, but his vendetta forced him now to make a choice between a land-grant and a rich man’s state university. To be politically viable, Burkitt had to support the land-grant concept. 78 The sudden change in the political landscape from populism versus A&M to A&M versus the University of Mississippi brought to the fore the natural competition between the two schools. Ole Miss had not forgotten its failure to get the agricultural and mechanical program from the Morrill Act, and it had not objected to getting many times the funding of the fledgling farm-boy college. Lee was miffed that his enrollment was twice that of Ole Miss, and yet he had to make do with thousands of dollars less. He used the momentum he felt had at last turned just a bit in his favor by writing articles detailing the purpose and operations of the college. Lee also let it be known that he was considering running for public office himself, a clear warning that he might someday be in a position to do unto others’ special interests what they had been doing to him.79 Lee had plenty of support in the state, from the grass roots on up, and he was, after all, a war hero, which was always an advantage, especially in the South where many whites fondly remembered the boys in gray. They may have lost a war, but they had won many hearts. Lee did not object to his name being mentioned as a gubernatorial candidate, and he began making what sounded a lot like campaign speeches. The board of A&M grew concerned, for they knew how angry he was about budget cuts and loss of quality teachers, and he had received tempting offers to go to other states and head other colleges. Four board members approached the general in 1889 and tried to entice him with a salary increase to give up his political adventures and stay with the college. Lee stayed; perhaps he never intended to do otherwise; he simply did not want to pass up any opportunity to call attention to his frustration at constantly battling for, and often losing, adequate funding, not only to the sustain the college, but to help it grow.80 General Lee’s college prospered during his last decade as president, from 1890 to 1899. The Farmer’s Alliance of Mississippi became a frequent guest on campus, and Burkitt, whose change of attitude may have been attributable to nothing more than recognition that he was fighting a losing battle, backed off. Lee and Burkitt were not that far apart in their political views; • 38 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

both were southern Democrat conservatives who desired some measures of reform, though Lee refused to embrace Burkitt’s overt populism. Lee worked the legislature for better funding, setting a precedent that presidents following in his footsteps would maintain. At least after the war with Burkitt ended, Lee knew funding depended more on the natural ups and downs of the national and state economies rather than political infighting. A&M received a funding boost when the federal government in 1890 allotted to land-grant schools proceeds from sales of public lands. Even though the money had to be shared with Alcorn A&M, it helped Lee’s efforts to bolster his budget. By the middle of the last decade of the nineteenth century, Lee once more tired of budget cuts and again began thinking of running for office. However, his wife, Regina, was in bad health, dissuading him from taking the plunge. Rather than running for governor, the aging general accepted a position that allowed him to exercise a passion perhaps more burning than his love for the college. He accepted an appointment as one of three commissioners of the Vicksburg Memorial Park Commission. The commission’s charge bore fruit in 1899 when the Vicksburg National Military Park was established. Lee, himself a veteran of the Vicksburg campaign and siege, decided to devote whatever time he had left to working on the park, and he resigned his presidency at A&M. However, he would keep an eye on the place as a member of the board until his death in 1908. Lee had done well, and he had served longer than any of his successors would; at least his record still stood as A&M, now Mississippi State University, celebrated its 125th anniversary. Despite many obstacles and challenges, he had changed a piece of northeast Mississippi prairie into a thriving young institution of higher learning. He had demonstrated determination, patience, daring, innovation, and political skills that were all needed to help the college through its formative years. Perhaps more than anything else, he had refused to let any shortcomings, such as the constant battle over funding, blunt his decision to carry the impact of the college into all areas of Mississippi life. He made its outreach work, establishing a people’s college in practice as well as in name, and the legacy of those years remains very much a vital practice of the university as it moves into the twenty-first century. Like a good coach putting together a winning team, Lee sought good people, and many of them proved their loyalties to the school and the general, despite low salaries and limited facilities. Peace did • 39 •

formative years under general lee, 1880–1899

not always reign, for Lee could be mettlesome, but no doubt he felt he had to keep his fingers on the pulse to make sure the patient remained strong enough to get through the tough years of establishment. In the end, as stated by the pioneer historian of the university, Lee took some land not suited for much in the way of crops and “chose to plant a crop of stripling youth, and bountiful was the harvest.”81

• 40 •

3 Hardy Expansion, 1900–1912

A

seemingly logical choice for Stephen D. Lee’s successor did not turn out as the board of trustees expected. John Marshall Stone, like Lee, had served the Confederate cause, and he had been governor of Mississippi when the A&M College had been founded in 1878. Even Frank Burkitt applauded the choice, remembering no doubt that Stone had been on the original board. Perhaps because of Stone’s advanced age, and perhaps because he had undiagnosed medical problems, his tenure as the college’s second president lasted only about a year before he fell fatally ill. While president, Stone wisely made no drastic changes or decisions, preferring to maintain the course Lee had set. Lee, after all, was on the board now and always available to give his successor advice. After a period of mourning and following Stone’s burial at Iuka, the board looked around for A&M’s third president; having Lee on hand no doubt gave a source of comfort to other board members during the interim.1 The chosen new president turned out to be a Mississippi native from Newton named John Crumpton Hardy. Born in 1864 during the Civil War, Hardy had grown up to pursue a legal career; he had studied at two Mississippi schools—Mississippi College and Millsaps College—and he had also ventured to the University of Chicago and Cornell. Hardy had gained teaching experience while working toward his law degree, eventually received at Millsaps, and he had done well, rising to the position of superintendent of Jackson, Mississippi, public schools. Those schools had • 41 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

grown both in numbers of students and programs, so Hardy had earned a reputation as a progressive, and when he accepted the call to head A&M, he immediately began thinking of growth; by the time he was finished, he had managed to build the college in impressive ways. Thirty-six years old and possessing striking good looks, John Hardy had a passion for hard work. Perhaps inspired by an energetic national leader like Theodore Roosevelt, a hero of the recent Spanish-American War, Hardy was not one to be happy treading water in a pond built by General Lee. He wisely became not just president of A&M, but a citizen of Starkville and a visible presence across the state through his political connections with state Democrats, whose party ruled Mississippi. He was appointed by the governor to be a state delegate to the Pan-American Exposition in 1900, and he traveled to the Paris Exposition the same year. On campus he welcomed and initiated many challenges, chief among them the establishment of a textile school, new departments, summer institutes, new structures, and a more organized athletic presence.2 The textile school occupied much of Hardy’s energies. The Mississippi legislature’s authorization of the school resulted from hopes among state political and economic leaders that Mississippi could balance its agricultural base with marked increases in industry. Yet, within four years, a political movement fueled by racial demagogue James K. Vardaman, elected governor in 1904, produced a reaction against all things remotely related to big business. As the university historian John Bettersworth so accurately assessed: “The Mississippi dirt farmer suddenly developed a morbid fear of corporations, which in that trust-busting age had become the outward manifestation of the inward lack of grace of rampant and unregulated industrialism.” Thus, Hardy would have his hands full making the textile school into a force.3 In 1900, however, things seemed bright, for the legislature promoted industry through various tax exemptions and other incentives to manufacturing growth, including a forty-thousand-dollar appropriation to set up the textile school at A&M. Things went well, for many manufacturers were more than willing to sell at low prices, or in some cases donate, equipment to help get this promising higher educational enterprise going. The first director of the school, Arthur Whittam, traveled north seeking further assistance, with some success. These initial efforts resulted in some thirty thousand dollars in donations from over eighty sources, and the school operation began in the summer of 1901.4 • 42 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

The school brought hope to Mississippi visionaries who foresaw graduates benefiting from training and from the outside investments in the state that surely would come. However, challenges in making the school operational involved more than adequate equipment and funding. Controversy immediately arose as to how the curriculum would be structured. Director Whittam wanted his students to focus on training without being hamstrung by humanities courses, and initially he was successful, for his students only had to take English outside of their technical regimen. So the debate was joined; should students be subject to a general education overshadowing training on textile machines or vice versa? Experiments with a nondegree two-year course in the textile school which required no outside studies proved that such a program would not entice students in large numbers. The full four-year course attracted much greater numbers and also gave “the industry of the state time to catch up with the college output of graduates.”5 Despite enthusiasm, the school never amounted to very much. Numbers of graduates were pathetic from the beginning, peaking at six in 1903. Brief ebbs and flows not only in graduation rates, but also in overall enrollment in the school, showed that this disappointing trend would not change for the better. By 1914, there were only two textile students, both seniors. Some suggested that a campus stigma against textile majors played a role in the continuing decline of the school. Other problems included finding and retaining directors and instructors, who usually left for greener paychecks. More than anything else, a Vardaman-type mentality of distrust in business doomed the school. Vardaman led successful efforts to get the legislature to abandon tax incentives and to impose taxes on industry. A nationwide economic downturn in 1907 further exacerbated the situation. As Hardy noted, “[C]onditions have been very much against the extension of the cotton mill business,” and that reality meant little need for textile machinists. Though Hardy remained hopeful that the A&M textile graduates could inspire resurgence in the depressed cotton mill industry in the state, they could not, and by 1914 the textile school officially ended its operations. It had been a brief symbol of hope in a state where, all too often, such symbols died at the hands of myopic state leaders.6 Changing times and the business overtones of the textile curriculum did spur a rebirth of interest in business courses. Emphasis on business curricula had waned toward the end of Lee’s presidency, but Buz Walker • 43 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

continued to press for quality business courses. James V. Bowen’s arrival on campus in 1904 helped Walker’s cause. Bowen came as an acting professor of foreign languages, but his interest in languages fueled a focus on trade with Spanish-speaking countries like Mexico and Cuba, especially the possibilities offered by the Panama Canal. Therefore he encouraged business courses in which Spanish would play a role. Hardy agreed, and soon Bowen expanded his vision to include German business-related instruction. By the time Hardy’s reign ended, Bowen was envisioning a School of Commerce at A&M.7 The continual expanding vision of Hardy’s presidency also included reviving and building athletics. In 1901, organized football returned, and under the leadership of student coach L. B. Harvey, the team posted a 2–2–1 record that included a 17–0 trouncing of rival Ole Miss. Through the next few years, the team often managed respectable records, being undefeated with two ties in 1903, including shutouts of Alabama and Louisiana State University, and going 7–2 in 1907, 1910, and 1911, the most wins chalked up during the Hardy era. The teams’ best coach during the period was W. D. Chadwick, who from 1909 to 1913 was 29–12–1.8 Irwin D. Sessums, who had a chemistry background, was appointed overseer of athletics, and Sessums changed the emphasis on campus from intramural contests to intercollegiate activities. Rules for governing athletic operations were implemented, and in 1905, A&M for the first time played Ole Miss on Thanksgiving Day, in the capital city of Jackson, shutting out their in-state foes 11–0. After the game, A&M students marched through Jackson streets carrying a coffin in which the defeated Rebels symbolically reposed. Such things only intensified an already intense rivalry.9 A new gymnasium replaced the old one from the Lee years, and physical education became part of campus life. In 1909 a competitive college basketball team played in the new gym and compiled a 5–5 record. No team existed for the next year, but in 1911 a renewed effort led to basketball emerging as a consistent team sport on campus except for future war year interruptions. From 1912 to 1914 and in 1916, the team won the Southern Conference championship under the able leadership of E. C. Hayes, who coached from 1912 to 1924 (Hayes did not have a team in 1918 as a result of low enrollment due to World War I). Hayes’s career record at A&M was an impressive 125–52.10 The college’s first baseball team of the new century played competitively in 1902, and from that point through the end of the Hardy era, A&M’s • 44 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

early version of the Diamond Dogs, as they are known 125 years later, endured a multitude of coaching changes. The team still sported a 135–71 mark through the 1912 season, establishing a record of excellence that has endured.11 A track and field team was established in 1907, and by the time Hardy departed the presidency, the team had become competitive. In its first meet at LSU, the team finished second to the host team and ahead of Ole Miss. In 1910 at the first annual Mississippi intercollegiate meet, A&M finished first, twenty-eight points ahead of second-place Mississippi College. At the second state meet in 1911, the team successfully defended its title, finishing some thirty-two points in front of runner-up Ole Miss. Other so-called “minor sports” developed in later years.12 Athletic teams had more on-campus fans during the Hardy era than ever before. After the new president came to Starkville, some 450 students were enrolled for the 1900–1901 session, which was his first scholastic term at the helm. By the time Hardy left in 1912, enrollment had climbed to 1,224. At first the increasing numbers challenged available facilities on campus, and space was a vital issue, but it was a challenge that Hardy welcomed.13 He immediately planned to expand campus facilities, and priority installations included “a bath, water closet, and sewerage disposal system and a central heating system” of steam, which replaced coal. Hot and cold running water in dormitory rooms and individual washstands became the norm, and the grounds were improved in the areas of roads, sidewalks, and landscaping. Hardy inherited buildings of the “brownstone” look, but he was influenced by the classic style of architecture in vogue at the dawn of the new century. Thus he remodeled the dormitory, which would be added to in phases over the coming years and be known as Old Main. Columns at the entrance replaced Gothic trappings, and other buildings were remodeled to make them more attractive. The lack of protest by alumni or students indicated that Hardy’s changes were welcomed. The textile building, which became known as the “twin towers,” was the most impressive accomplishment of the Hardy years, and today it still stands as the oldest structure on campus. Three stories high, it is accented by the two towers and arched entranceways. In an unfortunate planning move, the Simrall building was later constructed in front of it, so the twin towers, majesty and all, cannot be seen from traffic passing by on Hardy Street.14 • 45 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

Other Hardy-era structures included science and engineering buildings, the latter named for Dewey McCain, a professor and head of the civil engineering department. The science building is today known as Montgomery Hall and has had a variety of functions over the years, including being home to the library. It has recently been renovated. The current George Hall housed the campus infirmary upon its completion, and is today where the university relations staff works. A dairy building northeast of McCain Engineering Building eventually became home to army and air force ROTC.15 A building that quickly turned into a campus landmark became reality due to Hardy’s desire for a combination structure that would house administrative offices and a campus chapel. Lee Hall stood completed in time for the fall semester of 1910, and its enduring legacy was emphasized in the early twenty-first century, when an MSU alumnus named David Swalm provided funds for a chemical engineering building on the southern edge of the parade ground, or drill field, facing Lee Hall. Swalm wanted his building to be a mirror image of Lee Hall, and so it is, a reminder of alumni affection for campus facilities.16 Other building progress included a new wing on Old Main, which provided more dormitory rooms and a mess hall, and a chemical laboratory. The laboratory was built just south of McCain, and eventually became Carpenter Engineering Building. Smaller structures that accommodated a variety of other functions also began dotting the landscape during the Hardy administration.17 While other Hardy accomplishments were significant, the challenges of building up the overall academic program were more so, given the obvious, but occasionally forgotten, truism that academics are the heart and soul of any institution of higher learning. In 1900, ten departments made up the academic program: chemistry, agriculture, horticulture, mechanic arts and electricity, biology, English, mathematics, military science and tactics, history and civics, and preparatory. The agricultural experiment station operated as a separate division. Hardy intended to expand the curriculum and the departments, just as he had envisioned expanding campus facilities.18 First he looked at engineering, and he made a landmark decision to establish a School of Engineering. Buz M. Walker, a future president, headed the new school. Within the school, Hardy and Walker set up departments of mechanical, electrical, geology and mining, civil (including drawing), • 46 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

and mathematics. Rural engineering was placed under another new administrative unit, the School of Agriculture, and the textile operation was also called a school.19 The mechanical department “played an important role in the operation of the physical plant.” The physical plant itself received a boost when power and ice plants were approved, and the mechanical engineering department supervised both, plus the sewerage system. A shortage of teachers and equipment plagued the department. Attempts to set up a successful short course for training machinists and other technicians failed, but the department continued looking for new ways to improve training for students.20 The electrical department gained degree-granting status in 1902, and faculty and students played a key role in the operation of electrical components on campus. Physics training was included within the department, but functioned independently and in 1911 became a separate department. The department head, an alumnus named C. E. Ard, wanted to add to training and campus function such things as telegraphs and telephones, high voltage work, an electric railway to connect the campus with downtown Starkville, and a college telephone system, which, unfortunately, would be a few more years in coming. The electrical department became a positive ambassador for the college around the state, for it provided repair and other services for many electrical companies beyond the campus. The Mississippi Electrical Association provided publicity that kept Ard, his staff, and the students busy.21 Civil engineering instruction had begun in the mathematics department back in 1880, and was devoted strictly to agricultural applications, specifically the planning of fields and roads. Buz Walker wanted to plant the civil course on more solid, independent footing, and the new twentieth-century movement toward highways gave him the opportunity. In the Hardy era, civil and rural engineering was first created as a joint department, but rural was quickly handed over to the School of Agriculture. The civil curriculum offered training in a variety of areas now, including surveying, structural design, masonry construction, and hydraulics. Railway building became a preoccupation with the department, which had its students construct a practice line. The department also saw to the operation of the sewerage system. The department’s alumni proved in their various careers the quality of their training.22 Hardy promoted mining engineering, an unlikely engineering department for a state school in Mississippi. He moved toward that goal by having • 47 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

the geology department offer mineralogy instruction and by requesting to the board that a department of geology and mining be established. Perhaps Hardy knew about or was simply inspired by the news that the U.S. Congress was considering legislation to give aid to agricultural schools that established mining training. The board took up Hardy’s plea, contacted Congress to act positively on the legislation, and created the Department of Geology and Mining Engineering. The new department’s first head, W. N. Logan, at once conducted a county-by-county study of geology and industry, in conjunction with several other campus departments. The legislature never got excited about the program, and Hardy’s hopes of having Logan become a state geologist never materialized. Logan worked on anyway, producing several reports on the Oktibbeha County area and on soils in various geographic areas across Mississippi. Logan’s students became actively involved with the U.S. Geological Survey and the U.S. Soil Survey, and he did fieldwork himself and personally answered inquiries from state citizens. The seemingly indefatigable Logan raised eyebrows when he insisted that there was oil in Mississippi, and subsequent events proved him right, though the so-called “black gold” was never found in amounts comparable to wells in Texas, Oklahoma, and other parts of the country.23 Buz Walker’s school experienced some disappointments, one in particular that was a personal failure. He continued to head the mathematics department, and as a result of that area of interest, he suggested establishing an architecture department with the School of Engineering. In addition to the work such a department could do with campus planning, it would serve a useful outreach purpose in advising construction of public buildings across the state. Hardy liked the idea, but for whatever reason, he could not get the board to go along, and it would be many more years before a school of architecture fulfilled Walker’s dream.24 The School of Engineering nevertheless made considerable, even notable, progress in the Hardy era. Overshadowed by the continuing emphasis on agriculture in a rural state, the engineering school overcame shortages of faculty and equipment to become a driving force on campus. An indication of the progress was its recognition by the U.S. War Department as an approved technical school.25 Hardy’s enthusiasm for a substantial fleshing out of the education curriculum also produced impressive results. He understood a problem that • 48 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

has been chronic in the state of Mississippi throughout its long history. The common or public schools did not meet the needs of students, and one component was an overall lack of quality instruction. The college could do nothing about the underfunding of public education, but it could help by producing quality teachers on the A&M campus who would in turn fill state classrooms. At the time, complaints had reached Hardy from the Mississippi Teachers Association that graduates from A&M going into teaching had not been formally trained on how to teach. The establishing of a strong pedagogical department could remedy this, and, beyond that, Hardy argued, “the State Superintendent of Education will have an efficient force with which to put into operation his idea of consolidated country schools, with the elements of agriculture, and of agricultural rural high schools, with agricultural and manual training. This will give us an articulated system, consisting of the consolidated country schools, the rural agricultural high schools, and the agricultural college.” As a result of Hardy’s call, the board agreed to a department of industrial pedagogy with an appropriate curriculum.26 D. C. Hull, another future president of the college, was named the first head of the new department, which was located initially in the dairy building (future ROTC home). Hull envisioned instruction for those interested in industrial careers as well as in teaching. So he posited training in such things as basketry and weaving, in addition to practice teaching. Having accomplished a first step, Hardy and Hull now looked to establish a school of industrial education. A summer term would be included, on the order of farmers’ institutes and short courses. Summer school as such had been discussed in the past and shelved, but now the time seemed right. Socalled summer normal schools resulted, but since the state superintendent of education oversaw their operation, the college cooperated with them in a slightly detached manner. The first summer term as such was held in 1905 and appeared to be rather popular with the public, though enrollment ebbed and flowed.27 A drawn-out discussion then ensued about how long the summer term should be. At one point, Hull suggested equating it with the winter session, both in emphasis and length, but eventually that argument was shelved as unworkable, due to both poor funding and logistical problems, plus a seeming lack of unanimity about what activities should be pursued during the summer sessions. Finally, in 1909, Hull and Hardy concluded • 49 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

that a six-weeks term was enough, and they moved from that conclusion to getting board approval for the next step, a School of Industrial Pedagogy, established the same year. Now Hardy turned his attention to the longpresent problem of the preparatory school.28 The preparatory operation had been criticized over the years since its inception. Many thought it wasteful to have A&M spending money to raise students to a level of entry into the college, while the public schools suffered from lack of funding. It had been dropped during Lee’s tenure, but only temporarily, for Lee insisted that if the college did not offer preparatory training, the pool of qualified students from the state’s public schools would be insufficient. The course had been limited to one year in 1886, but the board soon allowed exceptions for students to be admitted to the college when their training was insufficient. Later the class was split into two groups according to merit, and then some freshman-level courses in agriculture and shop work were placed in the prep curriculum.29 Hardy was determined to “weed out the preparatory students who had come along for the ride,” especially if the schools in their hometowns were adequate. Hardy deplored having so many young men who really did not belong in the college world. One way in which he attacked the problem was to insist, with board approval, that to be admitted to the A&M prep department, a student would have to have a letter from his local superintendent of schools stating that said student did not live within an acceptable distance of a public school. Hardy further believed that the summer normal school could do what the common, or public, schools could not.30 Meanwhile, the chirpers Burkitt and Vardaman led criticism of the preparatory department as another sign that the state colleges were being subservient to the state’s wealthier citizens. The public schools suffered from lack of funds, funds that would be enhanced if the colleges got out of the business of secondary public education. Hardy anticipated some of this whining by coming up with an idea that “the preparatory department should be a haven for poor boys seeking elementary trade and agricultural training without any intention whatsoever of preparing for entrance into college.” In effect, the college would be performing a public service for boys from poorer families, something the Vardamans and Burkitts should applaud.31 The preparatory department at A&M survived several more years, in spite of legislative attempts to abolish it. Then the School of Industrial • 50 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

Pedagogy absorbed it, and, because trade training was offered, it came to be called the “subfreshman department”; the preparatory school, as such, was no more.32 Another Hardy innovation was the “Practical Working Boys’ Course,” a program wherein boys would be housed and trained on campus, “without means as prospective students of the college.” The boys could study when they had time, but would in fact be full-time farm workers. Their quarters was a house a half mile from the college. Hardy called it “an outhouse,” and he hoped to expand the idea to include “a model country home and to gather around it barns, orchards, gardens, etc., so as to give a perfect model to our boys when they build homes of their own in the country.”33 Though the operation was never funded as Hardy hoped, and though the idea passed away after he left the college in 1912, the concept by then had proven its worth. Many of the young men had excelled, to the point that they integrated the regular A&M community without any sort of stigma. Eventually those enrolled in the program were absorbed into the School of Industrial Pedagogy, where they were a significant part of the subfreshman prep training. Hardy’s program was abandoned, but the idea of self-help was not, and though called by many names over the years, it remains a part of the educational process.34 As might be expected, the School of Agriculture remained the largest in enrollment and the most dominant academic division on campus during Hardy’s reign. Yet he had to deal with an inherent problem caused by the vague distinction between the college and the experiment station operations. Under the guidance of E. R. Lloyd and W. L. Hutchinson, the two areas cooperated, but the board separated them in 1908. The agriculture school included chemistry, biology, and horticulture departments, as well as the experiment station, so the interrelated work of the two continued, no matter what the administrative lines of distinction.35 President Hardy fleshed out the agricultural offerings of the college by adding dairy husbandry, in part to fulfill demands by state, and especially local, dairymen that better training was needed for the students. Under Hardy, all dairying operations were combined, and a new dairy building constructed. The dairy husbandry department became reality in 1900 and shortly afterward the Mississippi Dairymen’s Association was established on the A&M campus. Dairying courses were required of all freshmen, as well as upperclassmen majoring in agriculture. J. S. Moore, the first head • 51 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

of the dairying husbandry department, asked for more money to expand facilities, and, to support the program, he spoke to whatever groups were willing to listen. Moore also traveled to Wisconsin to study techniques in that state, famous for its dairy products. Clearly Hardy and Moore had responded in a big way to calls for expansion of dairying training and campus activities.36 In 1905 two more new agriculture departments were established: agronomy and animal husbandry. W. R. Perkins was the first head of agronomy and Archibald Smith the initial leader of animal husbandry. Smith guided his department immediately into the study of beef and milk cows and mules as well. The department hosted institutes for cattle breeders, and Smith led efforts to control ticks, which threatened the well-being of Mississippi herds. Course work and training in poultry husbandry began in 1907, with J. P. Kerr the first director of the discipline. In 1908, the husbandry department held a sale of poultry and beef products produced as a result of campus operations.37 Another new operation under Hardy was training in cotton grading and classification under the auspices of the School of Agriculture. Hardy responded to requests from the Mississippi division of the Southern Cotton Association and the state Farmers’ Union in approving the program and gaining financial support from the legislature. Courses were offered both during regular fall-spring sessions and during the summer.38 Yet more expansions of curricula came in 1908 when Hardy asked the board to approve splitting the biology department into the Department of Botany and Forestry and the Department of Zoology. George Clothier, an experienced horticulturist and forester who had worked with the Forest Service of the U.S. Department of Agriculture, initially led botany and forestry. R. W. Harned headed the zoology department, which included courses in entomology. Harned also became a state inspector of nurseries, thanks to legislation in 1908, and the entomology division researched control of boll weevils. A federal boll weevil laboratory was built near the campus in his honor in later years. Harned was the first in a series of Harneds who made a strong impression on the history of the university. Horace Harned would teach bacteriology, and Arthur Harned taught English and foreign languages. The sons of a headmaster of a Quaker school in New Jersey, they were a major presence on campus for many years, and Harned Hall, the biology building on campus, commemorates their contributions.39 • 52 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

Challenges of various contagious diseases in the area of veterinary medicine led to Hardy working to expand the campus department. Though the legislature did not act to make the department head the state veterinarian, campus research proceeded in providing vaccinations to farm animals, and in 1909 a campus livestock infirmary began functioning.40 The chemistry department continued working closely with agricultural operations during Hardy’s presidency. When the department was assigned to the agriculture school, William Flowers Hand became head of chemistry. Hand was respected locally and nationally, and Hardy made a special effort to keep Hand’s salary high enough to prevent the professor from leaving for better pay. Hand was state chemist, and, in that capacity, he headed the fertilizer inspection program. Hand’s reputation brought an ever-increasing work load, including inspection of commercial feed products for farm animals, and necessitated the construction of the chemistry building that today is Carpenter Engineering.41 In the horticulture department, demands also increased under the able leadership of A. B. McKay. McKay was a visionary, proposing a museum on campus and state legislation to underwrite nursery inspections. McKay experimented with irrigation control and spent much personal time in summer farmers’ institute work and other summer courses. He also managed to get funds to spruce up campus landscaping.42 Agricultural engineering, originally called rural engineering, was shifted in 1903 from its original home in the School of Engineering to the School of Agriculture. J. W. Fox was the first head of the department, but he left in 1906 and was not immediately replaced. In fact a new head was not named until 1910, and Daniel Scoates changed the name from rural to agricultural engineering.43 The extension department had been revived at the beginning of the new century after having faded somewhat during the latter years of Lee’s presidency. Now annual meetings were scheduled in each of Mississippi’s eightytwo counties, and the federal government provided a farmers’ institute agent to monitor activities. A lack of state funds prevented the extension director from focusing on the institute program, but the programs continued. Hardy took time off to travel around the state, mostly by train, to speak to local citizens and preach the gospel of extension. A bulletin was established and distributed to keep the institute programs on people’s minds. Well-known agriculture specialists from around the country participated in programs, • 53 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

and Hardy encouraged local clubs, both for adults and for boys, the latter eventually becoming known as corn clubs.44 Hardy spoke of the promise of extension on a national level in 1907 when he addressed the National Association of Land Grant Colleges and Experiment Stations. He established a Department of Agricultural Extension on campus, headed by E. R. Lloyd, and short courses were set up in the summer schedules. Farmers’ institutes eventually became known as industrial conventions. Since county agents were not yet part of the program, Hardy and Lloyd enlisted county superintendents of education as contacts. Tomato clubs were added to the programs, as well as model dairies and chicken farms. Extension would not fully flower until after Hardy departed A&M, but he surely was one of its dedicated champions.45 Experiment station activities, like most every other program, experienced growth in the Hardy era. A branch station at McNeill in south Mississippi was instituted early in Hardy’s reign and conducted extensive testing in fertilizer use. Other stations were established at Holly Springs in upper north-central Mississippi and in the Mississippi Delta at Stoneville. These were the only stations set up during Hardy’s tenure, though he recommended two more, one in the southeastern piney woods area of the state and another in the Tombigbee area to the northeast. The stations existed mostly on federal funding, for the state legislature lagged in its support of the programs, a trend that continued and even gained impetus when the so-called “Adams Fund” of the federal government brought additional money into Mississippi experiment programs.46 Yet despite funding disparities, the programs moved forward, spurred by increases in bulletins and other informational sheets. Hardy encouraged this activity by proposing a campus printing operation, but his suggestion did not come to fruition, due mainly to opposition from commercial publishers who did not want to lose the experiment stations’ business.47 The ever-increasing agricultural programs on campus and the expansion of other departments created space problems that Hardy had to address. The federal government helped out, since the experiment station operations were mostly federally funded and sponsored programs. Laboratory space proved to be a special problem, and Hardy received criticism after the construction of textile and engineering buildings for ignoring agriculture, which was, of course, an unjust charge. Hardy did make a plea for a new agriculture facility, but he failed to get legislative support.48 • 54 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

The humanities continued to be a stepchild of the college. There was no liberal arts school, and not much interest in one, so the English and history and civics departments operated mostly on their own. In 1904 a Department of Foreign Languages was established, a good sign, but efforts to place the department under the purview of the English department failed. After all, the foreign language curriculum was to support students interested in agricultural sciences. James V. Bowen headed the foreign language program, and he set up courses in Spanish, German, French, and Latin. Bowen especially pushed the Latin courses for engineering and agriculture majors. Latin was eventually dropped, due to administrative problems and a shortage of teachers. As a result of changes, the department became known as modern languages, and the curriculum was expanded from courses in basic grammar to include studies of countries and their literature. Emphasis on languages increased in 1911 with the establishment of the School of General Science.49 English remained a foundational component of the college’s academic courses, with underclassmen required to take the coursework five hours a week for the whole session. In fact, with the exception of senior agriculture majors, students had to take some form of English during their entire four years of study. Requirements in history and civics varied, industrial pedagogy and engineering students being required to take the most hours.50 The campus library grew as academic programs blossomed and multiplied, but still no library building came into being, as Hardy, like those presidents before him and many of those who would come after, treated such a thing as a low priority afterthought. In 1900, C. R. Stark, a trained librarian, took on the job of classifying library materials, and the library moved from the dormitory basement into the science building, now Montgomery Hall. A library committee composed of faculty was formed and offered advice on the purchase of new materials and the binding of periodicals in hardcover volumes. Library materials grew by over a thousand annually and a new librarian, T. W. Davis, recommended that traveling libraries go into counties in conjunction with campus extension work. Davis also played a significant role in the founding of the Mississippi Library Association.51 Departmental libraries began springing up on campus, a rather disturbing trend, considering the limitation of funds. Duplication of effort disturbed Davis, who figured that departmental holdings were negating his efforts. • 55 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

This trend was just another example of how low a priority campus leadership gave to a strong library program. Rather than placing the library program out front where it should have been, as the focal point of any academic institution, A&M presidents seemed to view it as a mere annoyance that had to be dealt with from time to time.52 If Hardy had little time for the library, he had plenty for a pet project of expansion of schools on campus. The School of General Science was established in 1911; it had no departments at first, and was composed of “professors engaged in the work of other schools,” with the intent “to purify other courses, being offered in the different schools of the college, by segregating the students desiring to work along the lines of general science.” J. V. Bowen proposed a school of business, using the Department of Modern Languages as leverage by linking commerce and languages, but his efforts would not see fruition under Hardy, though certainly Hardy was interested. Yet the general science and industrial education schools showed the way for future expansion, though a graduate school would have to wait. Graduate studies had begun under Lee, but a formal school did not come about on Hardy’s watch.53 The Hardy era produced many improvements in student life amenities. Electric lights, steam heating, indoor toilets, and running water in dorm rooms made dormitory life much more bearable. The weekends continued to be enjoyable, with women students at nearby Mississippi State College for Women making up for the paucity of women enrolled at A&M. Sunday chapel services were for a time held in midafternoon, a time which proved to be unpopular with students who preferred having the entire afternoon off for recreation or long naps. Pressure on students to present oratories at graduation decreased under Hardy, as he tempered the practice to include seniors only. On-campus boarding costs dropped during the Hardy years to just over six dollars a month, due in large part to the effects of ongoing national economic slowdowns, which affected the state.54 A lyceum series begun during the early days of Hardy’s reign and continuing for many years into the mid-1920s provided contact with the outside world, as such notables as Senator Robert M. La Follette, Dr. Winfield Scott (noted sex hygiene expert), Judge Ben Lindsey (juvenile delinquent authority), and humorist Irvin S. Cobb visited the campus. The Boston Musical Club, the Chicago Glee Club, the New York Metropolitan Company, and other notable musicians and entertainers performed on campus. • 56 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

Lighter programs, including magicians and theater companies, added to an impressive list of diversions for the students.55 Continuing enrollment growth under Hardy led to calls for additional fraternal societies on campus, even though the Dialectic and Philotechnic attracted relatively few students. Public attendance at the meetings of the two societies had also decreased, perhaps in part to A&M student pranks such as greasing the rail tracks to slow the progress of trains bringing the public to the functions. Nevertheless, during the Hardy years, the two each grew to some one hundred members, too many in the eyes of some, so students began forming their own groups. Sophomores established the Magruder Debating Club, and others organized the Hull Literary Club, both named for popular professors. A few years later the names were changed to more classic titles: Philomathean and Philalethian. The literary groups inspired the birth of the campus yearbook, the Reveille, the first issue of which appeared in 1898. Then a gap ensued until 1906, and it has been published in some form ever since, with the exception of a year’s interruption during the latter stages of World War II. The ban on fraternities continued and perhaps added to the popularity of other clubs like the Lee Guards and the George Rifles, the latter being formed in 1904 in honor of Mississippi Senator J. Z. George. Two other military groups, the Mississippi Sabre Company and the German Regulars, were organized in the Hardy era and proved to be popular among students. During future presidential administrations, however, social fraternities would triumph, and, along with honorary fraternities, would overshadow and cause the death of these early societies, which were significant, for they not only provided intellectual outlets, but provided opportunities for farm boys to learn social interaction.56 Other clubs also flared up now and then, beginning with some historical societies in various fields under Lee and flourishing under Hardy in such areas as engineering, the local club being associated with the Mississippi Association of Student Engineers. The John Sharp Williams Club of Economic and Social Science, named after a popular state politician, the Cap and Bells dramatic club, the Textile Club, the Educational Club, the French Club, a glee club, and a brass band all cropped up. The band grew into a popular entertainment organization at A&M, and eventually, though no one seems to know the exact origin of the phrase, would become known at least as early as 1923 as the “Famous Maroon Band,” a reference to its • 57 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

status on campus and the school colors of maroon and white. The German Club, despite the scholarly sound of its name, was more social than academic; the Elysian Club, the Cotillon Club, and the Skiddo Club all encouraged dancing and partying. For pure fellowship and camaraderie, the county clubs provided an antidote to homesickness and encouraged development of social skills. Other clubs encouraged nothing but horseplay and eclectic carousing. They were not formal organizations, but such groups as the P. B. Club, including the Ancient Order of Smartalecks, the Octopus Club, the Gun Club, and the Mullet Chasers Club at least gave the boys some memories that would last a lifetime.57 The YMCA continued growing during the Hardy presidency. Support for a separate building to house the Y also grew, and a donation drive began. Finally, with the boost of a Rockefeller foundation grant, a new building would arise northwest of Lee Hall, and it would be opened in 1915, after Hardy’s departure. An A&M alumnus, N.W. Overstreet, designed the building, an early triumph for an architect whose career would leave a mark in many community structures across Mississippi. The Y became a favorite hangout due to the location of the Shack in the basement floor, where food of a sort could be found and very informal socializing abounded. Most students faithfully celebrated break times at 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. by hurrying to the Shack.58 The Old Main dormitory grew along with enrollment, builders eventually completing its quadrangle shape and enclosing a courtyard. The original part of the building, which formed the southern wing, had not been kept in top condition, due to its inhabitation by spirited, playful, and at times destructive young tenants. Pranks abounded in this section, dubbed Polecat Alley by those who appreciated its unique atmosphere. Old Main burned in 1959, but the wonder was that it took so many years for such a disaster to happen. Students often went too far with their pranks and set fires inside the building, usually to doors, to terrify sleeping victims inside the rooms. Ironically, Old Main’s doom would be due to faulty wiring; at least that was one of the guesses. Whatever the dorm’s faults, it proved to be the centerpiece of fond memories in the minds and hearts of many alumni. When the early presidents like Hardy continued to push for additions to Old Main, they likely did not realize they were molding a campus legend that continues to resonate, many years after its demise.59 • 58 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

Despite all his successes, Hardy, like General Lee, had to deal with disciplinary problems. Drinking on campus, exacerbated by the shipping of alcoholic beverages to the school by local express companies, caused Hardy to threaten legal action against those responsible for selling beverages to students. He asked the express companies to help stop the liquid flow, but they doubtless hesitated to give up the revenue. Hardy must have appreciated the innovative defense by one student who had been caught inebriated. He claimed he had been hypnotized, whereupon the faculty, one hopes with tongue in cheek, asked the military department to order that all hypnotism on campus cease.60 Hardy also had to deal with tobacco and dancing issues. He tried to ban smoking on campus, for he was convinced that the various practices of using tobacco were harmful. Student, and perhaps even faculty, smokers, chewers, and dippers could not have been pleased, and the tobacco issue would extend beyond Hardy’s presidential term. Dancing clubs were popular during Hardy’s term, and apparently he did not object, but the increase in dancing resulted in efforts to restrain the practice after Hardy left office.61 As Lee had done, Hardy faced the troubling problem of plagiarism. His efforts resulted in the rewriting of regulations to cover all areas of cheating. The senior class demonstrated some leadership by convicting a student of attempted “jack” in 1906. Faculty intervened and decided the evidence was insufficient for such punishment, but clearly a message had been sent. Five years later the YMCA secretary led efforts to initiate an honor system regarding exams. A council of six students, including two seniors (one of which served as chair) and one representative each from the other classes, oversaw the system. At first the council system seemed to function well, but later criticism from faculty caused its abolition not long after Hardy left the presidency.62 In contrast to senior leadership with the honor system, the arrogance of some seniors proved to be a problem during Hardy’s term. There was concern expressed in 1907 that some would make derogatory comments or jokes about faculty members during graduation exercises. Seniors also fueled rebellion during other periods of Hardy’s reign.63 Hazing and feuding among students further challenged Hardy’s abilities to control their behavior. In 1903, the campus newspaper Reflector called for an end to the intimidations associated with hazing. A New Students • 59 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

Committee, organized and run by upperclassmen, helped ease the transition of new students into college life and minimized hazing incidents. Nevertheless, hazing continued to occur from time to time, to the point that, in 1911, faculty threatened perpetrators with removal from the college. Beyond hazing, on rare occasions shootings and fights scarred interstudent relations.64 The strictures imposed on students, and their creative and defiant resistance, did not seem to have a negative impact on morale. As Lee had done, Hardy encouraged the students to take pride in their status as college men, and they seemed to do so. Good conduct reports from wherever the students traveled made Hardy beam, and he noted that even when problems occasionally erupted on campus, morale seemed to make a quick recovery. Hardy helped morale himself by encouraging the boys to become involved in self-government, thereby giving them a stake in campus life. Camaraderie triumphed in spite of, and perhaps because of, the widely contrasting backgrounds of the students. Whether from rich or poor roots, they all worked, functioned under the same rules and regulations, learned to appreciate the merits of fellow students they may never have known in the world outside of A&M, and came to the point, as Hardy trumpeted, that they would not put up with “snobbery and extravagance.” Together they cheered lustily and forcefully: “Hay, peas, beans, and squash! A.&M. cow pullers. Yes, by gosh!”65 While Hardy made progress in discipline and morale, and while his vision produced sparkling results in many areas, like all presidents of A&M and its successors, Mississippi State College and Mississippi State University, he had some serious problems, perhaps the most severe involving military training. Though Hardy was no war veteran like Lee and Stone, he endorsed the military presence on campus. The national experience of putting together an army to fight in the Spanish-American War had fueled efforts to increase readiness, and A&M officials wanted to get better arms and equipment to train their students and to expand military curricula.66 Whereas General Lee controlled both campus and military, Hardy had problems dealing with military commandants. One, Ira Welborn, not only drank too much, but he insisted on violating the sanctity of Sunday in the Bible Belt by having drills in the afternoon. Hardy also refused to embrace the strict interpretation of uniform regulations preferred by the military, • 60 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

and many student cadets preferred Hardy’s approach. And, echoing Lee’s confrontation with a commandant over disciplinary matters, that same issue caused problems for Hardy, the result being the “Welborn affair.”67 The whole thing began over an issue that seemed far more trivial than the controversy it spawned, not an unusual pattern for campus problems. Professor W. H. Magruder gave permission to a student to go to town to pick up a package, but a cadet officer had refused the same student’s request to make the trip. Hardy had been out of town when this happened, but after returning and being briefed, he supported Magruder in the matter. When the military establishment on campus refused to adhere to Hardy’s decision, the president removed the cadet officer and the commandant, and, when he learned that campus physician L. W. Crigler had vocally supported the military, Hardy likewise dismissed him. Had Hardy merely pulled rank, without rancor, perhaps the whole thing would have died quickly, but, alas, such was not to be.68 Hardy had the authority to have the final say-so; the board gave him the right to make hiring and firing decisions regarding staff, as well as control over curriculum, schedules, and discipline. Of course, Hardy had to submit his own authority to the board of trustees, which gave him his powers. The board dynamics would change drastically in 1910 when the various college boards were united into “a single board of trustees.” The move stemmed from “increasing popular support for greater coordination” among colleges and a desire to keep politics out of education, as much as possible, by preventing elected officials from serving on it. That was in the future, however; as for the present, other unrelated issues came into play during the Hardy controversy, for he had received a raise in pay at a time when some of his faculty had been refused hikes in salary, and one, veterinarian J. C. Robert, had also been told he could not make extra money in private practice unless Hardy agreed. How much these factors figured into the growing dispute between Hardy and the military, which appealed the president’s action to the A&M board, is unknown, but certainly an underlying current of bitterness was present.69 The senior class got involved by withdrawing in protest over the firing of the cadet officer, and Crigler made known his support for the student movement. To stem the tide, Hardy called an emergency meeting of faculty in his home on January 10, 1908; by then the student revolt had spread to other classes, no doubt demonstrating the power of military unity among • 61 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

the cadet corps on campus. Other grievances surfaced, against the mess hall primarily.70 Students admitted they had much to eat, but they complained about the absence of things such as cake and about the quality of just about everything. Descriptions of food in the 1906 Reveille included too much fat in bacon, thick beefsteaks, slick macaroni, and too-small biscuits. Also, a new mess hall promised by 1907 did not materialize, and flies in the building, long a problem, continued unabated and unchallenged. Not until the new, and current, cafeteria finally opened in 1922 would some, but certainly not all, the negative critiques of food lose intensity. Likely not as bad as students claimed it to be, cafeteria food was, and would continue to be, a convenient target for those who were disgruntled.71 On the same day as Hardy’s emergency meeting, the board’s executive committee met and the next day issued a statement to the people of Mississippi detailing an early morning January 11 meeting with students. The committee offered the rebellious young men the right “to resume their college duties upon condition that college discipline and authority was to be respected and obeyed.” Those who agreed were then asked to come to the chapel, where the invitation was given again to the assembled. Those who did not accept “were dismissed for insubordination.” Meanwhile the entire board took up the controversy, and the senior class appealed to the board, denying any intent to criticize or cast aspersions on Hardy and asking that all students be readmitted. Eventually the board upheld the firing of Welborn and Crigler, while reinstating the cadet officer and other students who had been dismissed on the eleventh. The board also resolved to clean up the mess hall operation and ordered Hardy to hire workers there who would do a better job.72 Welborn and Crigler did not go quietly, preferring to take their case to the press and to urge that the state legislature get involved. Hardy’s contacts with the governor’s office and other politicians thwarted any further investigation. The U.S. War Department acted to suspend Welborn and sent its own investigator to the campus. Things seemed to be settled down until the board’s next meeting, when rumors of student unrest flared up again, doubtless fueled by Welborn. Welborn managed to get history and civics professor R. H. Leavell to speak out against Hardy, and the board finally announced a public investigation to begin on June 11.73 The board’s hearing produced a number of charges and complaints against Hardy, including a lack of faculty confidence in his leadership. He • 62 •

hardy expansion, 1900–1912

was charged with scheming to prevent himself from being investigated, abusing his authority in his actions against Welborn and the cadet officer, having an “arbitrary and unreasonable” attitude, and crippling campus operations with his interference. Also he allegedly had made damaging misstatements to the press about the college, and the totality of his actions during the controversy had been characterized by lies, the ignoring of rules, and “conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman”; he had become “a millstone around the neck of the College.”74 The board cleared Hardy of all charges within a month, though there was concern among board members about the staff ’s perceived lack of confidence in him. The bottom line was a ten-to-four vote to retain Hardy as president. The board then asked two of the instigators of the backlash against Hardy, J. C. Robert and Glenn Herrick, to resign, and both did. Hardy called for forgiveness and healing, but obviously the board felt a need to send a message. The controversy, despite some petitions calling for Hardy’s removal, waned afterward, though Hardy poured some fuel on the whole thing by firing three more professors that year. Yet the damage to Hardy’s reputation lingered, especially in political circles, and when a new governor was elected in 1911 and despite the consolidation of college boards into one, Hardy decided that rather than risk becoming a victim of political partisanship, he would resign. He left for Baylor in Texas, where he continued his progressive leadership at twice the salary.75 Hardy left an impressive legacy at A&M, despite the 1910 controversy. Some complained that his expansion duplicated efforts at other state schools, a charge that has been tossed about among observers of Mississippi higher education for years. The board did not address that issue during Hardy’s era, but statistics showed that the college’s main mission had been met, since the agriculture major graduation rate was three times the average rate at other land-grant schools. The board did fear that Hardy had tried to do too much at times, straining budgets and equipment beyond reasonable limits. Yet an institution of higher learning must expand its vision or lose ground, and John Hardy understood that. If his youthful exuberance and determination to achieve his goals had caused problems with others, his actions had also laid the groundwork for a much greater college than he had found upon his arrival. That was the true measure of success, then as now, and on that scale, Hardy rates as one of the college’s, and university’s, best presidents.76 • 63 •

4

Hightower, Smith, and World War, 1912–1920

W

hen Hardy left, there seemed to be unanimity among those who would make the decision about who should replace him. George R. Hightower had been born in Grenada County, Mississippi, and he had long had a penchant for higher education. After graduating from a regional normal college in Chickasaw County, Hightower established his own college, Abbeville Normal, but the venture did not last, and he became a mathematics teacher at Grenada Collegiate Institute. Ill health plagued him, so he changed course, dabbled in farming and livestock production, and got interested in politics. He was elected superintendent of education in Lafayette County in 1895, and a few years later he served in both the house and senate of the Mississippi legislature. He left the senate before his term ended to become president of the Mississippi Farmers’ Union, the current incarnation of the Grange and alliance movements, in 1908.1 The Farmers’ Union had political and economic power. It had been born in Texas in 1902, and its memberships included whole families, which made it especially popular. A chief component of its agenda was the cooperative warehouse program, which gave farmers an economic outlet. By 1908, thirty-one warehouses had already been constructed within Mississippi, with many more on the drawing board. The union established the Farmers’ Union Bank and Trust Company, and also pushed for cotton grading and classification training at A&M so that farmers eventually would be even more self-sufficient.2 • 64 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

Thus, Hightower, as president of the union, seemed indeed a fit choice to become the college’s new president. After all, A&M remained very much dominated by agricultural curricula, and the president of the Farmers’ Union would certainly be dedicated to keeping that tradition going. In March 1912, the board selected Hightower, and early in April he accepted. He would serve from 1912 to 1916; therefore, he would not have the longevity to make a real mark on the institution as had Lee and Hardy.3 Hightower came on board at a point in history when keeping the college going, let alone improving it, would force him to overcome many challenges. Enrollment had been affected by the blossoming program of agricultural high schools in Mississippi and by the raising of enrollment standards. The agricultural schools gave many young men all the training they felt they needed to become farmers. Higher enrollment standards, which included a fourfold increase in the number of high school units a person had to pass to enter as a freshman, disqualified many students. So in Hightower’s first year, enrollment numbers on campus fell slightly by forty-nine students.4 Hardy’s “Practical Working Boys’ Course” had also began to unravel, for it had become obvious, especially to Hightower, that the way the program had been set up, the boys involved barely had time to take a deep breath with full days of working and studying a normal part of their schedule. Hightower thought more monetary support from the legislature would enhance the situation with better living conditions and subsistence gardens. Whatever the case, the project had clearly become uninviting.5 Aside from dealing with an enrollment downturn, Hightower quickly found himself having to manage a student revolt somewhat similar to Hardy’s fiasco. This time, the problem began when W. H. Magruder, now college vice president, saw a male student engaging in conversation with a female student in the English departmental library room. Magruder immediately saw that an order was issued barring the few women students at the college from receiving male visitors “in their study rooms at the noon hour or periods when they are not in recitation. Neither will they be allowed to meet these young ladies in the Chapel or other rooms for the purpose of social conversation or study.” Many seniors resented the implication of the order, for they viewed it, so they said, as an insult to the moral character of the females. They passed resolutions that demanded Magruder apologize publicly and that the president apologize for not blocking Marguder’s order. • 65 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

Clearly a problem with discipline continued on campus, and just as clearly A&M seniors seemed determined to have a say in the administration of the college.6 Hightower suddenly found himself in a firestorm not of his making, but he did not flinch. During a following chapel service, other classes tried to present resolutions supportive of the seniors, and Hightower refused to hear them. His refusal, after cries of protest from the assembled students, led to the seniors walking out, calling on others to join them as they filed from the auditorium in Lee Hall. A student strike erupted, with all classes getting involved. The faculty met, examined the situation, and expelled sixty-one seniors, and while they were at it, also expelled thirty-five other students for misbehavior during a trip to an athletic event in Birmingham, Alabama. The latter action implied that trouble had already been brewing, and further witness of that was the senior class’s publication of senior privileges at the beginning of the 1912 session, an action the seniors did not have the authority to take. Hightower and the faculty clearly understood that if they did not take a strong stand, some of the inmates would keep pushing to take over the institution.7 Some of the expelled students refused to leave the college, causing the trustees to call a quick meeting on campus. Governor Earl Brewer came with them, for he was concerned about the situation getting out of hand and backfiring on his political career. Brewer blamed the trouble on outsiders, and the board suspected that nonstudents had put the idea of protecting offended womanhood in the minds of the seniors. Brewer noted he could have called in state militia, but he did not wish to use armed force to bring a bunch of young boys into line.8 Some of the female students now got into the fray. Women had been allowed on campus as bona fide students since the early days of the Lee years, but they had always been few in number, for the college curriculum had been geared toward males. Heretofore, they had been quiet members of the student body, but now a group of them felt compelled, or perhaps were compelled, to issue a statement upholding Magruder and Hightower for the positions they had taken. Yet, given the divisive nature of the controversy, a few days afterward, five girls issued a statement denouncing the previous position taken by their sister students and declaring their intent to join the strike. With only 325 of the current total of over 1,100 students now attending class, clearly something had to be done.9 • 66 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

The situation began to be defused when the football team refused to participate in the strike, for they were determined to play Ole Miss. This was language the other students could understand and appreciate, and the strikers began turning their attention away from war with the administration to focus on their despised in-state rival. The faculty took advantage of the thaw to announce that things were peaceful again, and that if offending strikers would sing a pledge of “good behaviour and loyalty to the College,” then the situation would be resolved. The statement was long and very detailed, and it forced strikers to admit their “great blunder and most serious mistake.” They must admit feeling “truly repentant” and want to set things straight; through the signed statement they would “apologize to the President and Faculty for the commission of this offense against the laws and discipline of the institution.” They must now be willing to submit themselves to those laws and discipline and promise never again to “foster” or otherwise participate in such rebellion.10 The strikers filtered back in but not all at once. Some had to wait a semester or a year to be readmitted, some even longer. The strike proved to be a blow to senior arrogance, for all the seniors allowed to remain lost their class privileges and their cadet ranks. They had entered the cadet corps of cadets as privates and would leave as privates. Their one parting shot was having the campus yearbook, Reveille, called Private ’13 in remembrance of the debacle, and the leather-bound volumes contained only the photographs of seniors. The yearbook also contained snide comments about a few college officials, and regrets that some among their number had not been allowed to graduate. A disciplinary line had been drawn, however, and necessarily so. Yet everything did not get quiet quickly; a few more students continued to cause trouble, but they were more careful about pushing the new president.11 Aside from deflating senior pride, the strike also ended the enrollment of women students. First admitted in July 1882, women students were excluded by the board on November 11, 1912. Apparently those currently enrolled were allowed to finish out the 1912–1913 term, unless they had left as part of the strike, but no women are listed as students afterward. It would be seventeen years before the board reversed this action and readmitted females.12 Disciplinary problems did not cease after the strike and the presence of female students had ended. Insubordination lingered, and some administrators suspected that faculty dislike of the military aspect of the college • 67 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

may have filtered down to students. The lingering effects of the so-called “lost cause” in the post–Civil War South (a curiously twisted view of the war’s legacy) and the sudden eruption of war with Spain over Cuba had made military training palatable to students, but as the twentieth century progressed, they began to see the rigors of military discipline and training as an albatross rather than something worthwhile. Student anger was manifested in resistance to wearing uniforms at off-campus occasions, and seniors continued to agitate for special uniforms. A separate Reserve Officers Training Corps (ROTC) unit helped with the problems, for the members of this unit included mostly those who were interested in military life, and they could administer their own discipline. Hightower was pleased that the U.S. Congress was considering legislation to establish such units at college campuses around the country.13 Other student problems were more routine during Hightower’s presidency. The board authorized a paid guard to stop the sale of alcoholic beverages on campus. Hightower also lashed out at card playing, which was still against campus rules, and he was especially miffed at faculty who either got into card games with students or allowed students to stand around and observe while faculty played each other. The president also had to work to get a city ordinance passed against dancing, for students were getting involved in the money-making events, and, even worse, were doing the socalled “animal” dances like the turkey trot, tango, and bunny hug, which made Christian women of the community loudly protest. Hightower, assisted by the influence of the Starkville Board of Aldermen, soon had things under control. But students protested that they were doing nothing wrong and asked the protesting ladies to chaperone the dances to prove their point. Campus military officers offered to work with local citizens to prevent anything naughty. Finally the board gave Hightower complete control over the issue, and he, along with the faculty, promptly restricted student dance activity to the campus and cut the number of dances to no more than three per year. The controversy, however, would survive Hightower and have to be dealt with again by his successor. Hightower also had to address complaints by students over the wearing of uniforms, especially off campus, as well as the design, which many did not like. The controversy amounted to very little at the time, but would not go away any time soon. Hightower also seemed to have little success in setting up a student advisor program to help lower the percentages of student failures.14 • 68 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

President Hightower had to deal with an athletic problem in 1913 that would become all too familiar to future presidents. A player on the team in the fall of 1912 had been dismissed from the college football team because he had previously made money coaching a high school team in the southern part of the state. Another player had to leave the squad because he had played for an unauthorized team. These problems, rather mild compared to future issues, created calls for better oversight of A&M athletics.15 The Hightower years produced an improvement in the football program that overshadowed the participation violations. After the 1912 team went 4–3, the 1913 team, under Coach W. D. Chadwick, sported a 6–1–1 record, and the 1914 and 1915 teams produced 6–2 and 5–2–1 records respectively under the new coach, E. C. Hayes. The 1915 team won a game dear to the hearts of A&M fans when it trounced archrival Ole Miss 65–0 in a game played at Tupelo.16 In other sports, the Hightower-era basketball team, also coached by Hayes, began a run of several consecutive Southern Conference championships. The team went 9–0 in 1912, 11–1 in 1913, and 13–2 in 1914, before falling to 8–6 in 1915. The baseball team had successful seasons, too, under W. D. Chadwick, going 53–35–8 from 1912 to 1915. Don M. Scott began his rise to track fame in 1915. The 1912–1915 track teams, coached by the versatile Hayes, won the third, fourth, and fifth annual Mississippi track and field meets and competed well in others, finishing second in an eight-team field in a regional meet at Tulane in 1913, defeating Alabama in dual meets, 106–29 in 1914 and 95–27 in 1915, finishing second in another regional meet in Meridian in a six-team field in 1914, and winning a regional meet in a four-team field at Tulane in 1915.17 Despite the growing success of athletic programs, Hightower focused, as had his predecessors, on academic development. During his term, an agriculture short course was set up in 1913, and farmer courses throughout the state continued to be offered, the latter usually handled locally via the physical facilities of agricultural high schools. Instructors from the college scheduled sessions periodically at the schools. A new School of Agriculture publication, The Agricultural Student, initially produced by faculty and students in 1913, attained a circulation of nearly seven thousand in a short time.18 In 1912, the ancestor of the agricultural economics department was established, originally called the Department of Markets and Rural Economics, an indication of the reality of the agricultural economy in Mississippi. • 69 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

Apparently, little preplanning took place, because the first class had no textbooks. T. J. Brooks headed the department, and he immediately went to work expanding the curriculum and setting up a graduate major and minor program. The department grew quickly, and within a couple of years, graduate students were conducting outreach in the form of county surveys.19 The programs of the experiment station and extension service continued to expand during Hightower’s presidency. Hightower promised that through these programs, the college would extend its outreach to every town and community in Mississippi. He proclaimed that the college wanted to extend its educational training in agriculture beyond the campus to 275,000 farmers around the state. Hightower rejected calls for retrenchment at experiment stations in Holly Springs, Stoneville, and McNeill, calling instead for more projects. E. R. Lloyd, director of both the experiment station and extension, pointed out that in 1914, forty thousand copies of experiment station bulletins had to be printed to meet the demand, a total nearly double that of just a few years earlier. Correspondence with farmers, he added, had increased by 200 percent over that same time period. Numbers of visitors to stations continually increased, both from within and outside the state. One outreach program proved especially beneficial. The A.&M. Farm Train traveled the state’s railways in 1913 to provide encouragement and training to and for farmers. Passengers on the train included experiment station workers, representatives of federal programs, a one-thousand dollar stallion and three milk cows.20 Extension services also progressed at a rapid pace. Fueled by funding via the Smith-Lever Act, named after U.S. Senator Hoke Smith of Georgia and U.S. Representative A. Frank Lever of South Carolina and passed by the U.S. Congress in 1914, the service was able to expand its work as mandated by the act, which called for provisions of instruction and demonstrations to those in agricultural and home economics fields, which meant farmers and their wives, who could not attend college. Up to that time, the campus had confined its extension work in agriculture to the campus, while the U.S. Department of Agriculture had been providing home economics programs, mostly demonstration, in the capital city of Jackson. SmithLever provided for coordination of state and federal instruction and for a county agent in each of the state’s eighty-two counties. The state legislature cooperated, and in 1915, the state and federal programs were combined, and Susie Powell, the home economics director in Jackson, moved with her • 70 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

staff to the campus in Starkville in 1916. Smith-Lever meant that the federal government would provide both supervisory support and annual financial resources to the states, with additional monies being added whenever states matched annual federal funding. By 1916, Hightower’s last year as president, extension had expanded its programs to include instruction in community organization, dairying, animal husbandry, farm management, cooperative marketing (referred to as “co-ops”), agricultural engineering, education, and home economics. Farmer institutes, roving instructional schools, and boys’ clubs also fleshed out the programming. A bureau of information provided printed bulletins and information sheets, both to the press and to farmers, in readable, nontechnical language. This rapid evolution of the extension service program foretold the dramatic impact the college would continue to have in providing agricultural and home economics instruction across Mississippi.21 Though Hightower concentrated on experiment stations and extension expansion, he did not neglect other areas of academia. Despite continual controversy over duplication of programs among the state’s institutions of higher learning, growth in various aspects of campus programs grew and prospered. The schools of industrial pedagogy and general science received much criticism regarding duplication, even from the board secretary, who spoke loudly for the abolition of the entire A&M pedagogy and general science programs, plus the abandonment of foreign language instruction. Some of the criticism of industrial pedagogy focused on the charge that it in part consisted of preparatory courses. With a generous sprinkling of agricultural high schools around the state, it seemed superfluous to have the college still involved in preparatory work. No doubt to defuse the controversy, Hightower agreed to phase out the preparatory classes, with no new students being accepted therein during the 1916–1917 session. A subfreshman course offering training in trades and a course for “working boys” were the last vestiges of the preparatory school.22 Despite criticism, Hightower led the School of Industrial Pedagogy through prosperous times. After the textile school expired in 1913, the industrial aspects of the industrial pedagogy school became more important. The leaders of the school also set up practice teaching as part of the curriculum through the model primary school established on campus in 1913. By 1915, expanded curricula included manual arts, school agriculture, and public affairs. Improvements were made in government courses, and a • 71 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

course in school gardening was adopted. A department of public discourse offered training through courses such as vocational literature, business writing, and “common-sense” speaking. The business writing and public speaking courses formed the foundation for a School of Business, set up under the persistent leadership of James V. Bowen. The School of Business had its roots in the Lee and Hardy administrations, and Bowen, with support from Hightower, brought it to fruition.23 By 1915, Bowen had set up his commercial coursework, which evolved into a School of Business. Administratively, Bowen’s new school was a division of business administration and public affairs, which was in the School of Industrial Pedagogy. Bowen believed his approach was unique, and, whether or not that was true, he certainly came up with a broad-based approach intended to appeal to a wide audience. The curricula naturally included business subjects, but also emphasized mathematics, history, economics, psychology, modern languages, ethics, and English. Bowen believed that the aura of liberal arts would lead to more “well-rounded” graduates. He further added a public affairs course for seniors who might have an interest in participation in city and county governments. Certainly Bowen seemed to be ahead of his time, for other land-grant colleges of the era had nothing comparable in their academic offerings. Bowen’s own background in languages influenced him, and his vision belied the “badeye” nickname students gave the one-eyed professor.24 Public affairs soon existed as a separate unit, and in 1916, Bowen’s business curricula became known as the Division of Business and Industry, though most people on campus called business a school, as did the college catalog of 1916–1917. During winter graduation in 1918, Bowen called it the School of Business and Industry. Though he had realized his goal, Bowen did not stop; he developed short courses in various Mississippi towns and in the summer on campus. He spoke out for the continuing education of teachers of commercial courses in the public schools. He called for the development of a printing department, bank, and cooperative store on the campus to give business students experience before graduation. He targeted farmer training by developing specific courses for their business needs. Bowen did not exaggerate when he called his business program one designed for merchants, farmers, teachers, civic secretaries, accountants, public officials, lawyers, and journalists. During World War I and the William Hall Smith presidential administration, Bowen also directed • 72 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

the School of Industrial Education, a position he eventually turned over to A. B. Butts when the industrial education was reduced to departmental status.25 Campus construction advanced right along with academic expansion during the Hightower years. Completed projects begun during the Hardy years included a chemical laboratory, now known as Carpenter Hall, and the new northeast wing of the main dormitory. Hightower had to resort to student fees to furnish the new dorm wing, and he soon had the northwest wing on the drawing board to take care of increasing enrollment. The impressive YMCA building stood ready for occupation in 1915, and extension work in horticulture was enhanced by the erection of a greenhouse. Other physical enhancements and proposals included an underground wiring system, light posts, a steam tunnel to take heat to the YMCA building, a pressing machine in the college laundry, and plans for a gymnasium and sidewalks. Funding red tape delayed the sidewalk project until the fall of 1913.26 As far as the students were concerned, better news came in 1913 when officials at the girls’ college in Columbus and at A&M announced a proposal to build a road between the campuses. The plans included seeking aid at the state level, namely convict labor, and from the federal government, specifically supplies in the amount of ten thousand dollars. An argument from the A&M proponents was that the road would provide a unique training experience for engineering students. Though support came from both the Starkville and Columbus communities, many years would pass before the road became reality.27 The Hightower years ended in 1916, when politics intruded into the life of the college. Of course, all college campuses have to endure political factors, both internal and external, but no individual caused as much disruption in higher education as did Theodore Bilbo. Bilbo was a strange mixture of progressivism and demagoguery, and his character and personality made it difficult for anyone he affected to have neutral feelings toward him. One was either his friend or his enemy, and Hightower had a bitter past relationship. In the state senate, where both served, and they sat near one another, Hightower had developed a dislike for Bilbo’s habits and lifestyle. When Bilbo was elected governor in 1916, he made it clear he would get Hightower, and Hightower commented about Bilbo, “As for me he can go to hell, I’m not for sale.” Sure enough, the college • 73 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

board decided at its July 1, 1916, meeting that it was time for a change, and Hightower avoided a showdown with the pro-Bilbo board majority by withdrawing his name for any further consideration. The board highly commended Hightower’s performance, but that did not prevent the members from naming William Hall Smith to the presidency. Hightower had made other off-campus enemies, for reasons that are not clear, other than the fact that intellectual progressives had long been viewed with suspicion in the state. Yet Hightower boasted, with much justification, that he had effectively extended the college beyond its campus to become the “college of the people.” In reality, from its inception, that had been the goal of A&M’s founders and leaders; in four short years, Hightower had kept that spirit alive and growing quite impressively.28 As one analyst put it, William Hall Smith’s years as president, 1916– 1920, “began as years of progress but ended in foreign wars and potential turmoil,” the latter observation no doubt made with the benefit of hindsight. Smith had a background that suited him for the job of leading the college; he had experience in agriculture and teaching. Born in Alabama, Smith came to Mississippi with his family in 1876, settling in Clay County. He graduated from Iuka Normal College in far northeast Mississippi and began a career as an educator that took him to the Mississippi towns of Ackerman, Eupora, and Durant. At Durant he served as superintendent of education of Holmes County in 1903. Smith worked for consolidation of the widely scattered, small, county schools, becoming state supervisor of rural education in 1910. He served for a few months as president of the Mississippi Normal School (now the University of Southern Mississippi) before returning to the rural education job he preferred. During the course of his administrative school career, he had developed an interest in corn clubs (which eventually evolved into 4-H clubs) for male students, and his work in that area earned him the name “Corn Club” Smith.29 In 1912, Smith’s solid work in the field of education led him to being named president of the state teachers’ association, and in 1914 he became Mississippi’s superintendent of education, an elective position he won without opposition in 1916. In 1915, his star continued to rise when he was named president of the Southern Conference of Education and Industry. All together his career experiences had suited him to be named president of Mississippi A&M College. His appointment earned the praise of the • 74 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

usual group of political opponents in the state, plus leaders of the Baptist Church, and the many friends he had among teachers in the state presented him with a silver service as a token of appreciation.30 Though labeled a Bilbo man, Smith made it clear from the beginning of his tenure as president that he had been assured of having “a free hand” in taking over the presidency of the college. Smith told the board bluntly that if he should be told whom to hire and fire, “he did not want” the job. The board promised him the free hand he demanded, and Smith launched his presidency in July 1916. He immediately demonstrated the same firmness he had shown in accepting the job by announcing to the faculty that he expected a Committee on Efficiency to be active on campus.31 Smith at once set about to study the administrative setup of the college, and he concluded that the amount of money spent on each student was less than any other school of higher education in the state and that faculty salaries were anywhere from 25 to 50 percent lower at the college than at similar schools and should be adjusted so A&M could retain top faculty. He further pointed out that, based on white population figures in the state, A&M had more male students than any other agricultural school in the country, that the college had “no aristocracies, clans or classes,” therefore “a democratic spirit” dominated the school, and that the continuing growth of enrollment necessitated more buildings and equipment.32 Yet, as with presidents before and since, he found that calling for expansion did not produce what was needed. There would be no library, as the institution continued to struggle along without that necessary building. Also, Bilbo refused to support Smith’s call for a science building, a creamery, a dormitory for females, and a combination armory-gymnasium. Positive gains included forty thousand dollars for a northwest wing of the Old Main dormitory, though construction was delayed when World War I inflation caused all company bids to exceed the amount allotted. Bilbo suggested, and as usual got his way, that all contractors rebid, taking into account that the state would supply prison labor to help reduce the costs. Board members were unsure of the solution, given the questionable effect the war had on economics and enrollment, but work proceeded anyway, beginning in April 1917. Nevertheless, money ran short, a bond issue fizzled, and Smith had to borrow twelve thousand dollars to get the job finished. By then an unimpressive gymnasium had been built, with a large portion of funds coming from student and alumni subscriptions.33 • 75 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

Smith also came along at a time to help the college take advantage of the Smith-Hughes Act, named after Hoke Smith and fellow Georgian Dudley M. Hughes, a U.S. representative, passed by the U.S. Congress and signed into law by President Woodrow Wilson in 1917. The legislation, two years in the making, promoted vocational education and was passed along with a vocational rehabilitation law that was enacted the next year to meet the needs of World War I veterans. In Mississippi, after a bit of a struggle, the state board of vocational education authorized by Smith-Hughes and the Department of Agriculture coordinated vocational work with the cooperative extension service. The impact of Smith-Hughes was to pressure colleges into supplying vocational instructors for agricultural high schools currently being established across the country. A&M was named the state training school in Mississippi under Smith-Hughes. By 1917–18, a four-year course of study was in place. Professor Bowen, director of the School of Industrial Education, was named head of the program “Teachers of Vocational Agriculture.” During this period the Campus Model School, established in 1913, was enlarged to complement the vocational education program.34 Other changes under Smith included the establishment of a quarter system in 1917, which divided the school year into four equal sessions and made possible a complete summer session with the same time frame as the rest of the academic calendar. Up until this time, summer school had been an on-again, off-again affair, a sort of academic stepchild. Some critics argued that there were already too many summer schools in the state, and to muffle the grumblers, A&M worked out an agreement with the University of Mississippi to share personnel and alternate summer programs, but the arrangement, for whatever reason, did not work. When A&M went to the quarter system, the board of trustees decided to defuse criticism by cutting out some of the summer programs. Eventually enrollment grew anyway, despite the world war, for some of the other schools, including the University of Mississippi, reacted to growing statewide criticism of summer schools by canceling theirs. A&M faculty, however, complained about the high cost of summer school, and shortly after President Smith resigned in 1920, the college returned to the semester system.35 Aside from summer school debates, a key step taken in the extension field during Smith’s years was the setting up of a service bureau to act as a public relations wing of the operation. The so-called “Extra-Mural • 76 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

Division” had the assignment of disseminating information to all corners of Mississippi, and information to be distributed would not be limited to agriculture. The service bureau also offered correspondence courses in such fields as agriculture, science, and industrial education at the nominal fee of three dollars per course. Nannie Rice, who would play a large role in improving the library, was named secretary and registrar of the correspondence division.36 Service bureau activities increased criticism of duplication among the state’s colleges, and a special board committee looked into the situation, but ultimately concluded that A&M was not contributing to the duplication problem. However, one victim of the controversy proved to be the School of Industrial Pedagogy, as its enrollment continued a decline that had begun before the war years. It had become part of Bowen’s business school, and by war’s end, the only part of it that survived included the departments of education and sociology headed by A. B. Butts, which contained general education, and the department of trades education, which contained agricultural education. Though the School of Industrial Pedagogy had disappeared, teacher training continued, and students seeking teaching careers kept enrolling at A&M at an impressive rate. Further, degrees in education continued to be offered in spite of the impact of the war and the never-ending debate over duplication of programs.37 In other areas of accomplishment during Smith’s reign, student advisement finally became a reality. Faculty had examined the issue back during the Hardy days, and while Hightower was president, Bowen chaired a committee that produced a student advisor program. In late 1917, Smith called for the revival of an advisement system, which suggested that the Bowen committee program had never amounted to much. Smith also had a hard time getting anything going, so he proposed a course for first-year students which would focus on planning for students’ collegiate career. However, this idea apparently produced no results, for, two years later, faculty were still talking about the need for student advisement.38 In dealing with students, Smith upon taking office immediately launched an antismoking campaign. He threatened strict, unspecified penalties against those caught smoking or otherwise using tobacco. He also inherited the Hightower administration’s dance issue, and the board expected Smith to chaperone the dances heavily and to make sure the dancing was in good taste. Things did not end there, however. The board soon lashed out • 77 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

at the waste of money on dances and the evil nature of the dances that corrupted the morals of all involved. Thus, rules would have to be more strict, attendance better monitored, and time limits set, and a faculty committee, Smith, and a board committee would be expected to see to it that these measures were strictly adhered to. The limit of three dances was retained, and time limits were set. The rules affected all colleges, and Ole Miss students burned the governor in effigy in protest, but at A&M the reaction was more muted. As with Hightower, this issue continued past Smith’s reign, with future efforts to ban dancing altogether barely defeated by the board. Smith’s years also resulted in the organization of the student cadet corps as an ROTC unit, which resulted in the use of the regular GI army uniform, settling that debate. Students were allowed to wear their blue uniforms to special occasions. Smith also saw an increase in campus politics, mostly among fraternities, fueled perhaps by the activities of the governor. In elections, there seemed to be more widespread democracy at A&M than at some other state schools. One unique incident that occurred during this period regarding students went unnoticed at the time, but would be remembered within a few years. A student from Memphis named George K. Barnes was admitted on probation. He had no high school diploma, so he could not become an official student until he proved himself in the classroom. He lasted for one semester in the fall of 1917 and a fraction of another the following spring, and then he dropped out. He would surface later leading a life of crime, and, with the assistance of a manipulative wife, would become known as “Machine Gun” Kelly, using his middle name as his last. His life of crime led to a kidnapping conviction in Oklahoma that landed him in federal prison where he would spend the rest of his life.39 Smith also happened to be in office when the alumni became a force for the future. In 1919, J. Wendell Bailey was chosen as “permanent” secretary by the alumni; he was given a campus office, and publication of the Alumnus magazine began. The association would continue to publish helpful documents for those interested in the history of the college, including a 1921 list of graduates, the story of A&M during the World War I years, a history of one of the student military units, the Lee Guards, a history of the experiment station, and a comprehensive two-volume compilation of the school’s athletic history. Bailey was the editor and publisher of all these and deserves much credit for documenting the early years of A&M. In the mid-thirties, • 78 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

thanks to a recommendation by future president Hugh Critz, the college would hire a field representative and secretary to keep the campus alumni office moving forward as a strong presence on campus.40 The most prominent development that Smith had to face, of course, was World War I. Inflation assaulted the college’s economy before American soldiers headed overseas, but not until the United States entered the conflict in 1917 did the college have to face the potential impact of the situation. The faculty drafted symbolic resolutions, and Governor Bilbo announced that the faculty and its resources would be placed at the service of the state and nation. Students, especially the seniors, cadet officers, and military instructors, announced their availability for training volunteer soldiers. That the war became the college’s top priority was demonstrated by the cancellation of high school days on campus and of social functions, and some recommended the cancellation of athletic contests.41 Athletics, however, continued, with the 1917 football team posting an impressive 6–1 record, including a 41–14 thrashing of archrival Ole Miss. The basketball team competed, too, playing an odd schedule that included four games each with Mississippi College and Ole Miss. The team won all four against Mississippi College and three out of four against Ole Miss, finishing the season with a 7–3 record, having been defeated twice by LSU. The war likely caused the cancellation of the 1918 basketball schedule. The baseball team won 14, lost 3, and tied 2 in 1917, but the track and field team only participated in one meet, losing by five points to Tulane. For the rest of Smith’s term, the football team had a winning record, playing an abbreviated schedule in 1918. After skipping the 1918 season, the basketball team went 4–3 in 1919, the baseball team won 18 and lost 14 over the next three years, including being named Southern Conference champions in 1918, and the track and field team participated in several meets, winning two and competing well in others.42 A wave of patriotism swept the campus as students rushed to join the war effort; the Smith administration agreed to allow senior students to graduate in absentia and authorized credit for passing grades to undergraduates who wanted to volunteer for “military or industrial service.” As historian Bettersworth observed, “By May, nearly all of the student body was reported to have withdrawn either to enlist or to work at farm or factory.” The administration cancelled graduation exercises, though in spite of the rush to enlist, some 650 students showed up for summer school. • 79 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

Other signs of the war included faculty gardens, planted to save expenditures and commercial consumption, and the extension service offered the public advice on conservation of household goods and budgeting.43 In July 1917, the Wilson administration advised Smith and other college presidents to keep their schools open in order to continue military training for students who might be needed to fill the ranks. A local campaign to increase enrollment worked well, and in January 1918, A&M made available “faculty, buildings, and equipment” to the U.S. War Department for technical training. Men who fell within draft age parameters were offered enrollment and courses that would equip them for military service. The college administration contracted with the War Department in April for instruction of six hundred men in two-month segments for technical service duties. Included in the training would be instruction in the use of the still-novel radio, a program that continued past the war.44 Some seniors found themselves transferred to officer-training facilities. In the fall of 1918, the Student Army Training Corps, in a program supported by the War Department, enrolled all qualified students on campus, a number that reached beyond eight hundred. All seemed to be going well until a flu epidemic hit the campus hard, forcing faculty and students not ill to volunteer to help with the care of those who were sick. Of some twelve hundred men who caught the dreaded illness, thirty-eight died. Efforts to keep the fall semester going were feeble, but resolve remained strong on campus to support the war effort. It has been estimated that some four thousand A&M men participated officially in military service, but demobilization hit the campus quickly once allied victory was announced late in 1917.45 After the war, the roots of the future GI bills that followed World War II, Korea, and Vietnam challenged A&M and other institutions of higher learning. After World War I, the Federal Board of Vocational Education led the way for helping servicemen scarred by the conflict. The government plan included three phases: traditional course work leading to degrees, training for different jobs with no degrees involved, and basic instruction for those barely literate who needed preparatory help before they could be trained for jobs. At A&M, the nondegree training offered in the field of agriculture proved to be the choice of many students. The third phase of the program involving those who were practically, or totally, illiterate, did not last long, for it proved too big a burden, when the college administration already had • 80 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

to deal with changes on campus like the intermingling of young freshmen with battle-tested veterans who had experienced the mental and physical horrors of war. Nevertheless, the college moved forward, producing quality graduates such as Samuel Frederick Potts, who made a national reputation as a top entomologist. The experience also aided President Smith, who, after leaving A&M, moved to the nation’s capital to work with the intricacies of veterans’ education policy and affairs.46 Smith had proved more than capable in leading the college through the war years. In addition to the challenges of academic affairs, he had worked toward improving the physical properties of the campus. Numerous shade trees were planted, and flowers and shrubs appeared on the landscape. A special committee recommended that a head of landscape architecture be hired, with the person to be responsible for supervising the campus grounds. Detailed plans were drafted for the improvement of the landscape around certain buildings, and special attention was given to covering the exterior walls of the campus hospital, George Hall, which had fallen into disrepair. Funding for landscaping came from the legislature and a one-dollar-per-student fee, but still the funding was not enough to give the campus the grandiose beauty Smith desired. At least he had made the effort and left the place better than he found it.47 Politics continued to affect the presidency of A&M when the election of a new governor in 1920, Lee Russell, signaled that President Smith, who quickly became one of Russell’s critics, would soon be on his way out. Financial problems also crippled Smith’s personal image. A large deficit based on such things as improperly diverted funds, uncollected fees by several agencies, and confusion over wartime government programs forced Smith to ask the legislature for an appropriation of over seventy-eight thousand dollars to balance A&M’s books. One legislator, J. S. Howerton, seemed to be part of the trouble, for he chaired the house of representatives Appropriations Committee and had, in 1918, cut part of A&M’s budget as revenge against Smith for the latter’s refusal to be strong-armed into making a faculty change. Former governor Bilbo got involved in the antiSmith business, and Smith must have seen the handwriting on the wall when Howerton was appointed to the college board. Smith antagonized his enemies by adjusting some targeted funds in the campus budget to meet certain needs, a normal practice but not necessarily safe when one had powerful enemies.48 • 81 •

hightower, smith, and world war, 1912–1920

Smith made known his intention to resign in late May 1920, and the board accepted his resignation on June 2. To prevent future financial troubles such as those experienced by Smith, the board told all colleges to set up uniform bookkeeping systems and to spend money only where it was intended to be spent. Smith had some faculty support from those who characterized his administration as “successful,” but it did not matter, and on July 23, D. C. Hull was named the new president. Though Smith left under a cloud, he could look back and say truthfully that he had kept the college moving forward during a turbulent time in American history.49

• 82 •

5 Hull, Walker, and Critz: The 1920s and the Dark Years, 1920–1934

T

he stock market crash of 1929 only underscored what had been going on in agriculturally based Mississippi since the end of the war. Low prices hounded farmers, keeping the state’s tax base low and making it difficult to keep an institution of higher learning like Mississippi A&M running at all. The budgetary problems left behind by President Smith only exacerbated the situation, but two men named Hull and Walker managed to keep A&M moving forward through the twenties; though their accomplishments were not spectacular, they deserved some credit, given the ever-present money problems, for having any at all. The farmers somehow stayed in business, and the college somehow kept its doors open, underscoring the tenacity of men who plowed fields and led A&M. The next president of the college, David Carlisle Hull, came from Attala County, west of Starkville, and he had received his master’s degree at A&M in 1905. He had shown leadership skills back in those days as headmaster of the prep school, and then he became dean of the School of Industrial Pedagogy, where he served until 1910. He continued his successful career by leaving to become president of Millsaps College, a private Methodist school that had earned respect as an academic institution and was located in the state capital of Jackson. In 1912, he left to become superintendent of the Meridian, Mississippi, city schools, where he had already been a principal during the 1898–1902 period. He was still working in Meridian when the college board asked him to take over the presidency of his alma mater, • 83 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

A&M, in 1920, where he would serve for five years. In 1925, he resigned, despite pleas to continue, and became president of Kentucky Wesleyan College.1 Hull and his successor, Buz Walker, both faced the challenge of keeping A&M viable and legitimate during a time when Mississippi lay mired in poverty, its only money crop, cotton, languishing. In 1920 Hull put together a committee that he hoped would help the college gain recognition, and thus some legitimacy, by the New York Board of Regents. Hull also led the way for putting together a campus chapter of the National Education Association. One of Hull’s professors, F. P. Gaines, called for establishing ties with the Southern Association of Colleges and Universities. It took two years, but finally a committee came together to study the possibility of such an affiliation. Thus the Hull administration sought to strengthen the foundation of the college.2 Hull also had some academic fence-mending to do with other state colleges. The problem lay with varying interpretations of what represented passing grades when students sought to transfer to and from A&M to another state institution. Often the situation included lower technical standards at other schools than those required at A&M. In 1921, Hull’s faculty decided to increase total graduation hours from 144 to 160, which was a higher number than was required at other Mississippi schools. Negative reaction caused reconsideration, and the number was pulled back to 156, still high, but the majority of the faculty refused to support anything lower. The faculty also received word from Hull that he expected better performances from the students, who he felt were not performing to meet sufficient standards. Meanwhile, the election of pro-education Governor Henry Whitfield in 1924 portended better days of state government support for Hull’s successor in 1925, Buz Walker.3 Meanwhile, Hull had to deal with renewed cries against duplication of programs among state institutions of higher learning. Some members of the legislature proposed in 1920 that all the state colleges be concentrated in Jackson. Although this radical proposal went nowhere, those who supported it promised to keep bringing it up. Financial problems did force Hull and his faculty to consolidate programs on campus, which satisfied some habitual critics.4 Budget problems led in 1920 to the placing of liberal arts courses including English composition, English literature, public speaking, economics, • 84 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

modern languages, history and civics, and mathematics together in one academic school headed by F. J. Weddell, who also headed English composition. F. P. Gaines headed up English literature, which had been set up as a department separate from composition. This division proved to be short-lived, for when Gaines left A&M in 1923, the acting head who took his place, Herbert Drennon, recommended an approved merger of composition and literature under Weddell. General education courses transferred, upon Hull’s direction, to the School of Science. Industrial education became a wing of the engineering school, and agricultural education ran on its own, though technically in the department of vocational education.5 With all the departmental changes going on, the number of schools stayed the same. The industrial education school had been replaced by a general academic school, headed by Weddell. Still, the dreary economy forced cutbacks and led to much talk throughout the state of enforcing collegiate budget reductions by the abolition of freshman classes, the curriculum of which would be covered by high schools. Other proposed cuts were more personal; Hull found that he was to lose twelve hunded of the forty-eight hundred dollars of his salary, and when he threatened to resign, the money was replaced by the board by dipping into the experiment station and extension budgets. The board and Hull refused to give in to legislative criticism for the shifting of funds. Nevertheless, the incident disgusted Hull, who began to look elsewhere for employment, and he would leave in 1925.6 Hull’s last year at A&M was typical of past administrative problems. Budget difficulties continued, underscored by the legislature granting higher education some fifty-three thousand dollars less than the amount requested. The shortage of funds forced cutbacks on all campuses, including A&M, where Hull had to cut eighteen staff positions and combine some departments to keep them functional. In agriculture, eight departments were cut to four, the survivors including general agriculture, horticulture, dairying, and agricultural education. Among the engineering departments, mechanical, electrical, and civil were retained. General science lost two of its four departments, the two remaining divided to cover training in research and teaching. The school of business was eliminated, with the 1923–1924 freshmen given the chance to enter as sophomores in other schools, and the juniors and seniors being allowed to complete their degree work at A&M.7 • 85 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

Despite his political and monetary problems, Hull, like his predecessors, left behind a record of full support for the experiment station and the extension service. During Hull’s reign, an experiment station was established at Raymond, a small town southwest of Jackson. Hull promoted experimental farms in state counties to work with the agricultural high schools. He saw this system as more realistic than building more branch experiment stations. The Raymond operation followed the basic outline of Hull’s idea. The experimental work produced such results as instruction in terracing in some eighteen counties and continual research in the production of cotton. J. S. Moore led progress in dairying and livestock and put together a course in dairying early in Hull’s term. Beef production was among the highest prices at sales in St. Louis, and the local creamery proved so successful that the Borden Company moved into the Starkville area. The creamery drew so much attention—and criticism from private dairymen—that the board gave thought to separating it from the college and letting it operate commercially on its own.8 The cooperative extension service, which the home economics program had turned into a coeducational operation, functioned under guidelines of the Smith-Lever act. Despite the continued official ban of women from A&M, in 1922, neighboring Lowndes County sent a group of females to take a short course in home economics. Also in 1922, the college worked on a home garden program with the federated women’s clubs in Mississippi. The introduction of women into the college’s work did produce a feud, however.9 Susie Powell in 1924 came to the college from Jackson to serve as an assistant extension director and, more to the point, as the state home demonstration agent. Soon she and extension director Robert S. Wilson crossed swords, seemingly over policy differences. The situation got out of hand and soon Powell and eight of her assistants resigned, no doubt infuriated that Hull had chosen to support Wilson. Hull and Wilson accused Powell of “insubordination,” but the situation became more muddled when the federation of women’s clubs supported Powell and called for a hearing and the righting of wrongs done to Powell by the college. Thus the board got involved and came down on the side of Hull and Wilson, but avoided war by stating their admiration for Powell’s ability and expressing regret that she had chosen to leave the program.10 Hull thus survived the Powell episode, and he also survived the economic bad times to the point that he made progress in expanding the phys• 86 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

ical plant of the college. Of course, expectations could not be met due to a shortage of funds. A library had been planned, and a biology building and a new cafeteria were on the drawing board, but the library was soon relegated to a small portion of the biology building, which was named Harned Hall in honor of microbiology professor H. H. Harned. Progress was also made in expanding the engineering building into a three-story complex; the building was one of the earliest on campus to be outfitted with electric lights.11 Hull also had the displeasure of coping with the continuing smuggling of alcohol onto the campus. While he was in office, seven taxi drivers who ignored rules and brought liquor onto campus property had their licenses taken away and were banned from doing business on college property. Hull also inherited the dancing controversy, aiming his criticism at inebriated, unwelcome visitors to the campus, and he further called for restricting outsiders to the young women who were dates of the A&M men. Nevertheless, continuing problems led to a ban on dances, supported by faculty and the board and forcing students to hold the events on noncampus property. Not until 1930, after pressure from alumni, did legal dancing return to campus grounds. Hull also loosened uniform requirements, allowing seniors to wear civilian attire on weekends and, in 1922, several military traditional formations were cancelled for good, including retreat, chapel, sentry duty, guard mount, meal, and Saturday inspection. On the other hand, both Hull and his successor, Buz Walker, looked the other way at upperclassmen’s harassment of freshmen, which included making them wear a green badge, blocking the west entrance to Lee Hall (which generally meant the freshmen had to walk farther to enter), and forbidding use of the post office between 11:30 a.m. and 12:25 p.m. (the purpose of which is unclear). Upperclassmen’s use of the freshmen paddle also continued; the number of freshmen who took issue with this corporal punishment is not recorded. Still, during the Hull years, a general atmosphere of congeniality reigned, with the college managing to avoid the snobbery and aggressiveness of fraternities, except when they faced each other in campus student leader elections.12 Buz Walker, another A&M alumnus (a member of the first graduating class in 1883) and an Oktibbeha County native son, had been around the college most of his life. He taught for a year in the prep school and then was appointed an assistant professor in the mathematics department. He earned • 87 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

a master’s degree locally in 1886, studied in the graduate school of the University of Virginia, and then traveled to Germany to study at Goettingon and Berlin. Walker continued his impressive academic career by earning a doctorate at the University of Chicago in 1906, this in spite of the fact that his manuscript was water damaged during an accident aboard a boat where it was traveling with his major professor on a trip to Germany. While continuing his graduate work, Walker had returned to A&M, where he became director, then dean, of the School of Engineering in 1902. He was made vice president of the college upon the occasion of Magruder’s death in 1913, and now he stepped into the presidency while still a relatively young man.13 Walker not only took over at a time of economic problems, but was answerable to a college board that wanted to raise the entrance-level bar for students, as to both their classroom abilities and their character. If students showed that they were insincere in the classroom, they should be removed from the college and quickly. Inferior students would not be tolerated under any circumstances. Walker also learned that the board had high expectations for faculty. Through a self-study program, the college received positive feedback nationally. In the fall of 1925, Walker attended a land-grant college convention in Chicago and gathered self-study material from other attendees. His efforts, along with the cooperation of the faculty, led to A&M being accepted as a member of the Southern Association of Colleges and Secondary Schools in 1926. This positive note was followed quickly by approval from the American Council of Education. The next year, Walker announced that all “accrediting boards and organizations” had added A&M to their roster of approved institutions of higher learning.14 Walker did not encounter much trouble from students, hence his success in projecting a positive image. There was a tragic event in the spring of 1927, when J. L. Bridges died as a result of a prank involving some explosive powder. An accidental igniting of the powder caused Bridges to jump out of a window of Old Main. He clung to the window momentarily, lost his grip, and fell to his death. Three other students were severely burned. Walker and a student military escort accompanied Bridges’s body to Coldwater, Mississippi, where he was buried. Another instance of trouble, not so tragic, was the threat of a strike around the Christmas holidays of 1927. Scheduling, done either intentionally or as an innocent oversight, kept students on campus until December 21, only four days before Christmas. Students loudly vocalized their unhap• 88 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

piness, and perhaps they were only looking for an excuse to sound off about the shortcomings of the cafeteria, which rarely received praise from anyone. Whatever the case, Walker soothed things over and continued his plans to improve his alma mater. In other student affairs, Walker called for an end to hazing when the traditional military discipline on campus ended in 1930, Walker’s last year. A positive step included creation of orientation week for freshmen in 1926, which included one lecture for one hour each week, and no doubt eased some of the trepidations felt by the new students.15 In addition to the raising of standards, one of Walker’s goals was salvation of Bowen’s business school. It had been reduced to departmental status under Hull with the narrow title of finance and marketing. It would not be reinstated as a school until after Walker had resigned as president, but at least he did nothing to harm it. He also had to keep the board happy regarding the continuing calls for holding the college within budgetary parameters. The board, despite its worries over “inefficiency of operation or duplication in work,” also had to be sensitive to the fact that Mississippi taxpayers expected the people’s college to offer broad-ranging courses that would examine, and, it was hoped, help with the state’s major problems and issues. The people wanted talented faculty who could teach at a level that kept A&M in the same league as other land-grant schools around the country. So the board, and Walker, had the problem of trying to keep costs down and quality up, a challenge indeed.16 The new president attacked the problem by trying to keep costs under control while at the same time reworking the curriculum to make course offerings more functional and attractive. The rural economics department began offering a major course of study that examined problems in Mississippi. A program was set up that allowed students to leave campus in the late spring to gain experience working on farms. The assignments included keeping records that reflected their work, which they brought back to the classroom to be examined by their instructors. Walker also expanded the extension program to include summer course offerings to high school students, farmers, and wives.17 Walker and the faculty, along with the board, also reinstated the quarter system in 1928, which required further changes in course structure. Walker wanted to use the freshman and sophomore years for general education • 89 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

coursework, with the remaining years devoted to students’ major fields of study. Walker also contributed to the expansion of the experiment program with the establishment of another station, this one in Adams County, home of the influential town of Natchez. Walker led the expansion of the experiment and extension programs into engineering activity, most of the work related to using machinery to dig wells and cultivate cotton. This led to calls for a “Mechanic Arts or Engineering Experiment Station on campus to keep in step with other land-grant schools that had taken this step.” This move, however, would be delayed by the onset of the Great Depression in 1929.18 As for the ongoing building program, Walker’s administration oversaw the collection of two hundred thousand dollars from the sale of endowment policies to fund a new gymnasium and football stadium, but, perhaps because of economic uncertainties, the plan never came to fruition. Walker and the faculty continued to push for new facilities, asking for an agricultural extension and experiment station as well as new structures for dairy, poultry, and horticultural operations. Montgomery Hall needed work, as did the veterinary science and agriculture buildings. These were the high-priority structures, but there were other needs, like a new engineering building, apartment houses and other dwellings for employees, a new dormitory, a wood shop, and, further down the list, a library, a gym, an armory, and a chemistry building.19 Other building projects included a 1928 funding for a teaching laboratory for the agriculture school, a combined agriculture extension building and experiment station, and a dormitory with a built-in kitchen and dining tables. The teaching lab eventually became a business education facility named in honor, appropriately, of Bowen, and Montgomery Hall inherited the School of Agriculture. (Over the years, Montgomery Hall has probably housed more different departments and programs than any other building on campus.) The experiment-extension facility was completed and named the Lloyd-Ricks Building in honor of two men who had been directors of the programs in those areas. The new dormitory, eventually named Herbert Hall for a previous registrar, J. C. Herbert, served as an athletic dorm for a time and then became a women’s hall. Walker also oversaw the construction of concrete streets, beginning in 1928, and in 1930 the college received funds for a stock-judging facility, and the old twin-towers textile building became home for the Department of Agricultural Engineering.20 • 90 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

As for athletic facilities, neither Hull nor Walker had much success in giving the college anything to be proud of. A rickety-looking gym appeared on the landscape, built at a measly cost of slightly over twelve thousand dollars and barely big enough to hold the current enrollment. The football “stadium” contained 1,925 wooden bleachers, which were used for many years, eventually winding up as end zone seats. Bricks would eventually appear to reinforce the stadium structure during the next decade. But the time also marked the arrival of Dudy Noble, who would have a major, positive impact on athletics at A&M for many years to come.21 The twenties could be classified as mediocre, but that was nobody’s fault; the real villain was the absence of sufficient funding to carry on the growth of the college. It grew some anyway, thanks to Hull’s and Walker’s tenacity, along with the support of the college board, but deficiencies abounded and much work remained to be done to make A&M a first-class college. The athletic teams ironically reflected the course of progress. From 1920 to 1929, the football team had a 38–35–12 record, barely above breaking even. The basketball team, despite their less than impressive playing facility, fared better with a 115–75 record, winning the Southern Conference championship in 1923 with a 15–4 mark. The baseball team also was impressive at times, compiling a 137–79–7 record and winning the Southern Conference championship with a 17–7 mark in 1924. The track and field athletes also did well, winning several meets and raising the level of competition through tougher scheduling.22 Unfortunately, the college had two tough situations ahead, one beyond its control and one difficult to counter. In 1929, the U.S. stock market crashed, sending the country into a deep depression, the ramifications of which would further challenge the already meager funding future of A&M. Also, in 1928, the erratic racist who sought to crush all political enemies, Theodore Bilbo, was elected governor of Mississippi. Although he sought to improve Mississippi’s higher education, Bilbo had a plethora of enemies among state college administrators and faculty, and once in office, he went after them with a vengeance. So many who had openly defied Bilbo within hearing range of a Bilbo supporter were at risk of finding themselves without jobs. Buz Walker was a Bilbo supporter and had helped raise money for the governor’s recent campaign, but his support on campus had waned, and he resigned, reconsidered, and was refused his effort to reassume the presidency. This was one example of Bilbo overlooking friendship for the • 91 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

betterment of a college. In any event, A&M found itself with a new president, another alumnus named Hugh Critz, a native of Starkville and a veteran educator. He would find fighting the effects of the Depression and the ramifications of Bilbo’s controversial relations with higher education officials daunting indeed.23 When open warfare broke out between Theodore Bilbo and his political enemies on college campuses in Mississippi, no one imagined how far Bilbo would go to carry out personal vendettas against the educators. On June 13, 1930, Bilbo, through his supporters on the college board, fired three college presidents, including Buz Walker of A&M. Hugh Critz assumed the presidency in place of Walker; whether Critz was a wholehearted supporter of Bilbo or just wise enough to keep his mouth shut is unclear, but he would no doubt have many second thoughts about accepting the position, given what lay ahead in keeping the college going. Yet, Bilbo has been too much the villain in most analyses of his higher education policies. He wanted to improve what he considered to be many flaws in higher education, so his efforts were not intended merely to get back at those who had not supported him, Buz Walker being a case in point. Bilbo had good intentions, and in many cases he was right. His style, not his ideas, caused much of the controversy.24 So times were unsettled when Critz took over. Born on a farm, Critz had been only twenty years old when he graduated from A&M, and he soon became head of the Starkville public schools. In 1906, his alma mater hired him, and he served as sort of a jack-of-all-trades, teaching mathematics and agronomy, becoming registrar and then director of the School of Industrial Education. Given his agricultural roots, it was not surprising that he assisted in organizing the first boys’ and girls’ pig clubs in Mississippi in 1909. Seven years later he would leave Mississippi and go to Tennessee to become principal at Bolton College, which was actually an agricultural high school, and then in 1918, he moved on to Russellville, Arkansas, where he headed the agricultural high school there, which eventually, thanks to his leadership, became Arkansas Polytechnic High School. He returned to the college to lead the service bureau and put together a part-time students’ department. Eventually, Critz went to work for the Mississippi Power and Light Company before accepting the position of president of A&M.25 While Bilbo patted himself on the back for his conquests of the presidents, he formulated plans to get rid of anti-Bilbo faculty. Critz may have • 92 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

been, but given the circumstances of his own ascendancy, he should not have been surprised when rumors floated that a blacklist had been made by the governor and his supporters. Whatever the case, on July 5, 1930, the board met and fired the directors of the experiment station and cooperative extension service and several more; by the time the Bilbo-controlled board finished its work 112 A&M faculty had been fired, and 223 threatened with dismissal if they criticized the governor. These were the figures given out by an anti-Bilbo freelance writer named John Hudson. In another part of an article that contained these numbers, Hudson wrote that overall in Mississippi 179 faculty had been fired and 233 threatened. So the numbers are obviously wrong. For one thing, A&M did not have a total of 335 faculty in 1930 as indicated by Hudson. As things turned out, Hudson’s editor had supplied the figures without checking their accuracy. Surely some A&M faculty were fired, and some left of their own volition, but the numbers could not have been anywhere close to those in Hudson’s article. However, the negative publicity brought by Hudson’s article and other critics did damage the perceived state of higher education in Mississippi.26 Delta State College was the only one to escape the governor’s so-called purge; apparently the president and faculty there were in good standing with Bilbo, or perhaps the governor did not wish to risk going to war with wealthy cotton planters in the Delta. But elsewhere the axe fell to the point that ramifications were not long in coming. The U.S. Department of Agriculture initially threatened to withhold federal funds from the experiment station and extension service, though Bilbo managed to talk his way out of that possibility, and the federal government put up stiff resistance when the governor attempted to have the military science commandant removed.27 Within Mississippi, Bilbo also met resistance. Even Bilbo supporters turned on him, and Critz, whether he was or not, claimed to be shocked by the whole business. He allegedly commented that many on the blacklist were his friends and were highly trained professionals who would be most difficult to replace. In an article in the Memphis Commercial Appeal, he compared his position to a personal trip through the Garden of Gethsemane. His reaction was convincing enough that word got out that Critz would resign in protest, though that thought apparently never entered his mind. He would remain on board for four years, and no president of the college had ever or would ever have to deal with more turmoil than he.28 • 93 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

Critz not only had to deal with the fears and unrest among the faculty; the Bilbo debacle also caused a decline in enrollment and morale. Everyone who understood the damage Bilbo’s action had caused knew that the Southern Association of Colleges and Secondary Schools would likely remove A&M from membership, and in the fall of 1930, it became known that, effective September 1, 1931, all the state schools that had lost presidents and faculty due to Bilbo’s assault on the state’s higher education institutions would be suspended by SACS. The move got Bilbo’s attention, and he met with the board in December, on the occasion of the Ole Miss–A&M football game, to look for a way out of the mess he had created. One solution was for the board to give up the right to fire faculty, leaving that in the hands of the various presidents. The move did not keep Ole Miss students from burning the governor in effigy. The foregoing discussion of Bilbo and higher education has been, in part, the traditional view for many years. In the recent past, just as Chester Morgan has attempted to refurbish Bilbo’s political career, another Mississippi historian, David Sansing, has, in his study of the history of higher education in Mississippi, argued that Bilbo was not as bad as he has historically been portrayed. Vindictive, yes, but Sansing argues that Bilbo tried to do for higher education the things he thought needed to be done to improve quality. Sansing also demonstrates that a national study of Mississippi higher education in 1931 made recommendations similar to many of Bilbo’s proposals. Had Bilbo embraced diplomacy rather than stridency, he might be remembered more favorably, and perhaps should be anyway. Unfortunately his methods negatively overshadowed his intentions.29 That argument would not have changed many minds among the governor’s enemies, but at A&M there was more concern, and some would have argued that the situation was worse than Bilbo, because the football team was in disarray. The coach, Christian Cagle, who had a solid reputation at the U.S. Military Academy, had come to A&M to coach in 1930 after resigning his commission in the army. More interested in furthering his own football career as a player than in coaching a team, he had been a total failure as a coach, and he left before the season was over to play with the New York Giants. Dudy Noble stepped in, but could perform no miracles, and the team lost to Ole Miss, 20–0, in a game indicative of the Bilbo cloud hanging over Critz and the campus. But things would turn around quickly the next year after some masterful recruiting by a Bilboite, Mitchell • 94 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

Robinson, the athletic department financial secretary, whose efforts produced a team that upset Army in 1935 and, after a fine 1936 season, landed in the 1937 Orange Bowl. Unfortunately, this development did not signal a positive turnaround for the college.30 Yet Critz seemed to have firm control of the student population. The everpresent drinking controversy apparently dissipated during his reign. Despite the fact that innovative students continued to smuggle in the alcoholic beverages, most, perhaps influenced by their parents, seemed to support prohibition. In 1934, Critz reported very few incidences of imbibing at dances and other events, the only exception being the final student association dance, where apparently the students had Critz’s silent state of approval. Critz further won the affection of students when he got the board to agree that uniforms should only be worn when the students were on duty. The president also supported a student committee formed in 1931 to work against hazing, though such incidents probably did not end completely. Policing the whole campus all the time was impossible.31 The reaction against Bilbo’s interference with higher education continued. Other associations like the American Medical Association and the American Association of Law Schools put the University of Mississippi on probation. The American Association of University Women followed suit by removing the woman’s college at Columbus from its list of approved schools. The mess brought a reaction from all the schools’ alumni who assembled in the state capital to plan strategy. Critz, presumably a Bilbo man, was out front, doing all he could to undo the damage by calling for a revision of the college board. There should be only one, consisting of five members serving staggered terms, to keep governors from playing games with higher education. His idea caught on and was considered by the Mississippi Education Association in 1931. The A&M students supported their president as did the new governor, Mike Conner, who was determined to remove the stain his predecessor had put on the state’s image.32 Meanwhile, Bilbo had been trying to save face by recovering his own fumble. Early in 1931, he made overtures to the Southern Association, seeking a conference with the group’s executive committee. The state college board also sent a committee composed of presidents of Mississippi institutions of higher learning, including Critz, to meet with representations of the association with the goal of seeking a lifting of the ban. Negative publicity about the whole situation, from as far away as the publication The • 95 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

New Republic in New York, compounded the problem of getting the colleges back in good standing with the association.33 The state college board tried to counter the crisis by convincing Mississippi citizens that the state’s colleges would continue to operate and standards would continue to be kept at a high level. The board organized a cadre of public speakers, including Critz and A. B. Butts from A&M, to canvass the state and reassure the angry public. Student leaders were sent out to recruit new students for their respective institutions. The board also encouraged presidents and faculty to build morale on their respective campuses, and Critz, in the summer of 1931, announced that most of his students were satisfied that an excellent environment existed at their college campus. Critz assured the world that standards remained strong, and the current students could confidently spread the word that all was well at A&M to their families and friends.34 The campaign to regain the favor of the Southern Association continued when the board and Bilbo worked together on a resolution requesting that all the state’s colleges be readmitted. But the resolution said nothing of the causes of the problem in the first place, offered no apologies, and blamed all the perceptions of problems on administrations that predated the mass firings by the governor. Bilbo thus tried to argue that the housecleaning had been an effort to upgrade the schools, not a political vendetta. The officials of the Southern Association were not fooled, and they did nothing to reach out to the Mississippi schools until after Bilbo left office and Mike Conner became governor.35 Governor Conner wasted no time in addressing the mess left by Bilbo. He quickly sent a bill that zoomed through the legislature; it created a college board of nine, who would be appointed by the governor with senate approval and would serve on a staggered schedule. Three would be appointed for four years, three for eight, and three for twelve, and once the plan was in motion, future appointees would all get twelve-year terms. Also, the people chosen must be recognized as moral and intellectual leaders. Conner penned his name to the bill on February 2, 1932, and the legislation paved the way for sanity to return to Mississippi’s colleges. Chosen in February, the board met on March 1 and immediately launched efforts to secure the colleges’ recognition by the various associations that had blacklisted them. Joseph Smith of Jackson chaired a special committee to address the problem by asking the Southern Association to reconsider its position. • 96 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

The presidents received orders to put together personnel information for SACS and to make friendly contacts with the group. On July 29, the new college board officially asked the association for readmission of the state colleges amid rumors that word had already been received that the Southern Association would react favorably.36 The Southern Association reservedly granted readmission to membership to Mississippi schools. Specifically, Mississippi State College, as A&M became officially known in 1932, must improve in the area of education and show more compliance with the rules of SACS. In effect, MSC was on probation, which caught Critz off guard, but he at once went to work to satisfy the association. Criticized for low salaries and poor maintenance of the physical plant, as well as the low caliber of faculty, Critz in December of 1933 said that sufficient improvements had been made to take the college off probation and into a position of “conditional membership” until reports the following year had been reviewed by SACS. Another year passed before the association lifted the last conditional clouds from the college.37 In addition to Bilbo’s shenanigans, problems caused by the Great Depression that followed the stock market crash of 1929 must have made Critz wonder if his presidency was especially cursed. With the college faced by ever-increasing state budget problems, it remained to be seen if the school could meet the salary and upkeep concerns of the Southern Association. The simple fact was that on the first day of the year 1931, the state treasury was all but barren. The ten thousand dollars on hand meant Mississippi faced the real possibility of bankruptcy. As usual, appropriations for 1931 had been made the previous year, but the Depression had so depleted available money that the appropriations were all but meaningless. Fifteen and a half million dollars had been projected, and Mississippi realistically could expect only eight million in revenue. The possibility of closing all schools in the state, from elementary through college, was very real.38 Mississippi State College remained open, though meeting financial responsibilities became almost impossible. Chaos was the order of the day, and Critz told the board in a 1931 report that though financial times were harsh indeed, it would be a serious mistake to have the college cut its relationship with the state’s farms. Not only would the school lose its main base of support, but the bleak money problems could force loss of faculty and staff. Critz told the board a tax should be enacted to give the school a reliable source of income.39 • 97 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

A tax increase did not seem likely, however. Politicians hated to talk about such things, especially in the midst of a depression, and the new governor, Mike Conner, took office facing the fact that schools were operating without any financial foundation at all. The reserve money that colleges usually drew from until appropriations arrived no longer existed. An old argument to begin the fiscal year in July instead of January 1 resurfaced, so colleges would have a better notion of what to expect from the legislature. Under current conditions, it seemed an empty argument, but Critz pushed for it, insisting that things would not be nearly as bad if the colleges had a better idea ahead of time of the crisis they faced. The years of 1931–1932 were especially hard, for salaries could not be paid, and college employees had to depend upon the charity of neighbors and understanding businessmen, plus a marked increase in gardens, in order to obtain the simple necessities of life. Radical drops in enrollment, from 1,509 in 1930–1931 to 886 in 1932–1933, only underscored the fact that the college was fighting for its very existence.40 One of the major solutions to declining enrollment seemed to be cutting admission fees, or so some argued, but with the budget already in deep trouble, most members of the board refused to go along. The exact opposite occurred when prices were raised, though the tuition still, compared to other schools in the region, was a bargain. The Memphis Commercial Appeal editorialized that $400 per year was all that one needed to attend MSC, and that was a good deal, for the dorm rooms cost nothing, and with the cafeteria operating on a pay-as-you-eat basis, students did not have to come up with a large amount to cover whole semesters. A check for $138 would cover all school-year expenses, and could be paid one-half at a time by hard-pressed parents. The fees covered such costs as laundry, uniforms, athletics, and medical services for in-state students. Since the college was not known for fancy wardrobes, students could afford decent clothes at decent prices. Those wanting to go the fraternity route would pay more, but that was their choice, not a requirement.41 When more funds entered campus coffers, the legislature left the college 41 percent below its budget for 1930–1931. The board held off approving salaries until the various college presidents showed they had the funds to meet requirements. Contracts with employees were modified to include a citation that budgets could be reduced if necessary to avoid deficits. Though doing its best to remain frugal, the board agreed to pay • 98 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

75 percent of salaries due for the first half of the fiscal year of 1932. The board also warned presidents against preferential treatment, for there were rumors that favoritism sometimes dictated who got paid and who did not. Critz remained concerned, for he knew that creditors who had generously donated goods to college employees during the difficult times were demanding their money once paychecks started being issued again. In some cases, Critz had to approve garnishment of wages to satisfy determined merchants.42 The financial woes affected everything campuswide. Summer classes for 1931 were cancelled. Critz gave up on the quarter system and went back to the semester plan, which was cheaper to run. A part-time course in agriculture got the axe in 1932. While all this went on, faculty sought employment elsewhere or went back to school to work on advanced degrees. Even the college catalogue was cut to include only basic information so as to hold down printing costs. Trying to keep the economic mess under control had the board secretary looking forward to a time when debts could be met and the colleges could once again become a cash operation. But the legislature gave little hope. A 1932 special session passed a sales tax that helped a bit, but state leaders still called for all agencies to enact tight budgets. The college board managed a credit balance eighteen months after the 1932–1933 appropriation, and there had been savings of from 10 to 40 percent over the previous year’s allocation. Critz pulled no punches in telling the board how his college had been affected.43 Critz complained of “exasperating circumstances” which had made it difficult for his people to even feed and clothe their families, and he complained of the uncertainties that weighed upon everyone’s mind. He also decried the deterioration of the physical plant, the falling of plaster, leaks, and other problems about which nothing could be done for lack of funding. Critz apologized for the dark picture he painted, but he said plainly, “[T]his condition . . . has just about worried me to death.” He noted that he received the blame for the lack of money, unfairly, especially since those who had preceded him in the office at least had enough funding to maintain the campus. How could anyone “do their best,” he said, when the place they supervise and have responsibility for is “becoming less and less valuable from day to day.” With prices bound to go up, and with the condition of buildings going down, Critz predicted a mass exodus of campus faculty and staff to jobs where they could actually get their work done.44 • 99 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

Of course, the situation gave rise to the controversy ever just under the surface over duplication of programs in the state’s colleges. The board reacted this time by hiring the Division of Surveys and Field Studies of the George Peabody College for Teachers, located in Nashville, Tennessee. The division had the charge to study the duplication problem, if indeed there was one, and report on the “allocation of work and the finances of our state institutions of higher learning.” The board hoped such a study would not only settle the issue but also please the Southern Association, which still looked at Mississippi with a wary eye. So the Peabodians looked at duplication, standards, and budgeting, and their report would affect Mississippi State College and all the other state institutions which had been struggling to stay afloat.45 Actually the report turned out not to have much effect at all, for it was too narrowly focused for college leaders in Mississippi to live with. Though since its founding there had been those who tried to restrict the mission of Critz’s college to the A&M limitations implied in its name, Hardy and other presidents and faculty had managed to expand the educational concept to include schools not only of agriculture and engineering, but also of science, industrial education, and business and industry. The vision of expanded curricula beyond A&M had been hurt by critics of duplication, the impact of a world war, and especially the financial restraints of the twenties and thirties. Industrial education and business and industry had disappeared as schools, but the coursework therein survived in the science and academic schools, the academic school having been a product of the pressures of the late twenties.46 As the new decade of the thirties had dawned, so had calls for restoration of a business school, not only in fact, but in name, and the Critz administration responded positively. The loss of the school had been a financial measure, caused by a shortage of funds in 1924, not a philosophical dispute, so in late 1930, it was reborn, and, under the deanship of the indefatigable Bowen, it quickly began granting degrees. In the following 1931–1932 session, business merged with the academic school, and put several departments, including history, economics, government, finance and marketing, and English under its umbrella.47 Two other notable signs of breaking with past restraints emerged under Critz. Women once more became part of the campus scene, being readmitted mainly, at least officially, to fill the classrooms of courses in home • 100 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

demonstration and home economics. Actual degree programs would be delayed; Critz did not want to do too much too soon and give critics ammunition, but in November of 1930, Margaret Wood enrolled to break the male-only tradition for good. The male students were not only delighted to have females among them again but especially celebrated the abandonment of uniforms as daily wearing apparel. Students had made known for years their dissatisfaction with the uniforms, leading to many modifications in appearance and the ever-present regulations requiring wearing them. So Critz convinced the board to change the rules so that only those students on duty were required to wear the dreaded attire. And in 1934 the college decided to go with regular army ROTC (Reserve Officer Training Corps) uniforms for its students, putting an end to the parade of style changes.48 All the changes led to another, much more visible and much more in line with the growth of the college. Students and alumni alike, except for some traditionalists, wanted to drop A&M and adopt the more appropriate name Mississippi State College. Several reasons backed up the call for a new name. A&M no longer reflected the present curriculum. The old name implied that only mechanical engineering was in the curriculum package, which was no longer the case. The only other states that still retained the A&M were Texas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas (currently only Texas A&M has kept it). The U.S. Bureau of Education had recommended that all A&M schools change their names to state colleges. Some junior, or community, colleges had taken on the name, causing confusion, and the existence of the African American school in Mississippi, Alcorn A&M, also created confusion. Most important, the name change would highlight the fact that the college had schools not only of agriculture and engineering but also of science and business, and it would bring the college into line with the Industrial Institute and College in Columbus, which had changed its name to Mississippi State College for Women. These were compelling arguments, and the name change, approved by the legislature, became official on February 3, 1932. What little opposition existed was muted, for even the agricultural students were tired of hearing A&M dubbed the “cow college” by archrival Ole Miss and others.49 All of this was well and good, but the Southern Association wanted more from the college. Mainly the quality of faculty needed to be improved, pay raises were essential, and teaching loads needed to be reduced. These were steps Critz would gladly take, if only the money was available, and that • 101 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

was an uncertainty the college had been mired in for some time. But soon he had more to worry about—namely the Peabody report. It seemed the Peabody group had no vision for improving and expanding the role and scope of the college. In fact, the details of the Peabody report implied that these outsiders would like to make the college little more than a junior college. Mississippi had then, as now, an overabundance of junior colleges, and the Peabodians insisted that Mississippi had a higher percentage of its total population in junior and senior colleges than any other southern state and therefore ought to spend more on higher education. That was, strictly speaking, true enough, but the state was also short of money, as it had been for some time, and the recommendation was one of several that proved impractical.50 The Peabody report also pointed out that most of the state’s colleges had too few students in the various classes, teacher loads were too small, and too many classes had students from freshmen to seniors. Too many of Mississippi State’s 1932 graduates had entered the teaching profession, the report said, with the numbers of agriculturists, businessmen, graduate students, and engineers ranked lower in that order. The Great Depression may well have had something to do with graduates seeking teaching positions, jobs they might otherwise have bypassed if the economy and employment opportunities were more satisfactory. The same could be said for graduate students, who stayed in school because they could not find jobs, and for the last-place engineers who took whatever employment they could find in a field where good jobs were not plentiful. In effect, graduates’ occupations reflected the times, a fact ignored by the report. The Peabodians also criticized the high cost of education at State, which ranked second only to Ole Miss, but simply reflected the Critz administration’s efforts to maintain quality.51 The Peabody epistle had much more to say that could affect Mississippi State. For example, the report said Ole Miss should be the primary university in the state for liberal arts and specialized undergraduate and graduate work, whether academic, professional, or technical. State, given its historical roots, would offer undergraduate degrees in engineering and agriculture and related programs, plus graduate work in the same areas. In other words, Mississippi State College should forget any notions of developing into a university with a broad-based curriculum, especially science, which all Mississippi institutions of higher learning, according to the report, • 102 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

should stay away from in formulating degree-granting programs. State should specifically cancel its business and science operations, and Ole Miss should cancel any engineering courses. State should only prepare schoolteachers in math, science, and vocational agriculture. Another proposal, nearly impossible for engineering curricula, would have the colleges establish upper- and lower-level courses in cooperation with the state’s junior colleges. Further, English and social studies, such as history, should be limited to introductory coursework and offer no special upper-level training. At State, only technological or practical graduate work should be allowed, whatever that meant, and State should cut its budget, for figures showed it was spending about as much as the other state colleges combined. This last criticism seemed to ignore the expense of extension and experimental station work, two entities tied to the college but expansive enough to require large operating budgets of their own. The state legislature put together a reorganization committee which eventually evaluated the Peabody report and came up with similar conclusions.52 Given the lectures by the Southern Association, the recommendations of the Peabody group proved to be potentially devastating to Critz and his college. But leaders at Ole Miss were also upset, so State had an ally in its archrival to combat the potential effects of the report. The college board put together a presidents’ council to prepare a survey of curricula and duplications to answer the Peabody report. The board took the politically correct position to cancel duplications and address budget problems. As for the presidents, they too agreed that the Peabody report was helpful, but they insisted they needed time to study the proposals, though they promised to look at the junior/senior college cooperative program immediately and eliminate any courses that conflicted with those offered at junior colleges.53 The initial gentle reply to Peabody did not indicate meek acceptance, however. At Mississippi State, Critz and the faculty prepared rebuttals, with input from Critz, faculty, and special committees of the schools of business and science. The State report criticized statistics used by Peabody as “erroneous and misleading,” and the business and science people said frankly that giving up those schools would devastate the teaching program and force the courses into other schools. They rejected the duplication arguments as an illusion not supported by facts. The presidents’ council likewise assaulted Peabody, citing the administrative nightmare that cancellation of • 103 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

programs would cause, for courses would have to be concentrated under fewer schools, causing a great deal of inefficiency. The council promised that each school would offer its own reply, State’s being due in January 1934. The board of trustees asked for a “survey and study” of State’s operations to be completed by the Peabody group, which would operate independently. This appeared to be an effort to force the Peabodians to document at a minute level the generalities their original report had made about Mississippi State.54 Critz in his biennial report of 1932–1933 sounded off beyond the restraints of diplomacy. He was angry at the argument that his administration spent too much money compared to the other colleges, pointing out that to cut his budget continually would make State a joke among the other members of the Association of Land-Grant Colleges. Considering the range of needs, such an extension and the experiment station, comparing State to the other colleges was like comparing the “Department of Entomology or of Dairying with the Department of English, of Mathematics, or of History.” To improve the level of instruction at State, the board, no doubt with Critz’s approval, appointed A. B. Butts as director of instruction to lead an effort to improve the quality of faculty, and in 1934 some twenty-two faculty members left temporarily to continue graduate work.55 Butts’s activities opened the door for the School of Education to reemerge at State at a time when the duplication of programs loomed like a cloud over the state’s colleges. In fact, until a new Mississippi program of the state’s General Education Board worked out the details of state teacher certification, educational instruction remained as it was, and any items in Peabody pertaining thereto would be held up. Ultimately the Peabody report was ignored altogether in this area. Clearly, the Peabody report was succumbing under the weight of Mississippi politics. That fact became further evident when the presidents’ council supported Critz’s efforts to keep the business and science schools at State and the engineering school at Ole Miss. Clearly this was a quid pro quo deal, and the college board argued in its 1934–1935 report that the Peabody changes, when examined thoroughly, would not create any financial savings of consequence. Whatever threats the state schools had felt upon the invasion of Peabody were over, and all had survived with their programs intact.56 Like the other schools in the state, Mississippi State had survived a long, dark period of low budgets and threats from without. The Bilbo attacks • 104 •

hull, walker, critz: 1920s, dark years, 1920–1934

had brought about administrative changes, as had budget cuts, and then the Southern Association and the Peabody review had stirred things up. Yet, Critz and his predecessors had held things together, the School of Business was back in operation, and aeronautical and commercial engineering had been added to the curricula; in fact, aeronautical engineering soon attained departmental status. Equipment needs abounded, and the physical plant had suffered, but the school still offered a viable and worthwhile education.57 There were questions among some State supporters about Critz. He had weathered the storm personally and had stood strongly in the attacks on State. Maybe he had the Bilbo taint, but he had shown more sensitivity than the governor. Yet the strains had an ill effect upon his health, and in January 1934, he asked for a month off to rest and recuperate. If anyone ever deserved a vacation, Critz did, but certain members of the college board wanted to make his absence from campus permanent. He complained in April that the gossip about his removal had a negative effect on faculty and students, but he decided to fight no longer. He resigned in May, wrote his final report in June, and would be replaced by George Duke Humphrey. He stayed around for a while, becoming assistant dean of the School of Agriculture before leaving in 1935 to become president of Arkansas Agricultural & Mechanical College. Despite great odds, Critz had done well, leading the college through one of the darkest periods of its history.58

• 105 •

6

Humphrey and Mitchell: War and Peace, 1934–1953

H

is full, impressive-sounding name was George Duke Humphrey, and little did he know when he was elected to be the ninth president of Mississippi State College on June 5, 1934, that he would be immortalized in later years by having the campus coliseum named in his honor, which has become known simply as “the Hump.” Humphrey barely got the position, winning out in the board vote by a single ballot in the two-man race over A. B. Butts, a respected political scientist at the college, who, during his time there as a faculty member, had made a lasting, positive impression on a young student from DeKalb named John C. Stennis, who, as a United States senator, would make a lasting, positive impression on America and the world. Butts got a measure of satisfaction, however, by becoming the chancellor of Ole Miss the next year. Both Humphrey and Butts would do well in their new positions of leadership.1 A native of Tippah County in north Mississippi, where he had been born in 1897, Duke Humphrey had graduated from the county agricultural high school, and then he entered the Mississippi State Teachers College, currently known as the University of Southern Mississippi at Hattiesburg. Later he transferred to the impressive little school located in the county of his birth, Blue Mountain College, where he joined a very small minority of male students. After completing his college years, Humphrey had been a teacher, high school administrator, and county school superintendent while completing a master’s degree at the University of Chicago and being • 106 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

on the verge of getting his doctorate at Ohio State University. Humphrey, the youngest head of the college since Hardy, came into his new position full of energy and plans, and, fortunately for him, his timing was good. President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s New Deal programs were beginning to filter down into the states. Federal money was now available to poor kids who wanted to attend college, a sign that Humphrey would not face the endless budget problems that hampered Critz.2 Humphrey also had the good fortune to have available U.S. government loans and grants to attack the problem of much-needed repairs on the campus buildings. The main dormitory and the administration building, Lee Hall, had already been partly remodeled, and, to a lesser extent, work had been done on the hospital, now named George Hall in honor of former Mississippi senator J. Z. George, and on Montgomery Hall, named in honor of W. D. Montgomery, an original board member whose influence in bringing the college to Starkville could not be overstated. Other building advancements included the construction of Hull and Magruder dorms, brick apartments for faculty, and a new section at the football stadium. Magruder was built on a historic site of sorts; it was where single male faculty members had once resided in a structure known as the bachelor’s ranch.3 All of this was excellent, especially considering that it came upon the heels of Critz’s troubled years, but Humphrey was just getting started. He wanted money for a new gymnasium (an irony considering what the future held), an auditorium, the still absent and much-needed library, a general science building and, near the end of World War II, a war memorial building. Humphrey’s building plans were not idle dreams; recruiting efforts had paid off and enrollment had increased from 923 in 1933–1934 to 2,496 by the 1940–1941 academic year, though the looming world war would quickly reduce the latter figure.4 Humphrey also had a strong interest in improving academics on campus, in a manner he called “evolving change.” Naturally he intended for the changes to be positive, for he was doubtless aware of some of the outof-state criticisms of higher education in Mississippi. An answer to one of the Peabody criticisms was to come up with standards for employees in the extension service. Instituting the changes was not easy; Humphrey would find, as have all academic administrators, that, while change may be good, it is usually slow, subject to all sorts of delays by well-meaning people • 107 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

who insist upon being heard. Nevertheless, the standards won out; then, during the 1934–1935 academic year, other plans for raising the level of instruction were drawn, and in 1936 a committee took command of directing the specifics.5 Humphrey focused especially on curriculum changes, to the point that the faculty called the new president’s reign the era of “curriculumectomy,” an invented word that colorfully described Humphrey’s determination to examine courses currently offered. What it really meant was that nothing was sacred, and the faculty, of course, would never agree on what should be retained or tossed. However, it seemed that all realized that whatever the problems with the Peabody report, it reflected negatively on the college, so work began on setting up uniform offerings for freshmen and sophomores that would establish a solid educational foundation before serious work in major fields began in the junior and senior years. The uniformity sought never amounted to much, and the end result was, as historian John Bettersworth noted, “a separation of the curricula in each school into upper and lower divisions.” Only a few courses were required for all students, including English composition and the ever-present military and physical training. Beyond that each school and department rowed its own boat, causing sighs of relief in high schools and junior colleges who would not have to come up with programs that satisfied requirements for entering Mississippi State, when, in fact, the absolute requirements were so few. At the same time Humphrey and the faculty reached out to the high schools and junior colleges with visits and programs that increased enrollment on the one hand and transfers on the other during the Humphrey years. This is a strategy that has served the college, now university, well through the years.6 Another outreach strategy, which Humphrey’s predecessors had neglected, proved to be a correspondence course curriculum. Its origins dated back to World War I, but it had ended shortly after the war did and lay dormant until the stock market crash year of 1929 when it was discussed as a nonagricultural extension program but nothing was done to revive it. An eyeopening report by Frank Jenkins, state director of teacher training and certification, in which he examined extension and correspondence activities in the state, concluded that colleges and universities in surrounding states were exceeding Mississippi institutions of higher learning in extension work in the state. An embarrassed board charged state college presidents • 108 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

with coming up with a plan to establish an extension program with proper standards. Such programs done properly took time, and Mississippi State did not create a department of adult education and community service (a noble-sounding title for extension education) until 1940, but correspondence courses were not approved until 1942, the second year of U.S. involvement in World War II, and uniform standards set by the board did not come into being until 1944.7 Another program Humphrey saw fit to revive was summer school, a victim of economic hard times in the 1920s when it was abandoned altogether after being shrunk to a short normal school session. Humphrey breathed new life into the program in 1935, under the leadership of V. G. Martin, rural education department head. Two hundred sixty-seven students registered during the first two June days the session opened. Humphrey had to be pleased, for he saw summer school as a step toward bringing back the School of Education. World War II and the future GI Bill helped solidify the summer school to include offerings from all the campus schools, and the education dean soon took charge of the program.8 The education school received further impetus from the needs of SmithHughes students, and the Peabody document had called for training of students in science and mathematics. The presence of the physical education department increased educational curriculum needs, for all freshmen had to have physical training, and students majoring in the field had to have relevant courses to graduate. During Humphrey’s reign, business education courses were added in 1935, so that with education courses on the increase, the college had to create an administrative structure to handle education curriculum. Based on Humphrey’s recommendation, the board re-created the School of Education in 1935, and though it took time to get it organized, it was soon up and running under the leadership of Sam Hathorn. With the education school back in business, the college at last had begun to recover from the struggles of previous years, for now the balance of undergraduate schools was once more on an even keel. Now college officials could offer training and curriculum in keeping with original objectives and move forward toward new frontiers.9 It was hoped that Humphreys could make some progress in building up the liberal arts portion of the college. The humanities and social studies lagged far behind, and these areas have continued to struggle through the years. For example, after 125 years of existence, the university still has • 109 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

the fewest members of the Department of History of any Southeastern Conference school and is also the only SEC school without a Phi Beta Kappa chapter. General Lee had never had any sympathy for these areas of study, though the English department had managed to survive, mainly due to its offerings of public-speaking courses. Some social science instruction had remained, but it included only the most basic elements of history, civics, economics, and sociology. Such men as A. B. Butts, J. C. Herbert, and A. W. Garner had done their best to keep social sciences alive, if not well, but when Humphrey came along, these areas of study were being ignored, if not extinguished, in Mississippi and beyond where emphasis had been placed on technical studies. To his credit, none of this pleased Humphrey, who in 1934 called for a sociology department; in January 1935, he got it, though it was somewhat strangely placed in the School of Agriculture. Humphrey wanted to do even more, and only time would tell if he could succeed.10 Humphrey certainly understood the necessity of keeping agriculture at the forefront. He knew that Mississippi’s economy was as much based on the soil now as it had ever been, and he pledged that he would never let industrial training take precedence over agriculture. In 1935, he recommended that J. R. Ricks head the School of Agriculture, the extension service, and the experiment station. In a sense, this was Humphrey’s way of making sure everyone understood that these were Mississippi State operations, and none were to be parceled out to Jackson, as some state voices had called for. To further make his point, Humphrey in 1936 managed to get Ricks’s title changed to agricultural coordinator, but then Ricks’s untimely death two years later slowed Humphrey’s plans. Nevertheless, within two years, Humphrey had named Clarence Dorman to take over, somewhat cementing the college’s hold on its agricultural programs.11 Humphrey kept his promise to enhance agriculture. The campus school, supported or watched over, depending upon one’s interpretation, by a special board committee supported the president’s efforts. The committee went on the road, inspecting other agricultural schools and making notes of pluses and minuses. One of the forward steps that resulted at Mississippi State was the organization of a Department of Forestry, which had wideranging support and acted as an agency in the state and federal conservation operation. Forestry concerns were not new; in 1926 an extension forester had been added to the staff, and President Buz Walker the next year • 110 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

called for separating forestry curriculum from the botany department and establishing an academic forestry chair. The board approved, but nothing happened until eight years later when the Department of Forestry became a reality. It started slowly, with a two-year pre-forestry program, but near the end of World War II, Humphrey, with a great deal of vision, called for a School of Forestry, approved by the board in 1945. Lack of funds slowed the building of the program, but soon a full four-year curriculum was in place.12 Humphrey continually showed that his vision for Mississippi State was not limited. In 1944, as the world war entered its final phases, he called for a School of Veterinary Medicine and enhancement of the dairy department. The board supported him, but fruition was delayed because the war meant a shortage of funds. Despite the lack of money, Humphrey pushed for additional funding for the science and engineering operations, for he was tired of accrediting associations accusing the college of underfunding these programs. During Humphrey’s reign, some lost ground was made up in these areas; the Department of Civil Engineering, which had lost accreditation during the early 1930s, regained its status in the 1934–1935 school year. But the battles continued. Humphrey advised the board in 1938 that the Engineering Council for Professional Development had announced it would not recognize the college’s programs because of equipment insufficiencies and low pay for faculty. He asked for additional funding to remedy the problems and used special funding designated by the legislature for repairs and other construction needs at state colleges to make up for equipment shortages. Salary increases were another matter; they increased at a slow pace, and many faculty members would be expecting even more money, for they were on leave getting advanced degrees.13 Humphrey had an ongoing interest in engineering courses, both in general classes and specialized areas. The latter resulted in 1937 in a ceramic engineering department, which meant little more than establishing courses in the geology department. Meanwhile, president and faculty worked toward getting chemical engineering accredited and the creation of an architectural engineering department. The architecture courses would be offered in the drawing department, but as late as 1944, nothing had happened in this area. That same year, Humphrey’s desire for a petroleum engineering department resulted in a petroleum geology major offered in the geology and geography department. World War II helped promote the • 111 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

expansion of the aeronautical engineering department set up in 1933. Even before the Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor brought the United States into the war, the aeronautics department was participating in defense-related research and training of pilots. The loss of instructors to active military service delayed departmental accreditation, but in 1943, the creation of a School of Aviation and Aeronautical Engineering showed that progress had been made. By 1944, as the course of the war depleted the need for an army program and the student body continued to decrease as the Allies beefed up for a final push to victory, the aeronautical department was but a shadow of its former self, with most of its instructors in active military service. But Humphrey tried to keep the program breathing by seeking support for it from the Engineering Council for Professional Development.14 In keeping with one of the mainstays of the college’s history, an engineering experiment station was set up in January 1941, finally brought to life with the help of financial support from the U.S. Congress. Still the extension program in aeronautics did not operate until October 1944, and Humphrey’s successor, Fred Tom Mitchell, recommended, with board approval, that it be called the engineering and industrial research station. Operating under the auspices of the School of Engineering, it had as its stated purpose to research the application of engineering principles, work with the agricultural experiment station and other similar state and federal agencies, and collect and distribute information in the field for instructional use by other higher education institutions. Clearly, the overall goal was to provide outreach in keeping with the spirit of the experiment station philosophy.15 Humphrey also supported Dean Bowen’s efforts to expand the business school, which generally ranked second or third in enrollment among the college’s schools. Bowen unceasingly asked for more space and more instructors, and he promoted via the state vocational education board a plan to train business teachers. This program eventually received board approval in January 1935, and four years later a business research station came into being, headed by R. C. Weems, who would succeed Bowen as dean of business upon the death of the latter in 1940. The station at once gained attention through publication of the Mississippi Business Review, a monthly periodical that spread news of business activities across the state. The war slowed the business school somewhat, but with Weems leading the way, the school contributed to defense activities, and its contin• 112 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

ual development of curriculum led to new departments in sociology, economics, accounting, and management, which joined the school’s other departments, history and government. Business also participated in joint operations with engineering, through such programs as commercial aviation with aeronautical engineering and a combined program that resulted in a major in institutional and industrial management with mechanical engineering.16 Another step forward under Humphrey’s leadership was expansion of the graduate program. The graduate program had never had a solid foundation, and seemed to drift along with the college’s history without being a permanent part of the institution’s future. President Hightower had been the first to try to organize graduate work, after sporadic attempts under Lee and Hardy had led to nothing. And Hightower’s efforts produced little more than graduate minors in humanities and social sciences. A graduate committee set up in 1914 supposedly would supervise the graduate program, and this led to guidelines for theses and authorization of professional engineering degrees in 1915. There things rested until 1931 when a reading ability of German or French was added to graduate requirements, though by 1938, departments were allowed to create loopholes to bypass the language training. The graduate school itself came into being under Humphrey on January 9, 1936, with Henry Pochman, head of the English department, named the first dean. Fellowships and scholarships were offered as drawing cards, and soon Herbert Drennon, an able administrator, took over the school, which suffered during the war, but had a bright future.17 Indeed World War II had a dramatic effect on Mississippi State, causing losses in enrollment on the one hand and bringing in hundreds of military trainees on the other. Faculty too old to be drafted left to work in defense industries, and the school took on the air of a military training base instead of an academic institution. Examples included a defense training program for electric welders on campus, and the college facilities became important to a statewide program called the Engineering and Science Military Wartime Training program. To help with providing trained leaders, the college increased credit hours by two per semester in ROTC, and worked with the navy in several training programs, including two called V-5 and V7. On campus an officer candidate school for transportation, under the auspices of the U.S. adjutant general’s department, was set up, and in 1943, the Army Air Forces Training Program came to the college. Well into the latter • 113 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

part of the twentieth century, veterans from across the country returned to Mississippi State University to show it to wives and to relive memories of the college in Mississippi where they received much of their training.18 To address the pressures of war on the academic calendar, Humphrey and the board and faculty decided to speed things up in order to free up young men for selective service. They considered a three-semester plan and increased the maximum student class load in 1942. By April of that year, an accelerated plan was ready, involving a twelve-week summer session with an eighteen-hour (usually six courses) load. Then a new plan was adopted that divided the year into three sixteen-week semesters. The bottom line was that almost every course in the catalogue had to be offered every semester, despite a shortage of faculty. Freshmen in 1943 could expect to have to take English, American history, algebra, trigonometry, American government, eight hours of science, compulsory physical education and military classes, and six hours (usually two courses) of electives. None of this strategy slowed the drop in enrollment, and when the army training program left campus, many faculty members had to go on leave until the war ended. College officials did their best to attract women students to keep things going, even offering to house them in a former male dorm, Magruder Hall. The annual yearbook, the Reveille, was not published in 1944 due to low enrollment. The students that did come were not of the best quality, in the classroom or in following rules, and midsemester progress guides were set up, along with counseling and assistance for those not performing well. The school began to take on some of the feel of the Lee days, when students were pressured to succeed or get out.19 Humphrey had actually done a good job in keeping student morale high despite low budget and war clouds. When he first came to the campus, he noticed right away the obsession with football. Prior to Humphrey’s arrival, the college football program had been inconsistent, so he brought in a well-known coach from the United States Military Academy, Ralph Sasse, who led the state team to a 13–7 upset victory over Army in 1935. But Sasse, like some of his predecessors, could not maintain a high level of play, and within a couple of years he was gone, replaced by Spike Nelson, whom the players disliked so much that they rebelled. Finally Allyn McKeen came on board, and he proved to be one of the best in the school’s erratic football history. The team won the Orange Bowl in 1941, beating Georgetown. The team became well known as bulldogs, and their bulldog mascot, both • 114 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

human and animal, became a strong, storied part of the college’s tradition. In fact, the second real bulldog, having had the misfortune of being hit and killed by a Trailways bus, received such formal funeral and burial at Scott Field that the story was written up in Life magazine. Of course, the depletion of male students put sports pretty much on hold through the war years.20 Despite the rather dreary events of 1944, Allied victory in 1945 brought celebration around the world, and especially on the Mississippi State College campus. Veterans returned to the campus in droves that fall, but unfortunately President Humphrey would not be around to see his college come to life again. A tempting offer to become president of the University of Wyoming, one which the Mississippi college board could not match, led to Humphrey’s resignation in June 1945. Agricultural experiment station director Clarence Dorman was appointed acting president, and eventually Fred Tom Mitchell would take the job. By any measure, Humphrey had done a good job; he had not been hampered as much as his predecessors by political interference, and the graduate school, liberal arts and humanities programs, and other academic areas had prospered under his leadership. Research had increased, as had the number of faculty with doctorates. He kept the college going through the challenges of a world war. He refused to panic when enrollment dropped; he was, as John Bettersworth stated it, “an unterrified pioneer,” who looked ahead beyond victory to the growth that was sure to come when the veterans came home. Little wonder that the Wyoming mountaineers had been impressed enough to lure him west, where he would continue to prove his capabilities as an academic visionary.21 Fred Tom Mitchell was approaching his fifty-fourth birthday in the summer of 1945 when Duke Humphrey headed west. Mitchell had been a student at Mississippi State College, and he had participated in a prank that Buz Walker, chairman of the Institutional Discipline Committee at the time, would never forget. Walker was in downtown Starkville, spying on students involved in forbidden activities, and he had hidden in an oversized garbage can near the main dormitory to take the names of those who returned from their Starkville romps. Mitchell was among those who knew what Walker was up to, and he helped direct water from a fire hose into the can. Walker escaped injury, but he had experienced a drenching that watered down his pride and ruined his list. But we do know Mitchell was • 115 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

one of the hose men, and we know he was in the fabled class of 1913, the group of privates who graduated in the midst of controversy. Many, especially Mitchell, would never have guessed that thirty-two years into the future, he would be offered and accept the presidency of his alma mater. Born in Jones County in south Mississippi on July 4, 1891, Mitchell went to grade school in Estabutchie, and he and his siblings lived a comfortable life, if not a wealthy one, with their parents. When Mitchell went to far-off Starkville to college, he took with him an ability to play the piano, which brought him the opportunity to play the pipe organ at his new school. That ability allowed him to stand out at a time when things were unsettled due to the propensity of students to go on strike when things did not go their way. The rather undisciplined atmosphere of the place led Fred Tom into practicing pranks, such as greasing the incoming railroad tracks or escaping from campus to town, though he had the ability to break rules without accumulating many demerits. Aside from playing piano for chapel, he toiled for the English department, and demonstrated a social affinity by joining the YMCA, the George Rifles, and the Philotechnic Literary Society. He later admitted that he managed to waste time in dramatics, debate, and athletics, and maintained that he was especially adept at goofing off in basketball, baseball, and football, sports where he barely made a ripple, much less a splash. He did have a proclivity to excel in oratory, winning a state contest at one point. Like many students, he had trouble deciding on a career course, starting out in education and finishing up in agriculture, and his grades, with some few exceptions, were in the B and A range.22 Mitchell seemed especially intrigued by botany and horticulture, taking many courses in each and working part-time in the greenhouse. In the future, plant collections would occupy many of his hours, and he especially focused on delphiniums when he continued his education at Michigan State. At Mississippi A&M, his plant interests were more diverse, and included azaleas and roses, among others. Thus, while clearly at home as a prankster, Mitchell showed an intellect for horticulture that was more than just a passing fancy. After graduating in 1913, he left for Central America to work for the United Fruit Company, where he stayed for four years before spending two years with the Panama Canal Zone Commission. Then he decided he wanted to return to academia, and he obtained a teaching job in Arkansas, where he eventually found himself working in the state depart• 116 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

ment of education. Next he journeyed to Nashville, Tennessee, to get a master’s degree at Peabody College, and he spent much time there making up for a deficiency in liberal arts courses. From Peabody, he went on to Cornell to work on a doctorate, with support from a General Education Board fellowship. The board was a Rockefeller foundation arm that supported higher education in many areas of the country.23 Mitchell received his Ph.D. in educational administration, psychology, and philosophy and got a temporary position at Michigan State, being appointed an associate professor in charge of training teachers. He began setting goals, and after four years, he managed to get the administration to set up an office of the dean of men, with himself at its head. Mitchell made the most of his new position, and he soon became quite popular with the students. He also directed his attention to supporting the nation’s World War II effort by serving as a town alderman. Mitchell seemed to have found his home; he was especially happy in Michigan and seemed destined to spend his career there. Then fate intervened.24 Fred Tom Mitchell had not dreamed that he would have an opportunity to return to his Mississippi alma mater and become its president as had other former alumni Hull, Walker, and Critz. Mitchell accepted the position after visiting the campus four times, and he came back with a better understanding of the college’s image than his fellow alumni predecessors. Mitchell knew the college needed some improvements, and some of those were already under way. Discipline was better, and noisy governors could no longer intimidate the college’s administration, and, despite the fact that money was still not as plentiful as it needed to be, the financial picture was not as bleak as it had been. Negatives persisted, however. The college was still hiring too many of its own graduates, a situation that limited its vision, in Mitchell’s opinion, and Humphrey’s efforts to fill the classrooms with more professors having doctoral degrees had been only partially successful. And then there was the impact of the war. The physical plant had suffered during the war years, and now soldiers were coming to campus, severely taxing the college’s ability to house and feed them. All that and another negative higher education study called the Gibson Report meant that, as the new president, Mitchell had more than a few challenges to meet.25 Mississippi State would soon be seventy-five years old, and, among other shortcomings, it still had no library building, but, fortunately for Mitchell, • 117 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

there would be a postwar economic boom that would help the college do well by its students, especially its graduates. Mitchell, by the time he was through, would leave a positive record behind, giving the college a much better seventy-five-year image than it might otherwise have had. First, he took a long look at the Gibson Report, named after Joseph E. Gibson, a Tulane professor and head of a study group composed of numerous educational specialists who took an in-depth look at the state’s schools of higher education. Regarding Mississippi State, Mitchell saw that the Gibson group recommended expanding the agriculture school, as well as more cooperation and coordination of the school’s operation with extension and experiment station work. Also, the School of Engineering should have more space and better equipment. A school of arts and sciences should be formed, and the schools of business, education, and science should be put under the arts and sciences umbrella as subordinate divisions of education, business, biological sciences, physical sciences, humanities, and social sciences. Agriculture and engineering should be restructured as divisions, whatever that meant, and academic qualifications and salaries should be raised for all faculty. The Gibson Report also contained ideas for bettering the administrative and financial organizational structure, tenure of faculty, and improvements in the physical plant. Mitchell understood better than most that the Gibson Report was based on Mississippi State’s leaner years, and to follow the recommendations to the letter would be a step back instead of progress. So he took the approach of choosing the aspects of the report that would improve the school and embracing them and coming up with his own ideas to meet other points raised by the report. It was an approach that would work well for the college, proving that the search committee had made a good choice when they chose Fred Tom Mitchell to lead postwar Mississippi State.26 As John Bettersworth has noted, Mitchell was one of those rare administrators who could see both the big picture and the corner of a room, qualities needed in meeting the challenges of the increases in enrollment wrought by war’s end. The college had in fact been hurt by men who ignored details in favor of high-minded growth. That had worked when the college was too small for ignoring details to be a problem, but those days were gone. Minutiae could no longer be ignored, especially with the challenges to the physical plant, academic growth, and administrative details. As Bettersworth recalled, Mitchell even sent workmen to paint a small • 118 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

board that filled in a space where a window fan had been installed in Lee Hall. That was not the kind of thing most presidents would worry about with all the other, larger details that required their attention, but Mitchell would not neglect the small, unsightly details, even while he wrestled with the bigger picture.27 That bigger picture included cleaning up financial records that the Gibson Report had accused the state schools of keeping in a haphazard manner. Mitchell saw to it that the college board and state budget commission received monthly reports. The new president also had to deal with an old problem, namely food service. He saw to it that this branch of the school’s administration was reorganized, and he did it in the midst of a student boycott and an in-house struggle among low-level administrators over who should control the cafeteria. By the time Mitchell finished, those who planned the menus knew what each item of food cost them to produce, and things, including the quality of the food, greatly improved.28 Mitchell centralized purchasing procedures and set up a department of plant maintenance that functioned as a unit. Working with the state building commission, Mitchell saw to it that curbs and parking lots began appearing on campus, and most streets not paved soon were. A landscaping plan went into effect that greatly improved the campus, and old plants and unnecessary trees were pulled up and cut down. Camellias, hibiscus, azaleas, and roses soon appeared as the plan gradually began taking shape.29 All the physical changes were nice and necessary for a first-rate college, but Mitchell’s real challenge was dealing with the influx of war veterans. He not only had to ready the main campus for more students; he also had to set up a trades training institute which the college had received permission to establish. The institute had served during the war as an ordnance plan at Prairie, a small community a few miles northeast of the campus. On campus, a Veterans Administration guidance center appeared to help the young men fresh from the war adapt to college life. Mitchell thought that was a good enough idea to expand such services to all students. And students poured into Starkville. Enrollment in 1945–1946, President Mitchell’s first year, was 2,114. By 1948–1949, it had grown to 3,966, and then leveled off at around 2,800. Graduation numbers grew from 567 in 1938–1939 to 1,214 by 1949–1950. However, 1950 also brought on another war, this one in Korea, that brought a decline in the number of students; nevertheless, the quick • 119 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

growth had challenged Mitchell as no other Mississippi State president before him had been challenged, and he had done well.30 One development that Mitchell had not anticipated was the influx of community, or junior, college graduates into Mississippi State and other senior colleges. The swarm of veterans enrolling in the four-year schools after the war had forced many freshmen to go the junior college route, and when they finished their work, they applied for transfer to the state’s colleges to complete their degrees. The phenomenon ultimately caused large increases in senior classes, which soon outnumbered freshmen, a reversal of a decade-long trend. The transfer rate, plus the veterans, created a crunch regarding campus housing, as well as pressure for more laboratories and classrooms. Trailers and former barracks helped in the short term, and Mitchell designated war surplus building materials for two new faculty housing apartments and four additional dormitories, as well as conversion of more barracks to labs and class space. The price of crowded conditions came to over $4.5 million according to Mitchell’s 1954 construction report, and more space was needed, as the increasing number of 7 a.m. classes attested. The problem was compounded by structural problems in Old Main, which forced the abandonment of several parts of the campus landmark. The dip in housing demands caused by the Korean War and a general leveling of the student population gave Mitchell some catch-up time, which he made good use of, so that by the end of the war, the college housing situation had greatly improved.31 The measure of Mitchell’s hard work in the area of housing students and in other varied activities of the university was highlighted in 1950 by the dedication of seven new buildings on October 24. These included a new library (at last!—and most appropriately named for Mitchell); an agricultural engineering building, which later was turned into a veterinary science facility, named in honor of James Webb Scales; the L. L. Patterson Engineering Building; A. W. Garner Hall (a dormitory); a new physical education building named for basketball coach James “Babe” McCarthy, who would go on to achieve a measure of greatness; and the Fred Herzer Dairy Science Building. In 1952, the M. P. Etheredge Chemical Engineering Building opened for business, and Mitchell had on the drawing board structures for the business and education schools. The football stadium, long a weak sister in the Southeastern Conference, was completed, and would be expanded even more in later years. Efforts toward a student union build• 120 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

ing were not so successful, and it would not rise until the midsixties, so the YMCA had to continue to fill that role. The building boom, the greatest since the Hardy years, put a strain on the physical plant department to keep everything functioning, and Mitchell found the legislature was not inclined to appropriate extra funds needed. Still, the building program had been remarkable, and Mitchell had accomplished wonders.32 So far, Mitchell’s vision of carrying the college forward was working. He had a grand, master plan that included administrative reorganization and reorientation designed to keep things running without bumps in the road, improving the quality and size of the faculty, and a reevaluation of research goals, curriculum, and the college’s ever-important extension work, which he hoped to expand into all areas of the state more effectively. He knew what he wanted, and first he went about passing along his reasoning to administrative officers. His major goals were policy unity and decentralization; in effect, he wanted to give his administrators as much freedom of action as possible, within the framework of a general policy. He carried forth his mission by depending upon an administrative council (consisting of the dean of the college and other deans) to see to policy matters. This group, as far as Mitchell was concerned, would almost always have the final word on administrative issues. Mitchell used the same approach, though it took some time, with the experiment station, extension service, and agriculture school, creating in 1951 this group as a policy-making unit called the agricultural division and headed by Clay Lyle, who would work with the leaders of the three areas. Mitchell made it clear he would have the final say on their actions, and the presence of Lyle on the administrative council kept the lines of communication open.33 Mitchell ran the college as a captain runs his ship; he was ultimately in charge, but he gave others chances for input, and he did not hesitate to delegate. Faculty advised, and felt they were heard, even though Mitchell depended rather heavily for final decisions on the administrative council. The administrative structure was filled with standing and ad hoc committees, giving everyone a chance to speak or someone to speak to about the various issues the college leadership faced. Mitchell brought the American Association of University Professors to campus, and he found the group useful as a sounding and idea organization. Mitchell did not try to meddle in lower-level affairs. He let deans be deans, and he had one for every academic school, plus one for student affairs, a registrar, and a comptroller • 121 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

who, as long as they stayed within parameters of college policy, could take care of their areas without worrying about Mitchell looking over their shoulders. He practiced the same implementation of administrative authority with the agricultural leadership, including the whole division of the school, the experiment station, and the extension service. Sometimes, Mitchell was criticized for his methods, for many of the lower-level administrators were not used to having decision-making power; because of that, occasional problems arose, and the system got bogged down a bit. Deans and others had grown used to the president also being a ruler, but Mitchell knew that the college had grown to the point that for him to become involved in everything meant he could be effective at nothing. To further shield himself from the daily hassles happening below him on the administrative ladder, Mitchell hired Ben Hilbun as his administrative assistant. Hilbun had been with the college a long time, was a practicing scholar (he had penned a biography of one of the institution’s earlier pioneers, William Flowers Hand), and he knew how to handle people. Building up the faculty to an acceptable level of expertise and advanced, terminal degrees proved to be one of Mitchell’s larger challenges. When he took over, some faculty were still in the military, and they would not return; this added to the preponderance on campus of faculty without sufficient academic degrees. The hiring of Mississippi State graduates, a problem from the past, still was one, and Mitchell knew that in order for the campus to grow intellectually, faculty from other colleges and universities, who would bring new experiences, needed to be added. Yet with enrollment growing, it was difficult to give the current faculty time off to continue extending their education, and the fact that a plethora of institutions of higher learning in other states had job openings after the war, and usually paid more than colleges in Mississippi could, added to Mitchell’s problem of bringing new faces to campus. Yet he, and the faculty, made some progress, the number of personnel with doctoral degrees doubling between the end of the war and 1952, the actual numbers being from thirty-three to sixty-seven.34 In the area of academic standards, the Mitchell years saw progress that was, as John Bettersworth put it, “qualitative as well as quantitative.” The college had a reputation, one that did not seem entirely justified, of easy credits, but there can be no doubt that things tightened up after World War II ended. One of the more obvious signs was the addition of an English • 122 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

proficiency exam, and courses where needed, for incoming freshman who fell below college level standards in basic reading and writing. Mitchell also told his faculty to do whatever it took to rid the curricula of the easy courses and expand the offerings to give students more choices and to challenge their abilities as college students. The influx of no-nonsense veterans, who had seen and experienced much during their service time, helped reinforce Mitchell’s goal, but in fact Mitchell came along at a moment in the college’s history when it was time to get serious with the curricula. The college was rapidly growing, and the courses offered needed to reflect that growth. One area that proved Mitchell was on the right track was the first national honorary chapter in Mississippi, Phi Kappa Phi, coming to campus in 1951. Mitchell reinforced this turn of events with a scholarship and honors day, designed both to recognize achievement and to put out positive publicity to high school students and teachers needed to boost attendance during the Korean War period. Mitchell even padded the audience for the day, if padding was needed to make things look better, by having ROTC cadets standing by to sit in empty seats. But the event quickly grew in popularity to the point that the cadets soon escaped that extra duty. University historian John Bettersworth recalled one family risking the crossing of “a half demolished bridge” to be sure they got to the campus to see their progeny awarded recognition.35 To further attract students and impress parents, Mitchell promoted an expanded and more formal program of counseling that included a muchneeded orientation program that was applauded throughout Mississippi. Previous programs of this sort on campus had been pretty much limited to solving discipline problems under the guiding hand of I. D. Sessums, and whatever personal advice and guidance students received came from lower-level administrators, especially department heads, and even the teaching faculty. That was the main reason Mitchell created the position of dean of student affairs, the first one being the amiable D. W. Aiken, who advised education faculty on what amounted to tutoring students during their early days as freshmen. Mitchell further underscored the importance of this area by offering faculty paid time off during the summer to take a class on campus where specialists in advisement lectured on the methodology of guiding students.36 Mitchell, being an alumnus, came into his job fully aware that much of the positives of Mississippi State’s reputation in Mississippi came from its • 123 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

reputation for service, and he saw to it that the areas of service grew and prospered. In the areas of curricula, research, and extension, Mitchell, not exactly an expert in public relations, nevertheless used what skills he had to get out among the people and arrange meetings where he sought feedback from the masses on what they expected from his college. In 1952, the Progressive Farmer magazine recognized his efforts by naming him the man of the year in Mississippi, and he continued to push outreach programs in a variety of areas. To do that, and to make the on-campus curricula more effective, Mitchell called for additional curricula and revisions of courses already in place. This led to 417 new and revised offerings during his presidential years. A breakdown shows where his interests were, for one-third of that number were in business and industry, eighty-two in social sciences, and most of the rest in management. He had no intention of turning his back on agriculture per se, but Mitchell had a vision for a university with a broad scope of offerings for its students.37 E. B. Colmer led revisions in agriculture, where formerly approved programs were enacted and new ones offered, the latter including agricultural marketing, agricultural forestry, farm management, farm equipment management, sales (in cooperation with the business school), and ornamental horticulture. Dale Hoover, head of the agronomy department, put in two new programs, including grasslands management, a reflection of the expansion of the livestock industry in Mississippi, and the program supported similar programs in the animal husbandry, agricultural economics, dairy husbandry, and agricultural engineering departments. Hoover also installed curricula in seed production and processing, a one-of-a-kind program in the entire United States at the time. A new laboratory was established to support research in seed, which meant that the college was not only an American, but an international, leader in this area. Otherwise, Mitchell approved the continuation of short courses for dairymen, people in seed operations, fertilizer salesmen, farmers in poultry production, and those working in cooperatives.38 One area of expanded agricultural work that particularly thrived was experiment stations. Since the end of World War II, eleven additional branch stations had been built, and the previously established stations gained much positive publicity, especially the one at Stoneville in the Delta, which worked with cotton. Led by such men as Clarence Dorman and Henry Leveck, Stoneville expanded its research from 171 projects in 1945 • 124 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

to 570 by the end of 1952. Federal money boosted operations initially, but by 1952, only about one-fifth of the projects were federal, which proved the station could thrive without national government support.39 L. I. Jones proved to be a dynamic leader of the extension service, but he left in 1951, challenging Mitchell to find a competent head who could keep up the momentum established by Jones. Clay Lyle took over and proved to be a worthy successor to Jones. Since the end of World War II, extension programs had focused mainly on grasslands and artificial insemination, plus soil testing, extension clubs, and outreach to communities. Jones had also had success in upgrading the academic level of his staff, going from seventeen with master’s degrees in 1945 to twenty-nine the year after Jones’s departure. Since 1945, three persons with doctoral degrees had been hired. 40 The business school expanded its scope under Mitchell as much as, and more than most of, the rest of the college curricula. Some of the fields included public and industrial accounting, retailing for women, radio journalism, sales advertising, hospital administration, construction management, hotel management, and commercial air transportation. In the field of accounting, short courses helped prepare certified public accountant applicants, hospital accountants, hotel administrators, and dietitians. Other notable curricula occurrences included the first yearly job clinic in the country in 1948 and a yearly management conference in 1949. The American Hotel Association in 1952 singled out Mississippi State to plan and operate a national in-service extension training curriculum known as the American Hotel Institute. The business research station expanded its research, and its publication, the monthly Business Review, by 1952 was the authority on business conditions in Mississippi. The station continued to be honored for its work when it was chosen to do a labor force study sponsored by private power companies in Mississippi and the Tennessee Valley Authority.41 Mitchell was very concerned with improving the status of social sciences, and rightly so. The curricula had been placed in the social science division of the School of Business and Industry, rather than being structured as a social sciences school, and it was under the deanship of R. C. Weems. Weems had a background in both social sciences and business, so he was not bothered by the subsuming of social sciences. He actively promoted curricula in public affairs, which offered students a choice for preprofessional social • 125 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

service and service in foreign countries. In 1949 philosophy and religion were added, and sociology, which had been mostly ignored since 1945, was expanded. Mitchell showed his support for these changes by establishing a chair of rural sociology named for Thomas L. Bailey (a former Mississippi governor), and in 1948 Mitchell set up a division of sociology and rural life, tied academically to the business school and agriculturally to the experiment station and connected with the agricultural extension service. Also in 1949, John Bettersworth and Harold Kaufman put together the Social Science Research Center, and Kaufman worked out a cooperative operation with the University of Mississippi. The purpose of the center was to promote research and act as a public relations and service agency. The success of the center was recognized in 1952 by the Tennessee Valley Authority, which provided funds for a project of community studies in the region and by the Rockefeller General Education Board, which gave funds to start a research and training program in social and political psychology.42 Mitchell took his interest in the social sciences and humanities a step farther and injected a flavoring of studies in those areas into the School of Engineering. This was not necessarily a new idea projected by the president; it reflected a nationwide trend. He sprinkled in a few courses related to the military, but even so, Mississippi State was a leader in humanizing the science of engineering. And engineering offerings spread beyond the sociohumanistic influences of the day, with added curricula that included training in industrial electronics, refrigeration, air conditioning, illumination, and applied mathematics. The fleshing out of engineering departments resulted in their all getting accredited by the Engineers’ Council for Professional Development in 1939. The next year several short courses were added, such as training for meter readers. Further developments included the creation of an engineering research station, which, over a seven-year period, 1945–1952, went from one major research project to fourteen, the most notable of which was August Raspet’s sailplane experimentation.43 Dean B. P. Brooks led the School of Education in new directions during the Mitchell era, adding resource-use, guidance, audio-visual, and homemaking education. Each of these areas composed a department, and resource-use education received special funding from General Education Board funds. The education faculty set up short courses and conferences, and its research resulted in school surveys and publications in resource-use • 126 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

education. Clearly the trend under Mitchell was to combine research with outreach, as the School of Education demonstrated.44 The science school, under the leadership of Clay Lyle and later M. P. Etheredge, expanded offerings in physical and biological sciences and social sciences, even offering a major in English literature. Within the school, the state plant board and the state chemical laboratory had homes, both dedicated to service. William Flowers Hand’s long years of work in building the chemistry department led to the department earning membership in the American Chemical Society, a high honor indeed. The department was accredited in 1941, reaccredited in 1946, and was still thriving in 1948 when Hand passed away. The chemistry laboratory building on campus appropriately bears his name.45 The graduate school grew impressively during the Mitchell years, which was important for Mississippi State’s drive toward university status. From 1945–1946 to 1951–1952, the number of graduate school students went from 262 to 1,041. Degrees awarded during the same period went from 4 to 113. Ninety-five such degrees were given out in the summer of 1952 alone, a demonstration that the year-round curricula approach was bearing good fruit. Factors that fueled this success in the graduate school area included the GI Bill, which financially assisted war veterans, and the fact that the state department of education began pushing for higher salaries for faculty with advanced degrees. Thus the graduate school classes contained many teachers anxious to raise their income levels. Another factor was the simple growth of the college’s curricula, which offered students opportunities in many more areas, thus serving as a magnet to pull in students who in years past might have bypassed the college and gone to other states or simply sought less pleasing careers. Another appealing factor pertaining to the graduate school was the adoption of a nonthesis tract, which offered master’s degrees in education, agriculture, social studies, and professional accountancy without the requirement of thesis writing. Whether this was a positive step or not is still debatable, but certainly it attracted students who had no desire to write a lengthy research paper in order to earn their degree. During the Mitchell years, too, the first doctoral program was added, in agronomy, and the first graduate was Si Marchbanks, who was hired as a faculty member and taught at the college until his death in 1954. Mitchell also began pushing for more research production from his faculty, a move which had a notable • 127 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

impact, and resulted in more than a little controversy, in the years that followed.46 One special product of the Mitchell years was the construction of the college’s first separate library building, which came an astounding eighty years after the school first opened its doors. A librarian named T. W. Davis had begun pushing for improved library holdings back in the 1920s, but he had no luck getting a building, and the library spent many of those years on the top floor of the Harned biology building. Davis refused to be quiet about the matter, for he knew that with the situation as it was, the students would complete their college careers with hardly any appreciation of the library, and very little use of it. Presidents complained about the absence of a library, and the board examined the situation on a regular basis, but nothing happened, and Mitchell had been more than a little shocked when he returned to his alma mater in 1945 to find that one condition had remained since his years as a student; there was still no separate library building. So he made up his mind to fix this rather embarrassing situation. In 1948, he finally got state-appropriated funds for a new, air-conditioned library, and the General Education Board gave the college thirty-five thousand dollars, which Mitchell matched with ninety thousand dollars for buying library materials. By 1952, the college library had 158,000 volumes, hardly impressive until one considers the point from which Mitchell started. The library staff proved its worth by joining in with other college faculty in offering courses of library science through the school of education.47 So Mitchell departed Mississippi State with a record of success by the simple measure of having left the college in better shape than he had found it. Measurable levels in almost every area of the college operations had been raised, and he had placed himself among the top-ranked of MSC presidents by accomplishing the one thing none other had, the construction of a library. Many years overdue, the library gave the college a center of knowledge that had been “on the road” for all the years of its existence, and Fred Tom Mitchell finally saw to it that it had a home. In sports, the Mitchell years were overall rather mediocre. The postwar football team had a combined record of 38–34–2 under Allyn McKeen and Slick Morton. The basketball team had only two winning seasons, 1951 and 1953, under the leadership of Paul Gregory, who would later prove that his coaching strength was baseball, not basketball. The baseball team, coached by R. P. Patty, generally excelled, and had a record of 98–67 from 1946 to • 128 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

1953 and twice, in 1949 and 1953, went to the NCAA regional tournament. In coming years, football would suffer through tough years, but the college, soon to be a university, would field impressive basketball and baseball teams. One incident occurred which portended things to come. In the fall of 1946, the college football team had its game with the University of Nevada cancelled due to the fact that the Nevada team had African American players. Athletic director Dudy Noble asked Nevada officials if they planned to use the black players in the game, scheduled to be played at State. Nevada indeed intended to use the players in spite of the “traditional custom” in Mississippi for white colleges not to compete against teams with black athletes. So the game never happened, but it was the first incident of its kind, and a few years later a similar situation would occur with the basketball team, with a much different conclusion.48 Mitchell may have avoided a racial incident that could have mushroomed, but he could not avoid negative reaction to alumni very unsatisfied with the state of athletics, especially on the football field. Mitchell’s intention to keep Dudy Noble as athletic director fueled a backlash, and Mitchell found himself charged with just about anything one would care to name. He asked the board to come to campus and investigate, and he had the pleasure of seeing his name cleared. Noble stayed on the job, and a new coach named Murray Warmouth, assisted by outstanding players like Jackie Parker and Art Davis, temporarily turned the program around. All the controversy, combined with continual health problems, nevertheless led to Mitchell’s resignation in the spring of 1953. Now it was time for the torch to be passed. Ahead lay the challenges of establishing a university and dealing with racial issues that would literally shake the foundations of southern society to its roots. Others would have to deal with those issues. Mitchell passed away in December 1953, just a short time before the college’s seventy-fifth anniversary. As John Bettersworth eloquently phrased it, Mitchell “had given the institution his best—his last best, in fact.” The anniversary celebration “was a fitting tribute to the ‘old grad’ who came home to his alma mater. Surely, the time had produced its man.” The man had produced also, keeping the university moving forward during the post–World War II years. If he had accomplished nothing else, the very fact that his tenure ended with a new library on campus was enough to earn him a firm place in the history of the college he had served. • 129 •

humphrey and mitchell: war and peace, 1934–1953

And Fred Tom Mitchell would have been pleased, honored, and humbled that the very first building on campus solely devoted to housing a library would be named in his honor. Mitchell Memorial Library keeps his name alive in a very special way.49

• 130 •

7 Hilbun and Colvard: A University and Racial Challenges, 1953–1966

B

enjamin Franklin Hilbun was inaugurated as the eleventh president of Mississippi State College on July 14, 1954. Hilbun, known locally as “Mr. Ben,” had been around the campus most of his adult life, having graduated from the school and having served as head of public relations, registrar, and administrative assistant to President Mitchell before becoming acting president in 1953. Hilbun had become so embedded with the college, its activities, and its operations that it was, said John Bettersworth, “difficult to tell where the college left off and Ben Hilbun began.” Certainly Hilbun understood the significance of the college’s service functions, as expressed not only in training students but in research and extension activities, and he set out to do all he could to make his alma mater an important factor in every area of the life of the state of Mississippi. Having been around higher education in the state so long, he knew that inadequate funding was an annual fact of life, but rather than whine about lack of support from the legislature, he determined to make the most of what he had. While other SEC schools complained about lack of funds, Hilbun decided he would work hard to get more students and increase services. In other words, he would make MSC the exception rather than the rule. Perhaps part of his adrenaline came from the inspiration caused by the college’s seventy-fifth anniversary in 1953, and he determined to do all he could to turn the school into Mississippi State University. He would be the last person to be president without having an earned doctoral degree, • 131 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

and perhaps that, too, fueled his ambition to raise the bar when he finally convinced the state legislature in 1958 to make his college a university. Hilbun came a long way, both personally and professionally, during his term as president. His family roots went back to a place called Cracker’s Neck in Jones County in south Mississippi, a locale known for harboring anti-Confederate Mississippians during the Civil War. When they were caught by Confederate authorities, they often were hanged—thus their necks were cracked—but most of them survived in what was called irreverently, and incorrectly, the “Free State of Jones.” It never was a state; it was just part of a Confederate state that did not support secession and separation from the Union. Hilbun had heard a lot of stories about the past history of his place of birth, and he loved to tell them, so perhaps he never felt that he fit in with the pro-Confederate sentiments of many at the University of Mississippi, which he attended briefly before entering World War I. After the war, he attended the University of Toulouse, taking language curricula before coming back to Mississippi, this time to Starkville and A&M, where he felt much more at home. His leadership abilities were obvious, for he was elected president of six student organizations. After he graduated, he worked for the Starkville Chamber of Commerce before going back to campus as head of the service, or public relations, bureau. In 1936, he became registrar and embarked on his road to the presidency. Cracker’s Neck gave him a big party when he visited as a college president in August 1953, and he increased his visibility more with a speaking engagement to MSC alumni in Jackson, celebrating the seventy-fifth anniversary. Big-name Mississippians like Clayton Rand and J. Oliver Emmerick attended, and, both being respected journalists, gave the president a public relations boost. Hilbun had definitely come along at the right time to keep his name before the public, for the seventy-fifth anniversary was a natural publicity tool. John Bettersworth helped by publishing the first scholarly history of MSC, entitled appropriately People’s College: A History of Mississippi State. Like most such histories, it was dated by the time it was released, and Bettersworth had to immediately begin thinking in terms of an update. Even the governor of the state, Hugh White, got on the bandwagon, announcing that Mississippi State would continue to build and develop and be as fine as any in the nation. With that kind of backing and expectation, Hilbun had much that was positive to build on, and he quickly showed that he intended to do so.1 • 132 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

Ben Hilbun did not land in a bed of roses. He, like all other presidents, from the past down to the present, had legions of alumni to make happy, especially in the area of sports. As much, and perhaps even more, former students wanted their school to be on the list among the best institutions of higher learning, and not just in the SEC. Then the shadows of the Korean War loomed over returning veterans, who, like all surviving servicemen, carried psychological and physical scars that haunted them daily. Despite his close connections to, and obvious love for, the college he now led, Hilbun was following the popular Mitchell, whose illness and death had a negative effect on campus morale. Hilbun understood he had some rebuilding to do, and he set out to do it with admirable vim and vigor, determined not to let negatives deter his plans for a growth policy that would bring honor and notice to his alma mater. One area of assistance Hilbun received was in the growth of women’s enrollment. The very presence of the “fair sex” had the male students attempting to improve their somewhat brash behavior, and the women on campus were not timid about stepping to the fore and letting their voices be heard. Perhaps it is a little too much to say, as John Bettersworth did, that “the girls began to take over,” but certainly they made their presence known, as when a female became editor of the yearbook, the Reveille, for the 1951–1952 session. That “girl” was a woman, Lela Foresman, who was still a junior when she got the job, and that in itself was slightly remarkable.2 Like some of his predecessors, Hilbun had to deal with a higher education report that tended to distract from the subject of female progress on campus. The board, with money coming from a General Education Board grant, hired another Peabody College–tinted group, chaired by that institution’s Professor John Brewton, to study the state of higher education in Mississippi. Included in the report were several recommendations that affected Mississippi State: (1) the naming of one president for the college and the nearby Mississippi State College for Women in Columbus; (2) an arts and sciences school for Mississippi State; (3) the delaying of efforts for full accreditation for a School of Forestry; (4) continuation of engineering courses at Ole Miss (which duplicated those at State); (5) joint use of professors in teacher education sources at State and MSCW; (6) the canceling of any plans for a demonstration school at State, a statement which delighted Dean Drennon of the graduate school; (7) elimination of deficiencies of technical and scientific collections in the State library and the • 133 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

general building up of the library at once (the leadership at State was learning that just having a building was not sufficient); (8) appropriation of $9 million for improvements and additions to the physical plant; and (9) an upgrading of the institutional publications to make them “more readable and more attractive.”3 The college board of trustees, as always, reacted cautiously to the Brewton report. It was highly unlikely, as in the past, that all the recommendations would be implemented, and in the case of State, the report looked at coordination, but identifiable separation, of graduate programs with MSCW and the possibility of a School of Arts and Sciences, a long overdue development if the college ever had any chance of becoming a true university. The idea of one presidency for the schools so close together in Starkville and Columbus was looked at, and then, predictably, promptly tossed aside. No one at State, certainly not President Hilbun, wished to start a war with MSCW alumni, whose loyalty to their alma mater was serious and firm. The board did charge both schools with looking at some kind of program of temporarily swapping professors on a limited basis, in such courses as home economics, continuing education, and library science. State had much to offer with its research-oriented experiment stations and its home demonstration program in the extension division. Yet, homemaking education, subsumed in the School of Education, mostly as a teachers’ graduate program, and library science, still pretty much on the drawing board, were not exactly sterling, in-depth curricula at State. As for arts and sciences, Hilbun embraced the concept by asking the board to approve a School of Liberal Arts. When that idea did not fly, he received as a consolation a School of Arts and Sciences with a liberal arts division. Curricula involved in the change included history, foreign languages and English (both from the School of Science), government, sociology (from the School of Business and Industry), and mathematics (from the School of Engineering). John Bettersworth became associate dean for liberal arts. In 1956–1957, the new school, still being born, had fifty-seven students, four receiving the first B.A. degrees ever offered at State. Bettersworth encouraged the students to keep the overall scope of the college in mind, presumably through elective courses. Whatever his motive, the newly arranged curricula within the College of Arts and Sciences continued to draw students; 408 registered in 1961.4 The liberal arts continued to grow and flourish during Hilbun’s presidency. In 1960–1961, psychology and music were added as majors, though both • 134 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

departments were still administratively under the School of Education. Curricula in debating and play productions, both having declined in student enrollment, gained new emphasis under Hilbun, boosting the prospects for the university’s drama club, the Blackfriars. A language laboratory where students could experience interaction with foreign languages outside the lecture room increases interest in that area. Historyand English-designed curricula in American and world heritage were intended primarily for engineering majors. Other schools embraced the courses, which helped professors meet a requirement to be more “generalist” in their fields, rather than attempt to turn nonmajors into historians and linguists. The Social Science Research Center benefited from the new liberal arts emphasis, highlighted by the Mississippi Quarterly (formerly known as the Social Science Bulletin). John Bettersworth was behind the resurgence and edited the journal for a time, before Harold Snellgrove, destined to head the Department of History, and later Robert Holland stepped in to take over. The Quarterly became well known in the field of southern culture, and eventually began publishing an annual William Faulkner issue, in honor of Mississippi’s most famous fiction writer. The success of the Quarterly played a role in an interest among all the state colleges in a university press, but disagreements as to how it would operate delayed that innovation for a few years.5 Hilbun’s emphasis on liberal arts certainly brought the college into compliance with the old Morrill Act concept of “liberal” education, but Hilbun did not ignore the sciences. He did not have a scientific background, but he made clear his intent to support the science schools and departments. The chemistry department thrived, led first by William Flowers Hand, then M. P. Etheredge, who also served as state of Mississippi chemist for over twenty years; he was succeeded by the able James Minyard. Etheredge’s work led to his being given the Hertz Award by the American Chemical Society. The leader of the zoology and entomology department, Ross Hutchins, further underscored the college’s growing national reputation with the publication of two landmark books, Insect Hunting and Trapping and Strange Plants and Their Ways.6 The engineering operations on campus also gained nationwide attention, especially with the pioneer work of August Raspet. Raspet’s interest in aerophysics, later called aerospace engineering, produced many breakthroughs in boundary layer control and gliding. Raspet was a Fellow of • 135 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

the American Association for the Advancement of Science, and he gained much notoriety in his field, nationally and internationally. Unfortunately, and tragically, his career was cut short when he was killed in a crash while showing off an experimental plane for a Dallas, Texas, aircraft company.7 The National Science Foundation thought the research going on at Mississippi State intriguing enough to provide funds for equipment, and the college’s reputation for outreach was underscored when Clyde Q. Sheely, a legendary chemistry professor on campus, headed a summer institute program for high school students. Most students dreaded Sheely’s classes, but they appreciated his creative techniques instituted to try and help students through the mine fields of chemistry.8 No one knew in the 1950s what a major impact computers would have on the world, in chemistry and every other field, but Mississippi State could claim that the first one in Mississippi came to the Starkville campus in 1956 when the International Business Machines Corporation, better known as IBM, offered the college an IBM 650 digital computer to be used half the time for instruction and research. The college had permission to rent out the computer for the other 50 percent of the time to the general public to produce income. IBM charged the college twenty thousand dollars annually, a deal Hilbun and the college accepted without reservation, as did the board, and Harry Simrall, a brilliant electrical engineer, chaired a committee to coordinate the computer’s use. Photographs of that computer show it to be a real relic compared to modern-day mainframe and personal computers, but just having such an innovative machine, at that time, made the college’s image shine in academic America.9 McCain Engineering Building became the home of the IBM computer; the second floor, formerly home to the drawing department, was repartitioned to accommodate the new marvel. Fred Davis became the first head of the computing center, and Davis had the challenge of making computer services available to the math, electrical engineering, agricultural economics, and business statistics departments. Other areas soon took advantage of the machine, including the experiment station, and Davis made sure that commercial use of the computer was sufficient to financially support the college’s prized possession.10 Under the tireless leadership of the congenial Harry Simrall, the School of Engineering made other notable inroads during the Hilbun years. Simrall and his professors worked to set up research and curricula in • 136 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

nuclear and deramic engineering, and the school emphasized faculty and student research more so than in the past. A measure of the success of the school was approval of its operations by the Engineering Council for Professional Development. Simrall also integrated chemical engineering into the school from its former home in arts and sciences in a move to gain accreditation, though the move came in 1959 and accreditation did not come until 1964.11 The college continued to thrive in the area of its agricultural strengths. Both in research and in outreach publications, the School of Agriculture, the experiment station, and the extension service did valuable work and made notable contributions in academics and practical applications. For the development of anhydrous ammonia, a major breakthrough in agricultural fertilization, agronomist Baker Andrews was named the Progressive Farmer magazine’s Man of the Year. Andrews’s work led to the creation of a Mississippi business known as the Mississippi Chemical Corporation, headed by college alumnus Owen Cooper. One of Cooper’s employees, another State graduate named Jerry Clower, developed his storytelling ability to the point that he recorded numerous record albums and gained much notoriety for his alma mater and his home state. Fred Herzer, another of Hilbun’s professors, gained prominence in the field of dairying, being recognized for his work by the American Dairy Association and named Professor of the Year by the alumni association. Louis Wise, another notable agronomist, developed a widely recognized program in seed technology and was named the Southern Seedmen’s Man of the Year in 1958. Also under Hilbun a School of Forestry was established in 1954, the result of efforts begun in the 1940s.12 In the School of Business and Industry, R. C. Weems led the way in an effort to get accreditation from the American Association of Collegiate Schools of Business. Weems left in 1956, and James M. Parrish took over; under Parrish the sought-for accreditation came in 1960. As a corollary, the business research station continued to thrive, led by Louis O’Quinn. The station helped promote business and industrial affairs throughout the state of Mississippi.13 In the School of Education, longtime dean B. P. Brooks retired in 1956, and he was replaced by a man who became a force to be reckoned with in several levels of administration, before he finally retired. T. K. Martin, who had been the registrar and administrative assistant to the president, took over the education school and immediately began working to improve it. • 137 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

Martin, a no-nonsense leader, let everyone know that he would never be satisfied to be less than the best.14 During the Hilbun years, physical education assumed an unusual role in the Mississippi State curricula. Recreational leadership was added to the coursework, which was used to build a music education degree program for the training of band directors. This innovative step was the first toward establishing a music education department, which during this time was headed by band director W. Thomas West. The curricula within that department would eventually be expanded to prepare students to be teachers in realms of music other than, but including, band leadership.15 The graduate school thrived under Hilbun, who recommended that the number of doctoral programs be expanded, and he received board approval in 1956. These included animal science, engineering, physical sciences, zoology, social sciences, botany, and entomology. Entomology received a boost when the United States Department of Agriculture placed a boll weevil laboratory on campus. In addition, the 1960 ten-year study of the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools called for a university graduate council, to be composed of two administrative council members and one faculty representative from each academic school.16 Military training also expanded during the Hilbun era, from army ROTC to the inclusion of an Air Force Training Corps. The aeronautical research on campus led to the creation of flight training, approved by the board in 1957. The air force unit proved to be popular on campus and became even more so in the 1960s as young men foresaw flying opportunities in a conflict in a far-off place called Vietnam. As the AFTC prospered, the army unit made its curriculum more appealing by requiring additional liberal arts courses, a move mimicked by the air force.17 In the area of student affairs, Hilbun built on ideas rooted in the Mitchell years. Students on academic probation received more help, and talented students soon had an array of scholarships to reward their performances. A philanthropist named John Rust was convinced by Dean Herbert Drennon to set up a fund to help both the needy and the students who excelled. In 1955, the James W. Garner scholarships helped out political science and history students, and the Sherwin Williams Company set up a fund in honor of William Hand. Such funds were a portent of things to come.18 The expansion of programs and sensitivity to student needs produced positive enrollment results, for, by 1956, the number of enrollees had • 138 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

reached a record 4,117. As always, the increase forced expansion of the physical plant, and in 1955 the state legislature appropriated funds to build new dorms to replace the antiquated Old Main. The first new facility opened in 1956. Fire saved the university the task of removing Old Main, for it burned nearly to the ground on January 23, 1959. The wonder was that it had survived so long, for, over the years, its occupants had set many fires in trash cans and otherwise abused the facility. The story goes that one student, Henry Williamson, died in the fire when he returned to his room to retrieve something, though the absence of any remains has left a shadow over that official conclusion down to this very day. Whatever the case, enrollment briefly dropped, mostly out of fear that the college could not house its students without Old Main. But that worry quickly dissipated, for, by 1960, eight new dorms stood ready for occupation.19 Other construction progress included laboratories and classrooms; in 1955 a high voltage lab was built in the Patterson building laboratories, and a power systems laboratory was under construction. A new building devoted to chemical engineering opened in 1956, and a combination classroom and laboratory building in the northeast section of campus, ultimately named for Hilbun, opened in 1960. Additional construction during the Hilbun era included the Patterson labs, an engineering-science building named in honor of M. P. Etheredge, an aerophysics structure named in honor of Buz Walker, and the Ballew animal science building, where students studied various kinds of meat products. Added to all this was $900,000 in new dorms and $720,000 in faculty apartments.20 Aside from accomodating students, Hilbun had to deal with an active faculty. In years past, when faculty had been few in number, they served many purposes, such as guiding the course of curricula, helping out with student problems, and being vocal in a number of issues that affected both the local campus and the college’s future. During the Hilbun era, faculty began to use the secular, business world committee system to make their voices heard. This development did not happen all at once; it grew out of mumblings and grumblings as they listened to new staff introductions and a standard Hilbun speech about enrollment, budgeting, and the quality of students. But a campus chapter of the American Association of University Professors, supported by Mitchell, foretold a day when faculty would demand a greater voice in the running of the college. Mitchell handled faculty by keeping them busy, on various committees at times, especially ad • 139 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

hoc committees, and by challenging them to look into new proposals and ideas and make recommendations. Mitchell wanted his faculty to be part of an institutional team; he worked toward that end until his health began to fail, and he eased himself out of the presidency.21 Hilbun continued the work begun by Mitchell. Cheered on by the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools, the college established in 1953–1954 a faculty council, elected by the faculty in the various schools. This council had two basic purposes: to be the voice of the faculty and to advise the president. The council selected its own chair, and the first elected was English professor Robert B. Holland, who did such an impressive job that the faculty council is now named in his honor. Hilbun received regular reports from the council, and he passed their recommendations to the administrative council, which could approve them, or, more likely, talk about them and send them back to the faculty council where they would be further analyzed. The system worked about as would be expected by anyone who is familiar with administrative frameworks. The administrative council embraced what they liked and let the faculty talk about other things that eventually faded away. For example, the administrative council had little interest in poor class attendance, leaving that to the faculty to struggle with, but the faculty did get the attention of the higher-ups on issues such as tenure. Also as one might expect, some faculty thought the whole business a waste of time and made their position clear by avoiding meetings.22 Not surprisingly, factions developed within the faculty council; some were low-key and conservative, others more liberal and vocal, and it was up to President Hilbun and every succeeding president to try to please both, a mighty challenge for any administrator. One of the positive outcomes in those early years of the council was the faculty handbook, which has undergone numerous revisions, but does give new faculty a sense of what to expect. The council members also provided collegial support for each other when the issue of student evaluations started in the 1950s. As one might expect, students seemed to base their evaluations on what kind of grade they received in particular classes. The council rightly pointed out this obvious problem and supported professors who sometimes unfairly received low ratings on evaluations. While the council could also spin its wheels, talking much and accomplishing little, Hilbun saw to it that it had a chance to be heard. Periodically, he invited the council chair, along with • 140 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

experiment station and extension service directors, to meetings of the administrative council where all were encouraged to share their concerns and, more to the point, talk about improving outreach.23 If strategies in the council were divided, and if it talked more than it acted, still it proved a force to be reckoned with. One of the first issues where the council took the administrative council to task involved the summer school calendar of 1953, when the faculty council criticized what John Bettersworth called a “liberal institutional examination exemption policy,” especially regarding seniors. At the same time, the council supported Hilbun’s opposition to a board proposal to start granting honorary degrees, something the council thought would be destructive in nature. Not until very recent years have such degrees been granted by the university. The council also succeeded in getting board approval for a sabbatical program.24 President Hilbun had a reputation for being more successful in dealing with small groups and individuals in informal settings than he did in communicating with faculty and staff, but he took care not to publicly criticize people in the latter categories. If he criticized anyone for something like long coffee breaks, he also came up with ideas like letting faculty and support staff depart work early if they skipped such breaks. That turned out to be a popular proposal. Hilbun generally maintained good relationships with those closest to him in his administrative framework. He appointed T. K. Martin dean of education and replaced Martin with Alex McKeigney, who had been active, along with pest control magnate J. C. Redd, in working successfully to set up an alumni foundation. Later, when McKeigney left, Martin returned to his old job and Homer Coskrey took over as dean of education. Hilbun also showed himself to be wise and cognizant of political winds when he gave U.S. senator and State alumnus John C. Stennis the title of Visiting Professor of Government in 1958. This may have played a role a decade later in Stennis’s decision to donate his papers to the Special Collections division of the library, with James G. Shoalmire named curator. Other appointments of note included Thomas T. Brackin in English, known as “Terrible Tom,” who had a big mouth and a mean temperament that almost foretold some of the unsettling times to come nationwide in disturbances on college campuses during the 1960s. It should be noted that the number of changes was small and illustrated that Hilbun managed to keep together a team that helped him make campus improvements in many areas.25 • 141 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

In the area of athletics, Hilbun had the same problems as many Mississippi State presidents have had in trying to find winning coaches and keeping alumni happy when things did not work out as hoped. At the end of the Mitchell era, an alumni athletic committee had overstepped its bounds by practically firing Allyn McKeen, and, of course, the Slick Morton affair had not exactly helped the school’s reputation. Murray Warmath did well; he was blessed with such talented players as Jackie Parker and Joe Fortunato, and Warmath’s successes led to an offer to coach at the University of Minnesota that Hilbun could not match. Darrell Royal, who in later years would become a legend at the University of Texas, coached the next two years, his star player being Art Davis, but Royal was soon on his way to the University of Washington. Then Wade Walker took over, and though he got off to a good start at 6–2–1, with such players as Billy Stacy from Winona, his record eventually fell below .500, and it became apparent that he would not be around much longer. Hilbun did not get along well with the athletic director who was somewhat of a local legend, Dudy Noble, and he finally fired Noble in 1959, giving Walker the athletic directorship to go along with the head coaching job. It was not one of Hilbun’s more brilliant moves.26 The students watched all this with a bit of dismay. These were not the farm boys of the early years. They had experienced or at least lived through wars, and they were on a campus where females had once been scarce and were not all over the place. The continued rise in enrollment of women created a housing problem, but they kept coming, and in 1957, they formed a coed club to address women’s issues. There was another, more controversial, addition to the student body that many dreaded and some welcomed, but it seemed sure to come as a result of a controversy in nearby Arkansas. There federalized troops had forced the integration of a high school, and the question was, when would Mississippi have to cease its segregation practices in education? There had been a stereotypically racist tinge at the school for years involving people usually called uncles, that is, African American males who worked on campus. The term “uncle” dated back to the slavery era and supported images of black Americans as eternally childlike, put on earth to support white paternalism toward blacks. One of the oldest, Walter Kilborne, was very popular, but for a lot of wrong reasons, and when he retired in 1958, the “uncle” era seemed, happily, to come to an end.27 • 142 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

The race controversy would come to Mississippi State, but Ben Hilbun would not have to deal with it, though a later incident indicated that he would not have handled it very well. His presidency ended with the completion of the 1959–1960 school year, and he was, perhaps as a goodbye gift, named Alumnus of the Year in February 1959. This also happened to be the year of the hundredth anniversary of the founding of land-grant colleges. Hilbun’s presidency had been successful in many ways; he had started out as president of a college and ended as president of a university, there had been many worthy achievements academically, and the school had grown significantly. As John Bettersworth summed up Hilbun, he “who belonged so much to the state’s past, had verily given Mississippi State University a future.” His successor, Dean Wallace Colvard, would brighten that future by displaying a courageous leadership of which all alumni and Mississippians could be proud.28 Dean Colvard differed in many ways from his predecessors. The twelfth president was not an alumnus of MSU, and he was not a Mississippian. He was not steeped in the land-grant traditions, though he did have agricultural experience, which certainly qualified him to lead the university. He also came to Mississippi from North Carolina with a wider worldview than some of his predecessors, and he brought with him an intention to expand the vision of the university he had been chosen to lead. Further, he set a new trend among MSU presidents; it would be quite some time before an alumnus/Mississippian would again be chosen to lead the university. Colvard was a North Carolina native, a graduate of Grassy Creek High School and Berea College, the latter having hired him as an instructor upon his graduation. He later attended the University of Missouri to earn his master’s degree, served as superintendent of agricultural research stations in North Carolina for eight years, and then earned his doctoral degree in 1950 at Purdue University, which he attended with a General Education Board fellowship. He returned to his home state, became a professor and department head at North Carolina State University, and six years later was named dean of agriculture. In 1959, he was selected to be president of the Southern Association of Agricultural Workers. Early in 1960, he rejected an offer to be dean of agriculture at Ohio State University, shortly before being chosen the twelfth president of Mississippi State University. Stories of his coming to MSU leaked out before the official announcement, for he had been pressured by many to accept the presidency. One person quipped • 143 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

that perhaps General Lee had even paid Colvard a visit to convince him to say yes.29 Colvard went immediately to work, speaking to alumni in Greenwood, where Hilbun introduced him, and repeating his performance, again with Hilbun present, in Meridian. Both meetings went well, as did his first address at graduation on August 20, where he no doubt made many friends with a short three-minute speech. Then he traveled to Atlanta, where he met distinguished alumnus Cully Cobb and others. Colvard confided to his diary that the MSU people were extraordinarily friendly, and they seemed to think him much more important than he was. Few MSU presidents ever enjoyed such wide, enthusiastic acceptance; yet Colvard did keep it all in perspective, working hard and realizing that times would come when tough decisions would ruffle feathers, and he would have to be ready for criticism.30 He found out quickly how accurate his assessment was when football season hit the campus in the fall of 1960. The year was a disaster, consisting of two wins, one tie, and seven losses. Colvard noted that at least the team had played Tennessee, which had beaten State the previous year, and held them to a scoreless tie, so he stuck with Wade Walker, which made few alumni and students happy. Walker was burned in effigy the next year despite an improvement to a 5–5 record, and Colvard, in a vain attempt to diffuse the unhappy fans, took the coaching job from Walker, left him athletic director, and hired Paul Davis as head coach. Davis did not do badly, leading the team to the Liberty Bowl in 1963, but admitting that Ole Miss had won yet another recruiting war in spite of State’s success.31 Basketball, on the other hand, filled Bulldog fans with pride, because Babe McCarthy had a unique ability to take young men without extraordinary talent individually and mold them into machine-like winners. He did have Bailey Howell, whose time at State dated back to the late Hilbun years, and who went on to a successful professional basketball career, but in later years one would be hard pressed to name many of Howell’s teammates. Still, even in basketball, Colvard ran into a nasty situation when a player named Jerry Graves was charged with gambling violations. Graves later dropped out of school, but the situation dampened another successful McCarthy year. It was not the Graves affair, however, that would stick in the minds of MSU fans, but the later controversy over the team playing in an integrated NCAA tournament that would forever establish Colvard as one of the heroes of MSU’s history.32 • 144 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

Though Colvard is still remembered for the basketball incident, which at the time he could not have imagined, he should also be remembered for the many other good things he did for the university. He wanted to build, to take up where Hilbun had left off and do more. He had new studies to look at, faculty input to consider, and the visit of a Southern Association of Colleges and Schools (SACS) committee to give him ideas early in his administration on how to accomplish improvements on campus. He began with administrative changes, establishing an academic council to see to academic issues and keeping the administrative council to focus on administrative matters. This was the kind of common-sense move that people came to expect from the new president. Colvard also met regularly with his administrative assistant and vice presidents. To help meet the challenges of his presidency, he went in 1961 to take a short course at Harvard designed to assist new college/university presidents. While he was gone, and this proved he had learned something about making himself invisible when squabbles developed, as with the basketball case, a bit of a controversy erupted when news leaked that Colvard wanted to hire Dr. A. S. Suttle, current director of the Mississippi Industrial and Technological Commission, to work on a quarter-time basis to coordinate research and graduate activities at MSU. Hilbun, chair of the commission, supported Colvard, though not with great enthusiasm, but it did not matter, for the board approved the appointment. Suttle did not stay long, for Texas A&M University hired him away, but Colvard’s move showed he meant business when it came to improving graduate work, especially in research.33 Colvard also hired the redoubtable T. K. Martin to be his administrative assistant, and John K. Bettersworth to be vice president for academic affairs. Bettersworth replaced Herbert Drennon, and William J. Evans was placed in the position of assistant dean for arts and sciences. Evans died soon afterward in 1963. In his revised one-hundredth-anniversary history of the university, Bettersworth paid tribute to his predecessor. Drennon, Bettersworth noted, had grown up motherless, having been reared by a grandfather; he had a rather negative view of education as a young man, was encouraged to attend college by a local physician, earned a master’s degree at Vanderbilt, taught at MSU back in the A&M days, got a Ph.D. at the University of Chicago, taught at Murray State in Kentucky, and came to State for a long stay in 1938. He had been a strong force in the college’s • 145 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

growth, and after his retirement he moved to California, where he wrote poetry. MSU posthumously published a book of his compositions entitled Sunset at Laguna Beach, in which he advised young people to follow well and be wisely led, never driven. Drennon indeed left large footprints on the Starkville campus.34 Other administrative changes under Colvard included Lynn Furgerson as registrar and J. Chester McKee as assistant dean of the graduate school; later, McKee directed research, and Marion Loftin replaced him. Francis A. Rhodes came from Florida State to become dean of education, replacing Homer Coskrey, who returned to being dean of general extension. William Flewellen took over as dean of business and industry and Lyle Behr as dean of arts and sciences. Colvard also decided to change his schools to colleges, which affected agriculture, arts and sciences, business, education, and engineering. He created a vice presidential position to oversee agriculture and, after a campaign of persuasion, placed William L. Giles, destined to be Colvard’s successor and at the time in charge of the experiment station in Stoneville in the Delta, in the new post.35 Giles did some reorganizing of his own, placing the popular Louis Wise as dean of agriculture and creating a School of Forestry with Robert Clapp in charge as the first dean. Colvard did not interfere; in fact, he claimed it was the first time such changes had been made at MSU without controversy. And Colvard was not done yet. Early in his presidency, he placed Giles and experiment station director Henry Leveck on the administrative council and made the personnel office a separate unit (it had formerly been under the president’s authority).36 In the library, Colvard had to deal with several changes. Ms. Nannie Rice, a campus legend, had resigned as director and had been replaced by Forest Palmer, who resigned in 1962; Thomas Crowder took over, but Crowder left to study for the ministry a year later. In 1963, George Lewis began a long tenure; he would become a fixture as library director for many years. A native of Webster County, Lewis was an innovator who immediately set to work to address criticisms by the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools, following a visit by a team from that organization and other complaints in the university decennial self-study. Lewis managed to get the book-purchasing budget increased from twenty-five thousand dollars in 1962 to eighty thousand dollars by the 1964–1965 budget year, and also managed to get a new wing built, with construction begin• 146 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

ning in 1965. The library was still a long way from where it needed to be, but with President Mitchell’s success in at last having a separate building constructed and Lewis’s badgering for financial support, things had at last started looking up for the long-neglected library program.37 It is worth noting that many of the people mentioned above had long careers with the university. From the beginning, the institution had had the benefit of lengthy tenures by many talented people who loved their jobs, the college, and perhaps the small-town atmosphere of Starkville. Whatever the case, their loyalty was admirable, considering the constant budget problems, low salaries, and ongoing efforts to do more with less. In future years, it would become more difficult to maintain such attitudes, as continuing low salaries caused MSU to become a stopping-off place rather than a career maker. Unfortunately, such will likely continue to be a problem for future leaders of the university. Colvard understood the problem, and he immediately looked for monetary support beyond small legislative appropriations and the limitations of student fees. Colvard wanted to create what he called vaguely a “margin of excellence,” which implied more funding from other sources to take the university where it needed to be. One of the greatest needs on campus was for a student union building, a central location where students could relax, meet, study, and dine. Major universities had unions, and MSU was still in the position of trying to catch up. The old YMCA building had served the purpose about as long as it could, but with ever-increasing enrollment, it simply could not provide the services needed. The legislature had given some funds, but not enough for the kind of building needed. So Colvard created a Mississippi State University Foundation, which would collect contributions from whatever sources were available, and the foundation proved to be a brilliant idea. Colvard met with several affluent individuals, especially alumni, and one of those alumni, Charles Whittington, became the first president of the foundation, which was established in early 1962. One of the first actions by the foundation was to establish a program called “Patrons of Excellence,” which included donors who contributed ten thousand dollars over a two-year period or twenty-five thousand dollars on deferred terms. J. E. Thomas, from the electrical engineering department, became director of development and public relations to be in charge of the foundation’s daily operations. Eventually Thomas went to the Gulf Coast to direct MSU’s technical training institute there, and he was replaced by Douglas Allen. • 147 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

Colvard placed much hope in the foundation, which he hoped would open avenues leading to a “first-class university,” and the foundation has since made major contributions to the building of MSU toward that end. At the time, however, Colvard was rightly concerned about what the civil rights revolution was doing to the South and particularly to Mississippi. He not only had to worry about the impact of such things as an integration crisis of major proportions at Ole Miss; there was also a unique situation at MSU involving the basketball team.38 An integration crisis involving the registration of one African American student, James Meredith, put Ole Miss on the verge of a disaster that would scar not only that university but the state of Mississippi for many years to come. Colvard and other MSU officials did their best to keep State students from going to Oxford and getting involved in the violence that was about to break out there, and for the most part they were successful, though some fifteen MSU students would be among those arrested. Mississippi’s bigoted, irresponsible governor, Ross Barnett, fueled the flames with his open resistance, federal troops and marshals had to quell the situation, and by the time the smoke cleared there had been death and destruction on the Ole Miss campus that could have and should have been avoided.39 Dean Colvard worried that something similar might happen at his campus, and he even thought it might be better if he left so that a Mississippian could take over as president. T. K. Martin voiced the opposition of many State people to such an idea, and Colvard decided to stay if that was what the majority of the faculty wanted, and they did, and, though no polls were taken, so did most of the students. Colvard told the Starkville Rotary Club he would not allow riots, accreditation would be maintained, and law and order would prevail, and university officials stared down some students who wanted to go to Ole Miss with threats of dismissal to make the point that peace would reign at MSU. Colvard and two State vice presidents attended a meeting of the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools in Dallas, Texas, to face, with other Mississippi institutions, warnings about punishments for schools who allowed racial politics to interfere with university and college operations. The SACS warnings overshadowed the annual State–Ole Miss game, where more trouble with racial overtones was threatened but failed to materialize. State lost the game by one touchdown, but Colvard and many others were just relieved that no additional trouble had erupted.40 • 148 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

To further ease things a bit, MSU sent a team to the General Electric College Bowl, an academic competition in which the team won one and lost one, and, more than that, restored a bit of pride to the state. The MSU team showed it could represent a Mississippi that did not go looking for trouble. Alumnus Owen Cooper sponsored a dinner for the team, and Colvard had a sense of hope that somehow the university could avoid anything like the disaster at Ole Miss. To him it was a “turning point,” but he had a much bigger, and considerably more important, turning point looming ahead involving the MSU basketball team.41 On February 25, 1963, MSU beat Tulane, thereby grabbing its third consecutive SEC championship and fourth in the past five years, and an automatic invitation to participate in the national NCAA basketball tournament. The team had been kept out of that tournament in the past by an unwritten Mississippi “law” that said no teams from the state’s white universities and colleges would participate in tournaments where they might be forced to play against teams that had African American players. The way the tournament brackets were set up, it seemed possible, even likely, that the team might have to play Loyola of Chicago, which had four black players in its starting lineup. Many students on campus pressured Colvard to let the team go to the tournament; they were tired of seeing their Bulldogs winning championships and being denied the right to play in the NCAA tournament. Colvard saw their point, and he knew that Coach McCarthy, his staff, and the team wanted to play. So on February 26, he told the chair of the board of trustees, J. M. Tubb, that he would recommend that the team be allowed to go. The board itself stood mute on the subject, leaving this political hot potato in Colvard’s hands; the board noted it could not, by policy, deny Colvard, or any president of an institution of higher learning in Mississippi, the right to make such a decision. On March 2, Colvard released a statement that the MSU Athletics Committee and Athletic Director Wade Walker had recommended the basketball team be allowed to go to the tournament. Some three thousand campus students signed a petition urging that the team be permitted to go. Colvard told the world that unless he was “hindered by competent authority,” he would allow the team to go, and he told McCarthy and Walker of his decision, while at the same time building support by calling upon prominent alumni, like Owen Cooper, to publicly support the team’s right to go to the tournament. Colvard also warned Ole Miss officials that the announcement • 149 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

would be made, for State’s final regular season game was with the Rebels on the Oxford campus, and there could be trouble. Meanwhile, the university chief of police, B. S. Hood, provided the Colvard home on campus with extra protection. Ben Hilbun showed his racial colors by refusing to publicly support Colvard, but at least he said he would keep quiet and not condemn the move. M. M. Roberts of Hattiesburg, a board member, called Colvard and accused the president of “destroying the state” by recommending State’s participation. Colvard cancelled a trip to New York, where he had intended to lobby the Rockefeller Foundation for financial support for the university. Colvard knew he must not allow his critics any reason to accuse him of running from a fight. He did go with his family to Memphis for reasons of safety, where they checked into the famous Peabody Hotel. There he listened to the radio broadcast of the MSU–Ole Miss game over a phone line set up by his secretary, Betty Douglas. The Bulldogs won a thriller, 75–72. As there now seemed to be a lull in the controversy, Colvard made his trip to New York, where he kept in touch with the campus by phone. He learned that Roberts had managed to get a special meeting of the board called to discuss the issue. By the time Colvard returned to the campus on March 6, his office was being deluged with messages both pro and con on the team playing in the tournament, but most were supportive. Ross Barnett, thankfully and interestingly, announced his opposition but said he would not interfere in the controversy. Apparently the blood on his hands from the Ole Miss debacle had softened his resolve. A quiet poll of the board showed that Colvard had the support of the majority, so he urged Tubb to help him get them all to attend the Roberts-instigated meeting. Not surprisingly, the state’s largest newspaper, the Clarion-Ledger, owned and operated by the segregationist Hederman family in Jackson, condemned Colvard’s action. The board met on March 9, while in the background, one of MSU’s own alumni, state senator Billy Mitts, asked Barnett to call a special session of the legislature to block the team from going to the tournament. Mitts introduced a “no-play” resolution in the state senate, but other senators referred the resolution to a committee where it died quietly. At the board meeting, the vote was eight to three against Roberts’s motion to deny the team the right to play in the tournament. Roberts quickly made another motion to have the board fire Colvard; it failed for lack of a second. The board then voted nine to two to express its confidence • 150 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

in Colvard. Celebrations broke out on the MSU campus, and Colvard, for the first time in a while, breathed a sigh of relief. He met with the team on March 13 to wish them well, and McCarthy and the assistant coaches and team packed for their departure to East Lansing, Michigan, the next day. Then Colvard heard that Billy Mitts and a Judge B. W. Lawrence had filed a complaint in the Rankin County Chancery Court requesting an injunction to stop the team from leaving Mississippi. Colvard learned that Rankin County law officers were en route to Starkville to serve the injunction. He met with athletic officials, sought legal advice, and cancelled a pep rally. Colvard learned that the gist of the injunction was to stop the team from spending state funds on the trip. Colvard decided upon a little strategy of his own. He obtained travel money from a local bank instead of the campus business office, and he was reminded by his legal team that there was no state law preventing the team from playing integrated teams, only a custom. Therefore, Colvard could not be accused of breaking any law. By 8 p.m. of March 13, no Rankin County law officers had arrived in Starkville, and Colvard and his cohorts went into action. The first thing was to get the team out of Mississippi as soon as possible. The coaches would go on ahead, and Colvard and Vice President Bettersworth left for Alabama. With the athletic leaders gone, and the MSU officials unavailable, the Rankin County people would have no one to serve their injunction to. One assistant coach was left behind to make sure the team made it out of Columbus on its charter plane the next morning. The second team would be sent out first, in case of trouble, so the first team could get away. Fortunately, the team would be able to stay together. When the Rankin County officers arrived, they checked in, out of courtesy, with the Oktibbeha County sheriff ’s office, and Sheriff Tom Cook directed a deputy to give the visitors a scenic tour of Starkville, then a much smaller town than now, on the way to McCarthy’s home. Of course, McCarthy was gone, as was Colvard, and the assistant coach made other flight plan arrangements, just in case they were needed, and then he faded into the shadows. The team trainer escorted the team to the city airport. Soon, the team and coaches would rendezvous in Nashville and continue on to East Lansing. Colvard met his family in Chattanooga, visited a daughter in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and then went to Auburn University, where he delivered a commencement address. John Bettersworth, • 151 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

meanwhile, who may have violated a few speed limits in getting himself and Colvard to Alabama, came home to Mississippi. The Rankin County law officers returned to Jackson with their injunction still in hand. Mississippi State lost to Loyola, 61–51; Loyola went on to claim the national championship. The Bulldogs won a consolation game, defeating Bowling Green 65–60. Later the university appealed the injunction, and it was thrown out of court. And Dean Wallace Colvard, Babe McCarthy, and others had earned a special place in MSU lore for having stood up to the monster of segregation and defeating it.42 A battle had been won, but the war was not over. Segregation still ruled the hearts of most white Mississippians. For many of them, the basketball team’s participation in the tournament had been one of fairness, not a statement of social change. Educational segregation remained much more the rule than the exception, and Dean Colvard, despite his bravery and the applause he had received, still was not especially popular throughout the state. He found that out when he had to cancel a commencement address he was to give at one of the state’s junior colleges because members of that college’s board of trustees objected. Colvard made up an excuse for not being able to be there, and he wondered about the survival of his job with a gubernatorial election coming up. At least Barnett could not succeed himself, but worry over who would be the next governor bothered Colvard. Barnett’s predecessor, J. P. Coleman, possessor of much better judgment and common sense than Barnett, was running, but so was Barnett’s lieutenant governor, Paul Johnson, Jr. Johnson was not the fanatic Barnett had been, but he unashamedly played the race card and defeated Coleman, who was linked via an old friendship with the hated President John F. Kennedy. Johnson’s bark turned out to be much louder than his bite, and he supported the retention of Dean Colvard at MSU. Still, rumors abounded, but alumni liked Colvard, though Colvard lost an important man who had generally supported him when Ben Hilbun passed away. On December 31, 1963, MSU played North Carolina State in the frigid Liberty Bowl in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and trouble seemed possible when the NAACP threatened to picket because for some reason Ross Barnett had insisted upon attending. The bad weather held down the crowd anyway, there was no trouble, and MSU won 16–12.43 The next year integration again became an issue, when the board of trustees, fearful of more controversy, refused to approve outreach classes • 152 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

at military bases in Columbus and on the Gulf Coast. Things finally came to a head on campus when in June 1965 Colvard reported that a black student, Richard Holmes, had qualified for admission to the university. Holmes lived in Starkville, and he did not try to publicize his desire to enter MSU. He took the whole issue in stride, and, as he has often said, perhaps he never was aware that he should be afraid or might be in danger. The university’s leadership likewise accepted the news without fanfare, for Colvard was determined that things would not get out of hand as had happened at Ole Miss. Governor Johnson made clear with his silence that he would do or say nothing to interfere with Holmes’s enrollment. Holmes entered school the second summer session in July, and Colvard publicly announced that the new student should be treated the same as any other. Law enforcement officers at all levels were put on the alert, just in case, but they were never needed, thanks to the acceptance of this moment in history by faculty, students, and the general public. Colvard was proud of the way things had gone, and he had a right to be, for he had set the tone, and if a few rednecks made inappropriate comments, they brought more negative attention to themselves than to Richard Holmes, not exactly the reaction they hoped for. Other students went out of their way to welcome him to campus and to classes they shared with him. Holmes’s assimilation was complete when he peacefully took his date to a university dance. MSU had survived desegregation with no blood spilled and no nasty national headlines. No matter their personal feelings, all those associated with the school had a right to feel a measure of pride, and Dean Colvard had opened the door by daring to challenge a vile tradition of prejudice.44 Colvard especially appreciated the support of his faculty, which, as a group, was still trying to find itself capable of contributing to the university administration. Most of its recommendations went nowhere, except for comparably meaningless ones like opposing making compulsory ROTC an option for male students. Many faculty members wanted nothing to do with a faculty organization, refusing even to allow themselves to be considered for leadership positions in the faculty council. Colvard, encouraged by statements on the faculty situation found in the SACS self-study, decided to restructure the faculty council, and he submitted ideas to the administrative and academic councils for consideration. Colvard moved to establish a tenure policy and looked into faculty evaluation. A new tenure policy received approval in October 1960 by the administrative council, and the • 153 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

board two years later placed a tenure policy into effect at all the state’s institutions of higher learning. In the spring of 1963, the first tenure list at MSU was approved by the board, and soon the university made policies and procedures available in writing in the school’s first faculty handbook. All of these changes seemed to intrigue the faculty council, which altered its charter to do such things as adding some administrators to the faculty. The new organizational changes went into effect in 1962 on a two-year trial basis.45 The seemingly revived faculty council looked at many issues, such as profanity and off-color jokes in classrooms, cancellation of classes due to the presence of speakers, athletic contests, and other possibly controversial events. The council examined the idea of a trimester system, which never came to fruition; various complaints of ill treatment by female students who felt they were unappreciated; the problem of cheating in the classroom; practices of the discipline committee; noisy ROTC drills near Lee Hall; the continuing issue of voluntary ROTC, a topic that would not go away with the future of the Vietnam War to be reckoned with; and the never-ending problems and complaints associated with campus traffic and parking. Another problem receiving attention was one that would prove to be controversial for years, the matter of faculty evaluations. Finally, the student association convinced the faculty to allow students to evaluate faculty as long as the ratings were returned to the faculty and not made available to administrators. Nevertheless, some ratings did leak out, and the whole process would continue to be controversial.46 While faculty became more active, their morale received another boost when the alumni association decided to set up a system of awards to those professors and others who excelled. The annual awards would recognize excellence in teaching, classroom excellence plus research, publications and other significant activities, research achievement in cases where a faculty member’s job called for research as 50 percent of his/her job description, and excellence in extension and other service programs. Faculty, students, and alumni could submit nominations, and a secret committee would make final selections of winners. The first were given May 15, 1965, at a dinner, where style of dress would be optional. Individual awards were given in all except the extension and service areas, which would be added in 1966. Initial winners included university veterans Clyde Sheely, Glover Moore, and Thomas Tramel.47 • 154 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

Colvard also sought to make nonuniversity personnel feel a part of the team. This included a group of federal employees who worked full-time on campus, as well as private citizens in Starkville and in what would become known as the Golden Triangle area (Starkville, West Point, and Columbus) who might have the time and expertise to contribute to the university’s mission. Colvard saw to it that a policy made such persons available for university service as adjunct professors so they could participate in the MSU community where appropriate. Obviously, Colvard was trying not only to make the faculty more participatory but also to add talented instructors for the sake of the university students. But he was not done, for he felt he needed to do more for another group, women faculty, who had frequently been treated too much like a minority in the sense that their voices had not been often heard.48 Indeed, the role of women on campus had long been ignored; like the library program, the involvement of women in the university administration and classroom had lagged behind, especially given the age of the university. Few women faculty had been hired, mostly in such fields as music and English. The SACS self-study led to the appointment of the first dean of women, Frances Lee, an action that reflected the tremendous growth in the enrollment of women students since the World War II era, when many women had gotten a taste of life outside the home by working in defense factories and participating in other areas to help with the war effort. Over a five-year period, 1956–1961, female enrollment increased by 31 percent, and by 1970 that increase would be a remarkable 650 percent over a fourteenyear span. The trend necessitated more women’s housing. Old buildings were converted and new ones built to accommodate the coeds; while it did not happen overnight, somehow the university coped and the women kept on arriving. During the Colvard years and the Giles administration that followed, female students joined the American Association of University Women, and faculty wives were allowed to be employed in a variety of jobs on campus.49 The ever-increasing presence of women on campus posed the challenge of changing the curriculum to meet their interests. Courses in the arts, for example, received more attention from the administrative council. But administrators and professors would learn soon enough that women had a broad range of interests, from the arts and humanities to the sciences and agriculture. While it was true that the presence of female students would • 155 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

lead to an expanding of the range of curriculum planning, it was also true that MSU’s traditional curricula would attract much interest from these women, and they proved they could hold their own in training for professions that had been male-dominated.50 The attempt to be more inclusive served the university well in many areas. Unlike the critical visits and opinions of accrediting agencies in the past, the people who examined MSU during the Colvard years found quality in many areas. Support came from the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools and included professional stamps of approval for the engineering and business programs. Colvard tried to make sure that such was no fluke, for he supported continual self-studies and the raising of standards. Graduation requirements got tougher, with an increase in the number of hours required for graduation in several areas. A graduate council and designated graduate faculty became a part of the academic scene. A communication department was added in 1961 under the able direction of Sam Dudley; this improved the previous minimal speech curricula, which had been under the Department of English umbrella. Dudley expanded the program from its meager two professors, one desk, and a chair to improved physical facilities and much better programs in drama and debating. Examples of success included the debating team’s 117 victories, 13 trophies, 4 medals, and 57 awards of certificates within a short time period.51 Dudley’s efforts led to improvements in dramatic productions. The Blackfriars were already in place, a group of local actors including students and townspeople which was led by Peyton Williams. Sara Kopelle, who had had acting experience in Hollywood, California, helped the group stage a successful production of Our Town, an event which brought more attention to the efforts of the Blackfriars. Shortly afterward, Dominic Cunetto was hired as the guiding hand of drama productions, and his dedication through thick and thin kept drama in a positive spotlight for many years. Each year Cunetto had the young, and a few aged, actors perform on a regular schedule to the delight of area audiences.52 Other notable curricula and program additions included petroleum engineering, which offered a bachelor’s degree beginning in 1960, and several master’s degree programs, including agricultural engineering, horticulture, music education, and major foreign languages that included Spanish, French, and German. Landscape architecture became a separate department in 1963, separated out from its former status under the horticulture • 156 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

department. The rapid expansion of graduate programs caused some concern by board members who requested that Colvard have the president’s council take a look at the graduate school’s offerings. Yet at the same time, the board continued to approve new programs, such as doctoral degrees in chemistry, electrical engineering, business administration, mechanical engineering, and banking, and the university moved toward a Ph.D. in mathematics. Added to all this was a doctoral program in biological engineering in cooperation with the University of Mississippi Medical Center, located in Jackson. Whatever the board’s concerns, it did nothing to stop the blossoming of graduate programs.53 Colvard also led the university into an area previously dominated by junior colleges—technical training programs that required two years of study. Technical institutes had become an important academic fad, perhaps fueled by the successes of the national space program and other developments in technology. For MSU, this trend led to the expansion of its engineering reputation and expertise and to the establishment of a Gulf Coast institute in Gulfport, Mississippi, on ground once occupied by a World War II training facility. The board endorsed all this in 1964 by giving the university total responsibility for technical institute programs. All of the expansion and growth was bound to cause some hesitation and negative reaction, which had been expressed earlier by the board. Was MSU trying to do too much too quickly?54 Back in 1960, the state legislature, especially a representative named J. P. Love, had made funds available for a study of public education in the state. This was not an unusual thing for a legislature to do, but educators always dreaded political interference, or even the hint of it. The resulting Love Report called for self-studies by all the institutions of higher learning, and there seemed to be special concern for how the state would handle higher education for African Americans. Despite some token integration of the predominantly white institutions, the state still had three identifiable predominantly black schools: Alcorn State, Jackson State, and Mississippi Valley State. The Institutions of Higher Learning (IHL) board was called upon to develop role and scope studies for all the state-supported colleges and universities, first to be coordinated by E. H. Hollis, whose failing health led to his replacement by S. V. Martorana. Ultimately, a report came out calling for MSU, the University of Southern Mississippi, and Ole Miss to be given specific roles. MSU should focus on business, industry, • 157 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

and agriculture, the report said. Then the governor, Paul Johnson, asked a consulting team to also study the state’s educational status and needs. Before that report came out, MSU’s leader, Dean Colvard, had resigned and returned to his home state of North Carolina, though it is doubtful the reports were the only reason for his departure. Before he left, Colvard stayed busy at the helm, not overly concerned with any immediate ramifications of the reports. The state of Mississippi could not afford three totally comprehensive universities, but until someone had the courage to admit that and do something about it, nothing likely would happen to force meaningful change, and, to date, nothing has.55 As John Bettersworth pointed out, Colvard understood, as do all college and university presidents, that self-studies are perpetual and rarely produce much more than headaches for those expected to carry out their conclusions. Colvard continued his focus on keeping MSU growing, and he especially looked at helping students excel. One way to do that was to recognize achievement, thereby encouraging the young men and women who came to campus. An honors program, initially headed by John Tilley, was put in place in 1961, and within eight years some fifty-four students would be participating. Other positive steps included MSU getting the state’s first chapter of the professional scientific honorary fraternity Sigma Xi in 1966. Encouragement also came through cooperative programs, where students would study on campus and get practical experience in the real world. This program had roots going back to 1941, but it had not amounted to much until the formidable T. K. Martin, along with Frank Cotton and Lawrence Hill, began pushing it forward during the postwar period. James Tennyson took over the directorship in 1964, and the program has thrived ever since. Other programs rewarding achievement included those established by the National Science Foundation and by SPATS, the latter an acronym for Summer Program for Academically Talented Students, in which qualified high school seniors came to a campus summer prep-type school to get a taste of college. The courses they took would ultimately count toward graduation if they came to MSU. Sam Dudley directed this successful program.56 A continual problem for presidents since Stephen Lee was not only helping students, both the talented and the average, but also finding equipment adequate for their instruction. Colvard, like those before him, begged the board for better equipment, and he did not hesitate to make use of unused • 158 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

salary funds, money left in the budget when an employee, for whatever reason, left the university, to be spread among departments for purchasing whatever they needed to keep up their instruction levels. By the time 1966 rolled around, Colvard had thus distributed over seven hundred thousand dollars, and he had been helped by a National Science Foundation program that sent money to departments that showed a willingness to engage in innovative teaching techniques. Colvard also recognized the need for better media instruction. He put together a committee to look at how general media, especially programmed materials, closed-circuit television, and computers, could be used to help students. Little did he dream of the forthcoming computer revolution.57 Outreach continued to be an important aspect of the university’s mission, and it, like so many other programs during the Colvard years, became more creative. The agricultural division began working with similar programs in other countries. Dean Louis Wise laid plans for working with Latin America in the agricultural curricula, and he encouraged others on campus to get involved. The College of Business and Industry did so, bringing a professor from Brazil as a visiting scholar, and a contract was signed with that country in 1964 to set up exchange programs. The Division of Continuing Education likewise looked to broaden its vision by reaching out to servicemen and -women at Columbus Air Force Base, the Keesler facility on the Gulf Coast, and Navy Seabees at Gulfport. Officials at Greenville, Mississippi, asked MSU about a technical training facility at an old World War II base there, but the university had to back off to avoid curricula conflict with the nearby Mississippi Delta Junior College, which offered the same types of training. Consistent talk also centered on setting up some sort of MSU facility in the capital city of Jackson, and in 1961 a resident center was set up at the private, Presbyterian-supported Belhaven College. Soon cooperative arrangements in curricula programming were worked out with a similar center Ole Miss had established with a private Methodist college, Millsaps. But Jackson city leaders wanted more, and after some intercollege politicking, the Mississippi Research and Development Center, in which both MSU and Ole Miss would participate, became a reality. Focused mostly on research, as the name of the facility implied, it soon expanded its mission when in 1962 the legislature authorized bonds to build a facility for the two universities that would offer “research, graduate, and upper level university • 159 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

programs.” This became known as the Universities Center. Colvard was not fully enthusiastic; he was perhaps concerned about the spreading of funds too thinly, especially after the University of Southern Mississippi was invited to participate. The Mississippi Research and Development Center and the Universities Center were practically adjacent on property in northeast Jackson, and soon the whole thing became known as the Mississippi Education and Research Center. Colvard’s fears were misplaced, for out of this arrangement, based on an MSU proposal, came the Mississippi Educational Television Network. University leaders had wanted something like this for some time, for, if it developed as envisioned, it would enable the university and others to reach homes across the state with advisory information, teaching, and even entertainment, far different from anything the commercial networks had to offer. The Federal Communications Commission had already given MSU a VHF outlet, Channel 2, and the university had well protected it from commercial use or interference. Colvard sought help to keep things that way by offering the board the channel for statewide use, and he appointed a committee, chaired by John Bettersworth, to draw up a plan. Bettersworth had had some previous television experience, teaching an American history course over nearby Channel 4 in Columbus. Eventually, a network would spread over the state, but it all began with Channel 2.58 As one might expect regarding the development of such joint operations among the universities, many wrinkles had to be ironed out. One of the most prominent was deciding upon a curriculum for the Universities Center. Some of the people in the Jackson area wanted engineering courses, especially technical instruction, but it was pointed out that this might interfere with nearby Hinds Junior College’s curricula. Nevertheless, the big three, MSU, Ole Miss, and Southern Mississippi, soon worked out schedule of programs and courses, and they agreed that one director would oversee the operation. MSU did get to offer instruction in engineering and agriculture, its meat and potatoes, including the aforementioned biomedical engineering doctoral program in cooperation with Ole Miss’s medical center. The extension service further established MSU’s presence by opening an office at the center. The quickly developing Mississippi Educational Television Center, though its roots were at MSU, also established headquarters at the R&D Center; John Bettersworth chaired a committee that received input from • 160 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

all state colleges and universities, and by July 1961 a report on a statewide network had been completed. There was a waiting period as the network committee sought federal funds through the U.S. Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, but eventually the planning, and patience, produced an impressive network. Support did not come as easily from the state as from the federal government. The legislature, never a body known for grabbing at the future, did not rush to fund what became known as the Mississippi Authority for Educational Television, but eventually funding did come. Who would run the operation? That loaded question was answered when a board that included a college board member was set up to oversee the operation, and there was an agreement that the ETV director would work closely with the board. MSU can still take pride in the fact that it opened the door for Mississippi Educational Television, for it has been not only an educational but a cultural blessing to the state. In the process, the university continued to be a leader in outreach, for ETV is a prime example of MSU’s determination to be the people’s university.59 While the presence of MSU and other universities became more prominent in the Jackson area, the Gulf Coast area sought to improve its ties with the major insititutions of higher learning. Four-year programs from MSU and the other universities did not seem likely since the gulf area already had Perkinston Junior College with its two-year programs, and Perkinston was in the process of becoming more of a Gulf Coast operation through expansion of its programs. But the junior and senior year curricula needed for a full college degree, plus opportunities for graduate work, did give the universities a bit of an opening. Due to its proximity, Southern Mississppi became very aggressive in trying to establish a dominant presence there, as did Ole Miss, which shared facilities with Southern at Keesler Field. Colvard wanted to make sure MSU did not get left out. One especially exciting possibility was the Mississippi Test Facility, where space research was conducted; located in Hancock County, it was there largely due to efforts by U.S. Senator John C. Stennis, an MSU alumnus. Initital efforts by the universities to get involved at MTF created a muddled atmosphere of just what role the senior colleges could play. In 1965, attempts were made to set up graduate courses in business and engineering, but lack of university intercooperation, plus questions about the impact of the civil rights movement, left things unclear.60 • 161 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

Integration issues had already become a factor at MSU’s back door when the Columbus Air Force Base leadership let it be known they were interested in programs for their personnel, especially at the graduate level. The college board, where many members still clung to the ghosts of a racist past, finally approved Colvard’s recommendation, by the majority of one vote, to get MSU involved in providing what the air base wanted before the air force went shopping in neighboring states. One concern, shared by Colvard, and his leadership team, as well as the other universities, was whether such programs would have full accreditation. There had been a general assumption that accreditation followed already approved programs, wherever they landed, but the Southern Association sent down an edict in 1965 that these off-campus programs must stand on their own and meet the same selfstudy and other requirements. SACS people had previously made trips to off-campus sites, but they had not clarified their position on accreditation off campus. Their verdict now made clear that standards must be maintained off site as well as on campus; this would challenge the resources of Colvard and other presidents, and the board, which must provide adequate support.61 While Colvard looked beyond campus borders, he oversaw an explosion of new facilities on campus. Beginning in 1960 with funding for the August Raspet Flight Research Laboratory adjacent to the Starkville city airport, the building program included the B. M. Walker Engineering Building, an entomological research laboratory, funding for an additional wing to the library (the library would not experience significant growth until late 1960s–early 1970s), a new wing for the Harned Hall biology building, the construction of the Dorris L. Ballew animal science facility, and the F. S. Edwards Reactor Laboratory, all of these being funded or built by 1964. Colvard was not yet done. Plans were made for poultry science and veterinary science facilities, the latter named in honor of James W. Scales. The future held a new veterinary medicine school, but Colvard would be gone before that happened. Also, Dorman Hall started rising into the air near the “malfunction junction” intersection by the football stadium, where forestry and plant sciences would find a home. Other structures included a union building, at last, which eventually would carry Colvard’s name and make sure his presence and contributions at MSU would not be forgotten. A girls’ dormitory, Cresswell Hall, also was added to the landscape, and Magruder and Hull halls were converted to housing for women, joining • 162 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

another female facility, Hathorn Hall, and a seven-story facility for men, Hamlin Hall. University Village opened in 1963, providing space for married couples, and Evans Hall, another new men’s facility, in 1965. New fraternity houses would soon start springing up on the ridge southwest of the stadium. One of the most poignant structures was the Chapel of Memories, a churchlike building, complete with chimes, with the outside partly made from bricks saved from Old Main. A new baseball stadium also appeared, named in honor of Dudy Noble, and moved from its former location where Dorman Hall was being constructed to its present site on the north side of campus. Other buildings received much-needed repairs, including the agricultural engineering building, Carpenter engineering, and the YMCA building, where the bottom floor became the campus post office. Efforts to change the designation at the post office from college to university failed, the assumption being that it might cause confusion between MSU being state university and another state university in Oxford. Even Senator John Stennis could not change the U.S. Postal Service to give in on this, but eventually the designation became Mississippi State, MS, a clear designation everyone could live with, and John Stennis no doubt had a hand in that change.62 While Colvard left his mark in many areas on the history of MSU, perhaps none of efforts bore more fruit than his push for improved research. The roots were already there, as A. D. Suttle had come to campus parttime while still connected to the Mississippi Industrial and Technological Association, an organization devoted to research and development and based in Jackson. On campus, a committee worked on plans for more research programs, and in early 1962, the university asked for an extra million dollars to devote to research projects. Famed scientist Wernher von Braun and others visited the campus in 1962, which demonstrated to the world that MSU wanted to push forward research efforts. A specific research committee, formed in the fall of 1962, came up with the water resources research institute, though the board did not approve it until two years later, blaming, of course, a lack of funds. The program, initially led by Melville Priest, imported from Auburn University, finally got under way in 1965. Colvard also got MSU involved with other institutions in the Gulf Coast Marine Research Laboratory, which was involved not only with research but also with graduate training. And MSU became involved with the Oak • 163 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

Ridge Institute of Nuclear Studies, which changed its name in 1965 to Oak Ridge Associated Universities. The east Tennessee–based facility again boosted MSU’s presence beyond campus borders, and Colvard laid plans to purchase a reactor for the campus. MSU also joined in with the Gulf Universities Research Consortium in 1965. Other notable achievements included a campus forest products utilization laboratory, helped along with federal support and the support of Senator John Stennis, who had a deep interest in the forestry industry. Warren Thompson became the first director of the forestry lab. August Raspet, before his untimely death in a flying accident, put the university on the map by becoming a nationally recognized name in aeronautical engineering and an expert on boundary layer control. Raspet based part of his research on the Mississippi black buzzard. Though Raspet had died while flying one of his own experimental planes, the Marvel, the plane was eventually perfected by fellow engineers in the Raspet lab. His work led to MSU being one of only two institutions of higher learning having exhibits at the International Congress on Air Technology in 1965, and the research he inspired continues.63 As the fiscal year of 1964–1965 came to an end, Dean Colvard pointed out to John Bettersworth that stability reigned at MSU. Racial violence still flared across the land, campus unrest due to the Vietnam War was on the increase, and faculty rebellion became a popular fad. This was not meant to imply total harmony at State, but on this campus, people talked civilly, disagreed without, for the most part, yelling, and made changes deemed necessary without talk of revolution. Colvard’s handling of the basketball incident, as well as the relatively calm registration of Richard Holmes, and his sterling record of academic achievement at Mississippi State had made the president a popular candidate for high positions at other universities; the list was a long one, and it seemed only a matter of time until he would give in and leave. Quite naturally, the offer that truly gained his attention came from a school in his home state, the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, where he would have a chance to turn a branch school into a top-echelon university in the North Carolina system. State alumni and friends offered Colvard many enticements to stay, from Cadillacs to cash, which he refused to take, not out of ingratitude, but because he had indeed made up his mind to return to his home state, and he did not think it fitting to accept such gifts for basically doing his job. • 164 •

hilbun, colvard: university, racial challenges, 1953–1966

On January 28, 1966, the university board in North Carolina officially hired Colvard, though the news had leaked out in Mississippi beforehand that this was in the works. Colvard remained in Starkville until February, and on the seveneenth of that month, a board committee announced that, in hopes of keeping a winning team together, William L. Giles had been selected to become the new MSU president. Colvard presented Giles at a faculty meeting. There would be some personnel changes under Giles; that was to be expected, but Giles had the advantage of knowing people and being known. Meanwhile, the old Colvard executive staff met quietly with their former leader and gave him a duplicate of the university presidential medallion engraved with his name and years of service. It was a befitting token of appreciation, for Colvard had done well in keeping the university on track for most of the 1960s, one of the stormiest decades in American history. He had done so with dignity and persistence, and he left the university better than he found it, the ultimate goal of all quality leaders. And he continued to build and impress in his new position, as today UNC-Charlotte is recognized as a quality institution of higher learning, due in large part, no doubt, to a man named Colvard. As for MSU, time would tell whether Giles could keep things going in the positive direction in which he found them.64

• 165 •

8 Giles: Low-Key, High Results, 1966–1976

I

n 1947, John Stennis won a special election for a seat in the United States Senate with a promise that he would plow a straight furrow right down to the end of his row. Most observers would agree that by the time Stennis retired from the Senate forty-two years later, his furrow was still straight, his integrity recognized and affirmed by all who knew him, no matter their political affiliation. Much the same could be said of Dean Colvard’s successor, William Lincoln Giles. Giles never gained the fame of a Stennis, but he never wanted to. He wanted to keep the university moving forward, taking advantage of the progress made by Colvard, while at the same time plowing a straight furrow himself, increasing production and building MSU beyond the impressive record Colvard had left behind. Giles sought to lead by example, but he would not be an example marching out front, seeking headlines and emphasizing that his new job made him the president of a growing university. No one would automatically pick him out of a room full of distinguished academic leaders as a president, because his demeanor was never one of “look at me.” Rather he sought to build a team, to be part of the team, and to put the university, not Giles, on the front pages of newspapers or in front of television cameras. No prior president had ever more clearly defined the democratic ideal of the people’s university than Bill Giles.1 William Giles was born on July 4, 1911, in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, to the parents of a farm family, and rather than rebelling against the agri• 166 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

cultural milieu in which he was raised, he developed an early interest in horticulture. After finishing high school, he continued his education at Arkansas Tech in Russellville, Arkansas, where a familiar MSU personality, Hugh Critz, held the office of president. From there, Giles went on to Fayetteville and the University of Arkansas, where he earned his bachelor’s degree in 1934. His next stop was Stillwater, Oklahoma, where he was employed by the Southern Economic Plant Studies Program (later renamed the Soil Conservation Service). There he received a master’s degree in botany in 1935, and went to work in Manhattan, Kansas, supervising a tree and grass nursery. Then he went on to Beltsville, Maryland, to become the head of the National Agricultural Research Center Nursery, which was responsible for testing research and national distribution of information. When World War II came along, the thirty-year-old Giles found himself at Camp Eustis, Virginia, where he was expected to use his know-how to landscape the camp. So by the time the war ended, Giles had not known the dangers and gore of the battlefield, but he had done as he was told for the war effort. In 1945, he entered the University of Missouri to begin working toward a Ph.D. in field crops, and he helped earn his way by becoming an assistant instructor. Aside from teaching, Giles had an avid interest in research, and in 1949, he received his doctoral degree. Even before Giles received his diploma, Dale Hoover at Mississippi State had heard of Giles and that the new Ph.D. would shortly be available, and offered him an associate professorship, an unusually high rank for someone on whose diploma the ink had barely had time to dry. Giles accepted on June 15, and began proving himself immediately. He set up a seed processing laboratory that was one of the first in the nation, and within three years he was in the Delta at Stoneville heading up the prestigious Delta Branch Experiment Station. There he stayed until 1961, when he came back to the main campus as vice president for agriculture and forestry. At the age of fifty, Giles had come a long way in a short time, even considering the war interruption.2 Giles had been a candidate for the presidency after Ben Hilbun’s retirement, though not an overt one, but obviously Dean Colvard thought enough of Giles to want him on campus as part of his team. Giles quickly made his mark on MSU’s agricultural operations, and especially the experiment stations, which bore the mark of modern agriculture under the leadership of this talented botanist from Oklahoma. Giles also led the way for a • 167 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

degree program in landscape architecture, which perhaps was his first love, and he would carry that interest on when he became president, noticeably beautifying the campus. He devoted as much attention to the academic plantings as to the flora on campus, building on the past, and, with the strong support of Governor William (Bill) Waller, establishing a College of Veterinary Medicine and a School of Architecture. These additions symbolized the remarkable growth during the Giles era, in academic programs, enrollment, faculty quality, and talented administrative leadership. On February 17, 1967, Giles moved into the unpretentious presidential office in Lee Hall, where both office and building were showing their age. Giles, like Colvard, had to tolerate noisy plumbing pipes, while being satisfied with paneled walls and a private restroom. Giles would finally get around to being inaugurated on May 13, 1967.3 Giles carried on as Colvard had done, but without the ripples of basketball team escapes and undercurrents of nervousness over the integration of the student body. MSU continued through the sixties without noisy student protests, faculty rebellions, and other signs of discontent prevalent during the tragic 1960s, the decade of an unpopular war and assassinations. That is not to say everyone was totally satisfied, but dissatisfaction centered mostly in the area of growing pains, need for more buildings, more programs, and better pay for faculty and staff, complaints which all presidents past, present, and future have to deal with. The point is, as John Bettersworth noted, “with Colvards and Gileses around, there was nothing terrible about the sixties at Mississippi State University.”4 The Jackson Daily News published a special edition on May 12, noting Giles’s inauguration and the ninetieth birthday of MSU. Though the university and the Hederman family which published the Jackson papers had not seen eye to eye on playing integrated basketball, the paper’s spin on the occasion of Giles’s tenure and the university in general was positive. Giles would not provide them much of anything else, because of the quiet dignity with which he carried out his duties. He traveled when he had to, going to such meetings as the National Association of Land-Grant Colleges and State Universities, and accepted a four-year term on the Southern Regional Education Board and membership in the Commission on Colleges of the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools. He understood that, to continue growing, MSU must have a voice and a presence beyond the cam• 168 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

pus borders. He also participated regularly in meetings of the Southeastern Conference presidents, except when MSU suffered football probation in 1978, when he resigned his presidency of that group to avoid any clouds that might hurt the conference. He had an avid interest in history, and gave a paper at the annual meeting of the Mississippi Historical Society in 1965, before becoming president. But, for Bill Giles, his idea of travel was to alumni and board meetings, for these were the people who most affected his university, and he wanted to make sure both groups knew they always had his attention, and he theirs. Giles also wanted to be on campus to maintain administrative stability, for he hoped to avoid any series of job changes among his top administrators. He met early in his presidential term with undergraduate deans, who presented their plans and concerns to a man they knew was listening. Giles further encouraged this group by having the vice president for academic affairs, the dean of extension, and the director of libraries sit in on these meetings, so they could be sure that their proceedings were reaching a wide audience. Notable administrators during the Giles years included Louis Wise, who took Giles’s old position of vice president for agriculture and forestry, Norman Merwine, who became dean of agriculture and was soon relieved by James Anderson, who at the time headed the agricultural engineering department (within a couple of years Anderson took over as director of the agricultural and forestry experiment station), and Charles Lindley, who became dean of agriculture. Meanwhile, prior to Giles’s ascendancy, John Bettersworth became dean of the faculty and T. K. Martin became vice president. Also, during the Giles years, Robert Jones became vice president for student affairs, replacing the retiring D. W. Aiken, L. F. Mallory took over as vice president for business affairs, and Chester McKee was named vice president for research and dean of the graduate school. When McKee was named to head Governor John Bell Williams’s emergency council to deal with the ravages of Hurricane Camille on the Gulf Coast, Billy Shell became acting vice president for research. Art Davis directed development and public relations, Merrill Hawkins took over as dean of education, Gaines Rogers came on as dean of the College of Business and Industry, and Robert Clapp became the first dean of forestry, ultimately replaced by Rodney Foil. Thus, while it is clear that Giles could not keep a team perfectly in place as he had hoped, he did replace departed administrators from within, keeping an MSU flavor among the top administrators, and • 169 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

perhaps, more importantly, built and rebuilt with people who knew each other and could work together with a minimum of disruption.5 Home economics, in the past a research department, expanded its operations into teaching under Jean K. Snyder. The teaching curriculum increased enrollment, and “home ec” became one of the largest departments in the state, especially since so many high schools wanted home economics teachers. Forestry also grew, changing its name to the School of Forest Resources and expanding its offerings through the creation of a wood science and technology department. Pressure also increased on the Giles administration to create a department of social work, for MSU had done more in this area in the past than the other large state universities, which were now challenging for leadership in the field. A consultant muddied the waters by recommending that such a program should be located in Jackson, which left the three major universities dealing with an unsatisfactory answer and a stalemated problem.6 A major development for MSU under Giles was a degree program in architecture. The college of engineering had recommended such a program in 1967. Again, consultants came in, and, after several months, recommended the program go to Ole Miss. The board called for each of the big three universities to respond, then postponed a decision, probably to defuse the obvious rivalries. By the fall of 1968, MSU was continuing to press the board to study its proposal, but the board set the decision on the back burner for several years until 1973 when it at last, and at least, decided there would be a School of Architecture in Mississippi. Once again, the three major universities made proposals, and MSU, which had been close to setting up a degree program before, finally convinced the board that the program belonged at State. Governor William Waller supported MSU’s bid, perhaps because Old Miss had established a dental school at the University Medical Center in Jackson. Waller and even some Ole Miss alumni thought that having the architecture school at MSU would balance Ole Miss getting the dental school William McMinn became the first dean of architecture, and the first class registered in the fall of 1973. Giles personally dedicated the new school nearly two years later, and he gave credit to John Bettersworth for his behind-the-scenes work in bringing the program to MSU. The school received full accreditation in 1979. McMinn quickly showed he understood the significance of the university’s outreach reputation by taking his stu• 170 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

dents to the Gulf Coast, where they impressed local architects with their work in planning construction in Biloxi. Even McMinn was impressed by the work of his students.7 Another major development during the Giles years, also strongly supported by Governor Waller, was the creation of a College of Veterinary Medicine. Louis Wise led this effort, and he deserved to be memorialized by having the veterinary medicine complex named in his honor. Wise, like many others, had tired of seeing Mississippi’s young people forced to go to other states to earn their doctor of veterinary medicine degrees. He won out over the objections of the Southern Regional Educational Board, which seemed to think Mississippi having such a school was an unnecessary duplication, despite the hardships on students. James Miller became the first dean of the school in 1974. MSU had a veterinary science department in the School of Agriculture, which was hardly sufficient, so eventually an impressive School of Veterinary Medicine arose on the south end of the campus. Miller set up the school according to functions, rather than by departments, an innovative approach for the time. The first class entered the new school in the fall of 1977. Within a few years, the board would approve master’s and doctor of philosophy degrees in veterinary medicine science.8 The vital area of computer science also received attention during the Giles years. MSU, like other universities, was not quite ready for the computer revolution when it came, even though Fred Davis had established one of the first campus computing centers in Mississippi higher education. Yet it took some time for the significance of the computing revolution to become apparent. Initially, the campus center was located in the College of Engineering as a somewhat independent operation overseen by an advisory committee, a committee that was not quite as visionary as it needed to be. In the area of data processing, problems arose in the use of computers in some of the new technologies, and there was more than a little frustration. To attack the problem, Giles put together a data processing policy committee to get things on track. This committee recommended a division of university numerical services that would encompass all computer-related operations. The state legislature soon called for a state central data processing authority. These related developments forced Giles and his advisors to pay even more attention to the computer revolution, though campus delays continued in getting student schedules printed, and some • 171 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

who did not trust this new technology pointed out that old ways of keeping statistics seemed to be faster than the computers. With the passage of time, however, MSU would be in the forefront of computer technology.9 All the new programs and planning for the future required money, of course, and funding had long been a problem in higher education in Mississippi, as it still is. As had all those presidents who preceded him, Giles found that out quickly enough. The creation of two university foundations helped ease that struggle a bit during the Giles years and has ever since. The alumni foundation devoted its efforts to student scholarship funds, while the Development Foundation spread a wider net that included a smaller number of scholarship monies. The merging of the two was discussed, but nothing happened right away. The Development Foundation’s operations grew quickly, and it soon took over part of the third floor of the union building. The staff had plenty of paperwork to do, such as keeping tabs on the handling of patent situations regarding campus research. George Perry, a leading donor to MSU, took over the foundation leadership from Charles Whittington in 1968, and one of Perry’s first projects, to which he heavily contributed, was the John C. Stennis Chair. In 1967, the Applewhite Estate bequeathed a significant gift, and other early large donors included J. C. Windham of Macon (for the Stennis Chair) and the Kate Sharop Estate. A patrons of excellence program was established for those giving large gifts, and by 1969, the number on that list had reached 205.10 Aside from worries about funding, all MSU presidents had to be concerned about the continual challenge of accreditation. During the Giles years, these were mostly successes, including full accreditation for the School of Forestry, agricultural engineering, and teacher education. The National Council for the Accreditation of Teacher Education (NCATE) in fact made several visits to campus and always found in favor of the university’s teacher education program. In engineering, accreditation came as expected, although some departments had to have extensions to meet requirements. The music department, under the auspices of the College of Education, received approval by the National Association of the Schools of Music. Landscape architecture, which became a department in the late seventies, earned a provisional accreditation, while it adjusted to its new status. Southern Association accreditation came to the university, following a self-study in 1970–1971, and chemical engineering received its first accreditation visit since transferring from arts and sciences. Biological as • 172 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

well as nuclear engineering received accreditation visits in 1972 and 1976. The College of Business and Industry received approval from a team sent by the American Association of Collegiate Schools of Business.11 Of course, to make the university engine run smoothly, Giles needed talented faculty, and he had such in abundance. He was fortunate in that he did not have to worry about waves of protest and rebellion among faculty, or students either for that matter, of the sort that crippled many institutions of higher learning in other parts of the country during the turbulent sixties and seventies. As John Bettersworth pointed out, reason rather than rabble-rousing prevailed. This was in no small way attributable to the ever-increasing number of faculty with terminal degrees, and the modest salary increases, combined with the maturity that came with struggles through numerous graduate schools, kept the faculty immune from much of the unrest that was elsewhere, especially since Giles made every effort to keep faculty involved in university governance. Giles’s attitude was reflected in the administrative council’s statement in 1970 that any “community of scholars” had “certain indisputable rights to freedom of inquiry, freedom of thought and freedom of expression.” The Giles administration did make it clear, however, that those who sought to disrupt and/or ignore the rules and parameters of university policy would not be tolerated. Any attempt to upset classes or disrupt university business or activities would be dealt with in a most strict and firm manner. In other words, the velvet glove and the iron fist would work together to keep order if necessary. The disruption of a Martin Luther King, Jr., memorial service by the singing of “Dixie” and a thrown rock through a chapel window showed the perpetrators just what all this meant when campus police intervened. And this incident likely involved no faculty, only the children of redneck elements that have perpetually infested the state in varying degrees.12 The faculty council became an important element of university life during this period, becoming known in 1973 and ever since as the Robert Belton Holland Memorial Faculty Council in honor of a respected, deceased faculty member. The council tried to force more faculty to take an interest in university affairs by instituting a rule that negated the old practice of having absentees from faculty meetings stall decision making by simply not showing up. The previous rule of having to have a majority of all faculty present to take action was changed to a majority of those present at meetings. Also, there would be no closed meetings that might engender some • 173 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

sort of suspicion or mistrust of faculty activities, and to underscore this policy, student association presidents and vice presidents were invited to attend the meetings as nonvoting participants in discussions of agendas.13 An ongoing problem with the faculty council proved to be its mere size. The growth of the university, which led to more faculty being hired, resulted in more faculty attending meetings, and the number seemed to limit what the council could do to liven up its sessions beyond routine business and listening to the president espouse his thoughts, which usually left little room or time for discussion or debate. This problem seemed to grow in the council as well when, in 1976, the council added representatives from the School of Architecture and College of Veterinary Medicine. Other admissions included continuing education and the Division of Student Affairs. The council considered adding a university-wide senate, ostensibly to give the faculty an even bigger voice in decision making, but nothing came of this during the Giles era.14 The negative impact of Mississippi’s seemingly eternally weak economy led faculty to seek relief in other areas. In 1965, the faculty council asked for the waiving of tuition for children of faculty, perhaps via the scholarship route. The board promised to examine the matter, even though it had been a policy at other state universities for years. But even in those instances, the programs faced reduction in benefits or cancellation. Getting nowhere fast in this area, the faculty next turned its attention to the legislature’s demands that faculty inform institutions of all their memberships in any organizations. Low pay was bad enough, but this invasion of privacy, which smacked of McCarthyism, seemed much too much. The national American Association of University Professors began legal action to secure an injunction to stop the legislature, while a short time later a subversive activities act requiring a loyalty oath was ruled unconstitutional by the attorney general. And when it came up again a few years later, it was rescinded by the board. Such things were shadows of troubles across the country, but their ramifications would not be allowed to overrule constitutional rights of faculty, even in Mississippi.15 Faculty also turned their attention to the problem of campus housing where previous priorities had given administrators first choice, with the faculty taking whatever was left. As John Bettersworth politely put it, “Over the years, cheap campus housing was regarded as a supererogatory gesture designed to make a person forget how low his salary was.” A problem that • 174 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

developed, of course, was that occupants seemed to assume that whatever housing they received, if they liked it, was for a lifetime. Faculty who preferred renting campus housing, once they retired, had to find other shelter, with much lower retirement income to pay for it. Newly hired faculty rarely were fortunate enough to find vacant campus housing available, and by the time the Giles presidency ended, faculty were calling for limitations on just how long occupants could remain so, in order to remedy the situation. In time, such limitations would be set.16 An ongoing situation with faculty, one that might or might not be negative, depending upon the individuals involved, was so-called “inbreeding”—that is, the hiring of faculty who received their degrees at MSU. There had been times when this had seemingly gotten out of hand as hard times forced graduates to hang on and work for the college if possible or face unemployment. In some cases, those who did stay around made a career of it at the university. Those agencies that controlled accreditation did not like this sort of thing, and by the time of the Giles years, it began to disappear, as campus departments worked to bring in faculty from other parts of the country. The downside of this, of course, was that some highly qualified graduates who might have made a marked contribution to their alma mater did their fine work somewhere else.17 Another perpetual problem proved to be the dedication of faculty to their jobs. Some made a habit of getting to work on time, always meeting their classes, and staying late to make progress on research projects. Carried to the extreme, this could lead to burnout, but when controlled could also bring honor to both faculty and institution. Those who did otherwise caused continual problems, especially for students who needed counseling and sought help from professors who disappeared when class time was over. This situation was further complicated by federal wages and hours laws concerning the zealous, so finally in the late sixties, the university sought a remedy of a five-day week, both for offices to be open and for classes to be held. This never totally solved the problem of disappearing professors, but it gave some structure to office hours that professors were expected to keep. Mixed in with all this was how the public viewed faculty members who seemingly spent more time off campus than on, even though such faculty might be spending late nights at home working on various aspects of their jobs. The college board, in an effort to deal with such things, sought models of faculty activity analyses to measure what these • 175 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

professors were up to, and supposedly, according to Bettersworth, this effort gave “convincing proof to the world of learning that the scholar’s brain may be the busiest when to the naked eye he is doing nothing.” Perhaps, but to the nonacademic world, that notion can still be a hard sell.18 One of the great faculty concerns, which once had much more meaning and power than it now does, was and is tenure. For many years during the earlier periods of MSU history, there was no formal tenure policy, and, except perhaps for the Bilbo period, there appeared to be no reason for one. In the 1960s, the board of trustees did use the term “continuing employment,” which implied tenure without saying so. Professors who brought up the subject were told of a state law that prohibited state contracts beyond a period of four years, but going back to 1959, the state AAUP branch had asked the board for some sort of tenure policy. In 1962, the board came up with an Employment and Tenure of Faculties policy which presidents of institutions of higher learning used to compose tenure lists yearly. At the beginning of this transition, the period required for attaining tenure was three to five years after a faculty member gained any professorial rank (instructor, assistant, associate, or full). The process seemed easy, for three of the years could be counted at the rank of instructor. Then the time frame became four to seven years, increasing the difficulty, for work at other institutions could not be counted by an individual coming to a state institution, even if a faculty member had been at another state institution. In 1970, the state attorney general ruled that if the name of someone (of professorial rank) appeared on an approved university/college budget for five consecutive years it would be equal to tenure requirements at MSU. At MSU, the vice president for academic affairs submitted a yearly tenure list compiled of names submitted by deans, and the president wrote affirmation letters to those on the list. There was one catch in all this; professorial husbands and wives could not both be employed in tenure-track positions. Federal law negated this, and the only vestige of it that survived was that a spouse could not directly supervise a mate, if both had tenure-track jobs. This, of course, did not prevent married couples from teaching in the same department. Any grievances had to be dealt with, but not until 1976 did the university administration come up with a plan that gave some guidance to the process, allowing the offended party to take his or her case to the board via a written statement, rather than in a face-to-face personal appeal. With the impact of tenure came other benefits when the legislature approved life • 176 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

and health insurance programs, which have undergone numerous changes through the years, as hard economic times have forced expenses back on faculty and staff in increasing amounts of out-of-pocket funds.19 Other faculty issues that had to be addressed included the sensitive area of politics. With the danger of another Bilbo in the back of some minds, and the occasional intervention of the legislature, faculty sometimes got vocal with their political views. Some chose to run for public office, but Giles established a policy that anyone who wanted to run for such an office first had to resign from the university. The board later changed resignation to a leave of absence. These issues raised the recognition by both administration and faculty that civilian voting rights must be protected despite the political aspirations of any faculty. But overt political activities by faculty concerned Giles, especially when it spilled over into student government. One thing the MSU faculty could feel good about was a trend toward increases in salaries, not big ones, but more than at other state institutions. But being less poor was hardly a reason for extensive celebration. Many faculty members moonlighted at community colleges and in other areas, and the board allowed it as long as the extra activities did not interfere with university duties. The continuing problem with low salaries, as compared with other parts of the region and the country at large, caused resentment on campus at the idea of faculty evaluation. There was an evaluation in 1967, and moves to make the information available to deans and to publish the findings created even more bitterness. In 1970, evaluation was changed to a student-faculty exercise, with a committee appointed to operate what was little more than a popularity contest and for which there were security problems with the data. Evaluation of administrators got nowhere during the Giles years, except for an anonymous process, confined to department heads, and there was such a backlash that in 1974, the process was expanded to include all university personnel. Giles insisted that evaluations not stop at the departmenthead level but go all the way to the president, which led to much politicking and payback times when raises were handed out to known supporters of administrators. Ostensibly, part of all the evaluative process stemmed from a nationwide attempt to hold university teachers accountable for their ability to teach, and MSU had its first instructional improvement day on May 1, 1974. Giles further called for more interaction between faculty and staff, presumably to improve communication, but this, like most such efforts by • 177 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

administrators, flared up and eventually fizzled as time went by. Most segments of MSU, as is true of most universities, wanted to be left along to function as they saw fit, despite presidential utopian ideas.20 Despite wrestling with myriad issues and concepts, the faculty was not overly vocal and neither were the students. Enrollment grew at a rapid rate during the Giles era, fueled in part no doubt by males trying to avoid the Vietnam War, and, perhaps even more, because President Giles worked hard to make MSU a comfortable place to attend, a place where one’s views could be heard. Giles kept open lines of communication with student leaders, who usually came from the ranks of fraternities and sororities, and he even reached out to others, who were generally more interested in passing courses than in student life issues. Student representatives at board meetings helped keep information flowing both ways. The board and student leaders did not always see eye to eye on such issues as dorm visitation and student advisors, the latter chosen on a rotating basis to meet with the board. The bottom line finally became that the board agreed to meet with student presidents twice a year, and the rotation plan was implemented to allow a student representative at each monthly board meeting.21 The YMCA seemed the one exception on campus where there could be anything approaching student activism. Giles reached out to the group, which, like such organizations nationally, was on the decline in membership. John Sutphin, head of the philosophy and religion department, was made YMCA secretary, and the board made it clear that the building could not be used for political or sectarian meetings without board approval. In May 1974, the YMCA was dissolved as a campus organization, and whatever functions it had transferred to the Division of Student Affairs, which was told the facility must be for social and religious uses by students and nothing else. The Y became a favorite gathering place for black students, but the seeming exclusion of all other races from the facility soon dissipated.22 Retired long-time student affairs head D. W. Aiken was replaced in January 1967 by Robert L. Jones, who sought to expand the division’s programs. One of the problems he tackled had been around for many years: the relations of students with the town of Starkville. City officials often talked of curfews to keep students from mischief in town, and Jones came up with a “plan of action” to try to instill discipline and avoid problems. It never did get implemented, for meetings between student affairs employees and Starkville police managed to keep peace. The problem was, • 178 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

after all, two-sided. Many of the older and more traditional residents in Starkville had long seemed to resent the presence of the university close by, and the resentment had built up. This was unfortunate, for the town then and always has benefited economically from the presence of MSU. Giles successor James McComas made some headway when the faculty council announced that it wanted the university to coordinate future spring breaks with those of the Starkville public schools, and also maintained that there should be efforts to coordinate the academic calendars of the two systems.23 In the area of student affairs, Giles had reason to be proud that freshmen entering the university during his term scored beyond national averages on entrance exams. And, speaking of exams, seniors would no longer be exempt from final exams because of good grade averages. This seemed to detract from the courses they were taking. Also, an international house was established on campus to give foreign students a chance to socialize, especially during holiday breaks, with fellow countrymen, and to meet others from foreign lands. Popular developments for students proved to be the establishment of a five-day class week that in most cases eliminated the hated Saturday classes. A national trend toward the “forgiveness of Fs” reached MSU, where a forgiveness policy was established, then modified, by an academic council that was not pleased with abuses of the new rule. Absence policy changed, too, so as not to allow failing grades based only on absences. Thus absences increased, causing an increase in failing grades anyway, for students not in class hurt their chances of success. All these changes resulted in the establishment of a grades appeal procedure, where unhappy students could appeal their low or failing grades. To avoid headaches, professors seemed to start giving fewer bad grades; in any event, to establish some sort of control over the whole issue, an academic review board was set up in the fall of 1972 and was hearing cases at the end of the semester.24 For the student population, one of the accepted benefits of attending a college or university was the chance to be exposed to new ideas. The Mississippi state legislature, still somewhat mired in the states’ rights mentality that had served as a convenient cover for segregation, decided that it held the right to make decisions on who could and could not visit campus of universities and colleges in the state to make presentations. This forced the board to set up speaker guidelines. The YMCA, perhaps still • 179 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

simmering as the antiestablishment location on campus, wanted to invite Aaron Henry, a state NAACP leader and hardly a radical, to come to campus to speak. Through the approval structure that had been set up, Henry was not allowed to speak. To avoid such future situations, speaker invitations should be in the hands of the university union and a faculty-student committee. Giles, trying to keep a lid on the situation, turned down five speakers in 1966, and the board warned presidents not to allow speakers on campus who might disrupt or “do violence,” whatever that meant, to the academic atmosphere. Certainly there were no student disturbances to speak of, except perhaps, as Bettersworth suggested, ill-tempered action caused by watching a frequently losing football team.25 The speaker controversy continued into 1968 when the board issued rules that said all speakers should be checked out and approved by each president, and then the board president and secretary must be told before any invitation could be given out. The whole mess wound up in court, and a three-judge federal panel ordered the board to revise its policy for further judicial review. In December 1969, at a hearing in Greenville, Mississippi, the judges called the speaker rules “invalid, unlawful, unconstitutional and unenforceable,” because they clearly violated the constitution’s guarantee of free speech and assembly as well as the due process clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. Judge J. P. Coleman, a former governor, stated plainly that the “regulations can never again be enforced on any of these campuses.” This should have settled the matter once and for all, but the board kept some of its regulations on the use of facilities for meetings by religious, political, and business groups, and there was a failed attempt by a racist board member to stop civil rights leader Charles Evers from meeting with Young Democrats in March 1970. Another racist board member, M. M. Roberts, who had tried so hard to keep the basketball team out of the NCAA tournament, gave Giles and his vice president T. K. Martin S. O. B. degrees for allowing Evers to speak. Roberts tried and failed to get the board to fire Giles, and then sought an injunction. Giles, Martin, and Robert Jones went to a hearing in Oxford, at the same time Evers spoke on campus. Giles received just a very few letters of criticism, and the board lamely issued an order that it should be informed about speaker requests on the day the requests were received. The whole thing blew over, and this latest attempt to take the state back to the nineteenth century failed.26 • 180 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

If the speaker issue gave students something to talk about, so did the Reflector, the campus newspaper, the publishers of which did their best to be controversial and, more than that, simply noticed. The campus paper has always maintained a rather high quality, but occasionally its editors seemed determined to see just what they could get away with. And there was a literary journal during this period, Inscriptus, that printed obscenities, the students working on it having the same thought in mind. Alumni called for taking away Reflector funding, and the editors seemed determined to shoot themselves in the foot when they revived an old “God is dead” theme that had fueled campus unrest in other parts of the country. Students at MSU and other institutions jumped on the paper with both feet, and the adolescent, as Bettersworth termed it, journalism of the paper brought heat on the paper’s publishers that they richly deserved. The board acted on a motion to take campus fees away from newspapers, but even though the idea was defeated, the board did institute a policy of requiring an advisor to edit the student paper and yearbook prior to publication, that person being responsible for the contents of both. MSU had the good fortune of having a retired journalist, Henry Meyer, on hand to take that role, and his unique ability to relate to student journalists and to the administration helped quiet things down, even though the student association considered impeaching the paper’s editor. That did not happen, but some people are slow to learn. In 1971, the paper published an excerpt containing an obscenity from the musical Hair, and the student senate dethroned the editor, who appealed all the way to federal district court, and lost.27 One incident seemed to beget another, for next came Friends, composed by a student, which contained a poem peppered with obscenities. It was published in the Reflector in the fall of 1972 and brought the editor the notoriety he sought, when he gained a personal audience with President Giles, who promptly told him he would be replaced. Then came Rumor, an underground publication which may have been nothing more than the title implies. Things got a bit more serious when members of a homosexual alliance wanted to put an ad in the Reflector, the editors of which, possibly due to becoming sensitive to wrist slaps, turned the ad down. Court action followed, and eventually the U.S. Supreme Court declined to review a decision made by a lower court to dismiss the alliance’s suit.28 In other areas of concern about students, drug use, prevalent on many college and university campuses around the country, never became a major • 181 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

problem at MSU. Evidence of some drug use surfaced occasionally, but most drug arrests seemed to take place off campus in the general Golden Triangle area of Starkville, West Point, and Columbus. That did not mean students were not involved, but it did indicate that those who were had some reluctance about bringing the stuff to campus. Like drug use, vandalism reports were rare, mostly involving knocking out lights or messing, dangerously so, with power lines.29 An excellent counterpoint to troublemaking on campus proved to be intramurals, for new fields were constructed during the Giles era, and programs set up for men and women. Bicycling also became popular, especially among foreign students not used to the intricacies of driving automobiles and trucks (some natives seemed to have the same problem). The popularity of intramurals and cycling both indicated that the 1970s were a time when students had begun to move back onto campus from apartments scattered around the Starkville area. This, of course, increased pressure for male-female visitation rights, but Giles would escape having to deal directly with the issue, which came to a head after he left office. On the other hand, there was a development that seemed to make life easier on campus during the Giles years when a decision was made by the student senate in 1968 to stop freshman haircuts. A long tradition may have ended, but not many mourners could be found.30 While changes went forth on campus, the board looked into a matter that affected faculty and students, a board recommendation of academic exchange programs among state institutions (predominantly black and predominantly white). The proposed interschool cooperation received no legislative funding initially, but the plan received general endorsement from university leaders. Giles and other presidents received instructions on September 19, 1974, to put the board plan into action; possible support from the federal Department of Health, Education, and Welfare (HEW) had to wait, as representatives from that agency cancelled a review on campus in 1974, and by the fall of 1975, HEW contended it was “too busy” to respond at the time. The legislature, meanwhile, continued to do nothing to provide funding support. Dealings with federally related issues also included Title IX compliance regarding salary distribution among the races and fair treatment of women’s athletics. Then came a federal charge of bias regarding secretarial tests administered as a part of employment qualifications. T. K. Martin called for an “accurate classification of employees” • 182 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

to avoid future problems, and by November 1975, employers had to include a Title IX statement in all applications for student admission and employment of staff at MSU. In early 1976, the campus administration called for a self-evaluation of Title IX compliance.31 Despite all the legalism and federal irritants, which were, after all, bound to come to a state that had buried its governmental head in the sand for too many years, the university got through this period “as well as, if not better than, its Mississippi peers,” John Bettersworth claimed. The school, thanks to the efforts of Giles and Martin, gained a reputation for trying to set things right, and the increase in women’s enrollment, which was second highest in the state, behind only the University of Southern Mississippi, showed that progress was being made.32 In MSU departments, changes took place in leadership and structure. Improvements came about in leadership, with more department heads having terminal degrees and therefore potential for better leadership abilities. There was an attempt to change the titles of department heads to chairmen in order to promote a sense of community and collegiality. Unfortunately, this effort failed to gain approval, and some faculty retaliated by demanding the right to evaluate department heads. There would come a day when the faculty council would succeed in promoting annual evaluations. Departmental structure underwent many changes also. In 1966, agricultural chemistry became the biochemistry department, administered jointly by arts and sciences, until 1968 when agriculture took over sole control, though it worked cooperatively with arts and sciences. In 1966, social work, formerly in the sociology department, earned statewide acclaim. In 1967, the previously mentioned John Sutphin, whose interests varied widely to include metaphysics and mysticism, took over the Department of Religion. The departments of aerophysics and aerospace merged in 1967, and that same year the university set up a Department of Community College Education in cooperation with the state’s junior colleges. The program curricula provided a degree of master of arts in teaching.33 In other areas, home economics, which, as previously mentioned, had expanded from research into teaching, began offering both bachelor’s and master’s degrees, and its enrollment continued to grow rapidly. The zoology department in 1968 gave its wildlife program to forest resources, and the board approved a wildlife management department, which shortly afterward became wildlife and fisheries. The communication department • 183 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

began instruction in radio and television; the roots of such programs went all the way back to World War I when radio transmission began with over two hundred soldiers in wireless radio training. The training equipment stayed on campus and was used to provide elective courses, and in 1920, students spread presidential election returns around campus based on radio news. An amateur station, WSYD, was eventually set up, and in 1948, during the Mitchell era, the radio station began establishing a program schedule. The Mississippi Farm and Home programs became part of on-the-air extension programs, and in 1949, a studio was set up in Lee Hall to produce tape recordings that could be sent to other stations in Mississippi. In 1950, the English and marketing departments offered radio journalism courses, and though Hilbun did away with the Lee Hall studio and radio courses, they were not dead, for they were eventually revived, and are now a lively part of the campus scene.34 Additional developments included departmental status for landscape architecture, for years subsumed by the horticulture department, but the American Society of Landscape Architects had been impressed enough with the work of students and professors to recommend separate designation. The new department found a home in the basement of Montgomery Hall. In 1975, the agriculture college combined agricultural and extension education into one department, and in 1976, the university developed a plant science internship operation. In 1968, the wildlife program in horticulture became a separate program in the School of Forest Resources, lest, as John Bettersworth humorously put it, “there be some confusion about being able to see the inhabitants of the woods for the trees.” The move led to the transfer of wildlife staff formerly in zoology. Other changes on campus created challenges of shifting and expanding curricula. Engineering experienced changes in 1969, when the ceramic and metallurgical departments were combined into a Department of Materials Engineering. In 1972, the speech department became the Department of Communication.35 In 1967, a bachelor of science degree in biological engineering had been set up as part of a cooperative plan with the University of Mississippi Medical Center in Jackson, and the College of Engineering was busy setting up a co-op program to reach out to research industries in various engineering businesses outside the United States. The computer science program, already connected with other areas of the university, decided in 1968 to set up a department in arts and sciences, with curricula for bachelor’s and • 184 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

master’s degrees. The art department in 1971 proposed a bachelor’s degree, and the board approved a B.A. in painting and commercial art. Meanwhile, the art department expanded rapidly to keep up with student enrollment demands. Music thrived, too, with a prime example being a trip to Holland by the Clarinet Choir, directed by talented clarinetist Warren Lutz, to play at the International Band Conference.36 All in all, the changes seemed to be running wild, at least to those outside the academic community, but in reality, they only reflected the needs of a rapidly changing society. Nevertheless, the combining of departments and the creation of new programs intensified the always-present rivalry among the big three universities about who would do what, and do it first and do it better. In a feeble attempt to place some kind of control over all the changes, the college board in 1973 established a rule that any new programs required a ninety-day notice before they could be placed on the board agenda for approval. What good that would do was anybody’s guess, but the board was apparently hoping that members would have more time to study proposals before voting.37 Graduate programs also grew at a rapid pace during the Giles era. In 1966, a certificate degree was added, called the educational specialist, for someone who wanted an extra year’s work beyond the master’s, usually for financial reasons, but did not want the doctoral degree. That year civil engineering added a doctoral degree, and metallurgical added a master’s, as did physical education. In 1967, medical technology set up a master’s program in the microbiology department, and a doctoral degree was initiated in educational psychology. Educational psychology eventually would inherit its own building named in honor of Professor Barry Box. The School of Forest Resources offered a master’s degree in wood science and technology. In 1968 forest resources added a master’s of science and a master’s of forestry. The music department changed its bachelor’s and master’s degrees from science to music education (music education also for a time offered a bachelor of arts degree, but that option ceased in 1984), and a program was added in guidance education. In 1969, the trend continued with the establishing of a doctorate in industrial education and in physics, and the library set up a master’s in library science in the College of Education, though it was not approved by the professional American Library Association. In 1971 a master’s was set up in wildlife ecology. Also that year, the board approved a master’s in • 185 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

biochemistry. In 1974, a proposed master’s in statistics hit a roadblock, for the board suddenly decided that MSU was moving too rapidly in expanding its graduate programs. A closer look showed that some of the programs currently in place had not received board approval. The board now ordered all universities to turn over long-range plans for authorization and further ruled that new degree program requests would be considered only in January and August of each year. But this proved not to be effective in stopping the proliferation of programs, for, in the fall of 1975, a B.A. degree in geography and a bachelor’s of surveying were approved, along with a doctoral degree in food science and technology, and in January 1976, a master’s of engineering and master’s of education in adult education both received approval.38 In 1976, the board decided it must be more proactive in approving doctoral programs. One proposal included reallocation of the programs to cut down on duplication. This caught Giles by surprise, and he anticipated a hard struggle among the big three universities. The board turned the matter over to its Instruction, Administration, and Policy Committee with orders to meet with representatives of each university and come up with policy recommendations on doctoral programs. Representatives from each of the big three agreed that what they called “academic birth control” was necessary, but that viable programs, however they may be defined, must be left alone. MSU representatives said that both internal and outside reviews should be used as the factor in decisions about reallocation of programs. At the next board meeting a plan of “consolidation and review” was adopted, but a provision of the process offered by MSU, that external reviews be by teams from the National Council of Graduate Schools, was taken out of the board plan. The board feared, for reasons not stated, that this might cause a loss of objectivity. The board then said it would place a moratorium on approving new doctoral programs until all the reviews were completed, with the assumption that the process would take at least two years.39 But the board then contradicted its intent to tighten down on doctoral programs by approving one in the fall of 1975 at MSU for food science and technology. This might have caused an uproar on other campuses, except that it was disguised in the catalogue by being placed under the programs of the Department of Horticulture and designated as an interdisciplinary program involving animal, dairy, and poultry science. At any rate, the patrons of MSU cheese and wine relaxed now that these programs seemed safe.40 • 186 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

While the doctoral degree controversy faded into the background, Giles was pleased that summer school registration reached new highs during his administration, for many teachers in both public and private schools came to campus to work on advanced degrees or to keep their certification on track. That and an increase in summer school pay for professors and other instructors made the difference in creating an atmosphere of progress. In 1969 the title of director of summer programs was eliminated, and the vice president for academic affairs took over responsibility for the summer sessions, adding to their prestige.41 Giles then attacked an issue that had been a thorn in the side of male students for many years, especially with the shadow of Vietnam hanging over the nation. At an SEC presidents’ meeting in 1969, Giles sought to reverse the opinion of the MSU faculty council during the Colvard presidency, when he proposed that required participation in ROTC be replaced by a voluntary program. The other presidents unanimously agreed, and Giles came home and turned the issue over to the faculty council, which handed the matter to one of its committees. The committee did nothing for a time, but Giles persisted, and finally the administrative council voted nine to six, with two abstentions, to go along with the president. The motion had been made by the vice president for academic affairs, and the new policy became effective in the fall of 1969. The move did not cause the major decline in ROTC enrollment some had predicted. The ROTC leaders, army and air force, updated their curricula and made it more appealing. The air force perhaps had the best idea by allowing women to enroll in 1970. Some officials even talked of seeking a navy unit, but this idea never came to fruition. Over the years, the ROTC programs have remained viable, but enrollment compared to the prevoluntary period has gone down quite a bit.42 Another substantial milestone of the Giles era, one that would eventually affect the entire state of Mississippi, proved to be educational television. MSU’s Channel 2 tower was dedicated on July 4, 1971, honoring John K. Bettersworth, who wrote humorously of himself, “a talkative professor who had never before had anything dedicated to him—certainly not a talking tower.” Television instruction grew in the academic area in the 1970s, with Samuel Dudley selected as chairman of a state university and college committee on educational television. The first locally created collegelevel course offered by the Mississippi Authority for Educational Television was a communication course, featuring Dudley and “an outstanding . . . • 187 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

M.S.U. student actress,” African American Marilyn Winbush. Dudley had had experience in televised lectures in the late 1960s, originating them on the campus of predominantly African American Mississippi Valley State University in Itta Bena near Greenwood. His courses covered a wide subject range, including Shakespeare, insurance, biology, history, French, and speech. When the state educational television network became a reality, credit courses in such subjects were offered, but the lack of interest was disappointing. Such efforts had never been well coordinated, and in the 1970s, in an attempt to jumpstart the effort, Bettersworth tried to get an audiovisual unit, as part of a learning laboratory, set up in Allen Hall, MSU’s administration building. The College of Education got involved, but funding shortages held things up. In 1974, instructional radio came about on campus with a radio station run by the communication department. The station was set up as a laboratory for interested students, and remained so, despite the insistence of some students that the student association ought to be in charge of the station. Robert Anderson, a professor in communication, oversaw the radio operation.43 Other efforts to give students a sort of live laboratory experience included a political science internship set up in 1974, which gave students who wanted to go into some sort of government service internships in state departments and the state legislature. The program took some time to catch on, mainly due to very obvious fears that political influences would be used to control participation. Campus authorities counted on the Stennis Chair office to iron out these problems, and the leadership there had some success in doing so.44 All the growth in so many directions demanded a sufficient library, and it must be remembered that the university had not had a library building until 1950. By the late 1960s, that library obviously had too little space to meet the demands created by the growth of programs on campus. George Lewis, the director of the library, constantly, and with good reason, complained that he needed more funding and space, and he also became an active participant in computerization of library resources throughout the Southeast. In the mid-1960s, he had played a key role in the development of Solinet, the Southern Library Network, which had the goal of bringing together resources of many university libraries through computer connections and extensive interlibrary loan programs. Lewis also pushed successfully for the installation of IBM equipment to control the checking out • 188 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

of materials from the library, and his efforts to get more space resulted in a three-story annex in 1969. Some pundits said the new facility looked the back of a Cadillac attached to the front end of a Model T, but however unusual the visual impact, the library at least had some much-needed space in which to expand. Lewis further made an impact by successfully pressuring the legislature to provide catch-up funds to bring state university libraries up to Southern Association–standard levels. Perhaps Lewis’s crowning achievement during this period was the acquisition of the papers of the university’s most powerful and one of its most famous alumni, U.S. Senator John C. Stennis, the first shipment of which came to Mitchell Memorial Library in 1969. Other important primary source materials received during this period included the papers of Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist Hodding Carter and his family, U.S. Circuit Judge William Keady, and a distinguished alumnus who had made a mark in the field of agriculture, Boswell Stevens. These were but the beginnings of several significant additions of papers through the next three decades. The initial curator of the Stennis Collection was James Shoalmire, who also succeeded Ms. Willie D. Halsell, who had pioneered the development of University Archives, Mississippiana, and Manuscripts, as director of Special Collections in the library.45 The continued rapid growth of Mississippi State required second looks at many areas, including grading policies and general course requirements. In 1967 during the Giles era, the requirement of a C average for graduation became the standard, and that requirement included work accomplished at other institutions for transfer students, as well as coursework taken at MSU. The honors program continued to operate and give talented students an extra boost in their overall academic records. Not only individual students, but honor organizations, like the local chapter of the American Chemical Society, thrived; in 1967–1968, it was one of sixty-two nationwide cited for quality, the second time it had been so honored. The student debating program, headed by Bradford Bishop, produced talented debaters who earned accolades across the country, winning thirteen trophies, four medals, and fifty-seven certificates of award, and in 1966 were congratulated with resolutions from the board of trustees. On the flip side of the coin, those who scored low on such required entrance tests as the ACT found themselves in 1971 required to take a noncredit English course known as “effective communication.” Negative reaction to the inefficiency of the so-called English • 189 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

proficiency exam, which was a more accurate description, led to the abandonment of the test for junior college transfers, and deficient students were pressured to take a noncredit catch-up class on a voluntary basis. In 1974, a “three-track” program for freshmen was adopted to give students time to progress at their own speed in their attempts to make up for deficiencies.46 In another highly significant area, as time had passed since James Meredith broke the color barrier, higher education in Mississippi had made considerable, if not spectacular, progress in desegregation. Many African American students still felt more comfortable attending the traditionally black institutions of higher learning in the state, but MSU, along with the other historically white universities, made efforts to reach out to black students in order to entice them academically and make them feel more comfortable socially. Black history and culture courses, for example, were offered in MSU history and English departments. MSU also implemented outreach programs to the traditionally black schools as it had to white Mississippi in general. An obvious partner was Alcorn State University, with its land-grant and agriculturally based background, and Alcorn officials showed definite interest. Efforts were made in the political science area to reach out to Jackson State University, and, along with the television partnership inaugurated in the past, efforts were made to partner with Mississippi Valley State University to develop faculty cooperation in an attempt to raise faculty quality. To accomplish this, State sent some of its more distinguished professors over to Itta Bena to teach classes and advise local faculty. State’s success at being more African American friendly was indicated by statistics which showed that, by 1977–1978, 11.9 percent of the student body was black, a higher percentage than at the other two big state universities. Richard Holmes went on to complete his degree work, which encouraged others, and eventually he developed a successful medical practice in Alabama. He has since retired and returned to the campus as a physician at the Longest Student Health Center. And the percentage of African American students in Bulldog country is hovering near the 20 percent mark.47 The administration worked with a campus organization called AfroAmerican Plus, through a series of conferences. These included meetings with deans, and the discussions were frank and open, described at the time as “going well,” with the attitudes of black students being called “good, flexible, and improving.” An affirmative action plan based on board guide• 190 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

lines was composed on campus and was implemented in the fall of 1973. In November, the plan went to an HEW office in Atlanta, Georgia, and in that same month, the board received information that the state was not in compliance, mainly because junior colleges, operating under a separate governance board, had not been included. Funding continued to be a problem, too, and the board asked the legislature for nearly $3 million to get things going. Implementation of a minority professorship and fellowship program, part of the package, did not come until 1977.48 In a related area, by fall 1969, some ninety-three African American students were in campus housing, and the board, while moving too slowly to suit everyone, was ordered to work on a system-wide integration compliance policy. The plan did not move forward until the summer of 1973, and on campus, T. K. Martin served as liaison in compliance issues and chaired an MSU affirmative action compliance committee. Martin never minded taking the tough jobs, and he persisted as one of the most dogged of university administrators until his retirement in January 1985 (the center for technology and disability adjacent to the student health center has been named in his honor). At the same time, a suit was filed against the cooperative extension service, which sought redress for salary discrimination under Title VI of the 1964 Civil Rights Act. This same issue also brought attention to alleged discrimination against women on salary issues, and an organization called the Women’s Action Movement made general charges of employment discrimination against MSU in 1973. Clearly the “good ole boy” system of some aspects of university operations would have to be addressed and, many hoped, changed.49 Beyond the cloud of lawsuits, a natural corollary to the university’s outreach to others was bringing outstanding achievers to the campus to mingle with the students. This practice dated back to earlier years when wellknown dance bands came to campus, both to entertain and to give the students a chance to see people they had only heard on record and radio. But these were not academic experiences, and so Giles turned to others, like Turner Catledge, an alumnus who had worked his way up to become editor of the New York Times. Catledge visited the campus several times and interacted with awestruck students who never expected to meet such a man. Senator John Stennis also made numerous trips to the campus to talk with students, and he invited headline personalities like Senator Margaret Chase Smith, Sam Nunn, and Dean Rusk. These people came through the • 191 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

auspices of the Stennis Chair in Political Science, first held by Morris W. H. Collins, who set up in conjunction with the chair and the Development Foundation the John C. Stennis Institute of Government, designed to offer advice and help to the city, county, and state governments of Mississippi. Collins’s mission was also to train students interested in political and public service careers, as well as teachers of political science. Stennis wanted his university to give to others what it had provided to him, the impetus to achieve high office and to be in a position to affect affairs in the state, nation, and world at large.50 In a nonpolitical field, the university received a momentous gift from Cully A. and Lois Dowdle Cobb and their friends in the form of the Cobb Insitute of Archaeology. Initially an idea confined to paper, the Cobb Institute later became a visible presence on campus with a unique building that offered students documented looks into the past. Cobb, an alumnus, had been in the U.S. Department of Agriculture under Franklin D. Roosevelt, as had his wife, and the two operated the Southern Ruralist Press out of Atlanta. The institute named in their honor has had outreach programs that included a dig in the Holy Land in cooperation with Ben-Gurion University of Israel.51 Other areas of unique outreach in specialized areas that developed during the Giles era included the Mississippi Chair of Insurance in the College of Business and Industry, supported by such financial donors as L. E. Pease, an MSU professor of finance. The university had established the first degree program in insurance, and hopes were that the chair would expand the program’s effectiveness. Also, the agricultural branch had been busy in projects in Latin America, especially Brazil, Africa, and the Near East. A former professor in business and industry went home to his native Ecuador to set up a cooperative program, and in Mississippi, the College of Education set up an arrangement with the Choctaw Indian tribe in the Carthage and Philadelphia areas through East Central Junior College in Decatur. Successful grants from the National Science Foundation and the Ford Foundation assisted life sciences programs and community college teacher training. Other sources promoted programs in engineering and agriculture. The university’s history of outreach not only remained intact under Giles but flourished.52 The research agenda at MSU boomed, as John Bettersworth put it, under Giles’s leadership. The 1966–1967 fiscal year saw research and contract funds expand to $1,250,000, a mere drop in the bucket compared to later years, • 192 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

but quite impressive for the time. Over a two-year period early in Giles’s presidency, some 182 research projects were operating through the office of research and graduate studies. The experiment station (MAFES) focused on antipollution research, with much federal support; home economics and biochemistry expanded research activities, and a branch experiment station opened in 1971 at Alcorn State University. As mentioned, the university expanded research activities into foreign areas such as the Near East, Africa, Latin America, and the Orient. A separate directorship of international programs was set up, with Dean Bunch named the first head. On campus, engineering research continued to produce results in several areas and gain attention nationwide. Chemistry and life sciences were also quite active. Cooperation in the Gulf Coast area among the big three universities continued; a Gulf Coast marine center came into being in 1969, with J. C. McKee heading the effort, and the National Science Foundation Sea Grant Program helped fund the many activities there. A gulf consortium grew out of these efforts, and it eventually became known by the impressive name Mississippi Sea Grant Consortium. On campus, in 1968, an institute for space and environmental sciences and engineering was established, along with an institute for manpower research, to be supported by a center in the College of Business and Industry, and an institute for food science developed in the agricultural field. All eventually received board support, and a short time later a center for environmental studies was proposed, reflecting national concerns in this area. An office of institutional research helped coordinate campus activities under the leadership of the office of academic affairs. Emmett Kohler, the first to head the office, would oversee utilization analysis, banking, transportation, departmental consolidation, doctoral program consolidation, nonproductive doctoral programs, productive doctoral programs, housing utilization (compared with national figures and policies), and administrative costs. Later the leadership shifted to the president’s office and then to the academic vice president, who had to report institutional work to the board. To support these activities, the university set up a grants office under the overall command of Chester McKee, vice president for research. An alumnus, Abner Harrison, who had an amazing understanding of how grants worked, and why they often did not, helped faculty through the maze of • 193 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

red tape and paperwork involved. By 1974, the number of national research initiative grants on campus had grown to 115, giving some measure of Harrison’s skills and faculty talent. A special effort came during the energy crunch of the 1970s, when the university attacked the energy crisis. A solar energy research lab was put together by the mechanical engineering department with funding help from a local company, Gulf States, located in Starkville. This was the kind of thing that led to the creation of a patent policy committee, so the university could protect its inventions. The Development Foundation became the governing agency of this effort.53 While the teaching, learning, and research tentacles of the university spread far and wide in all directions, the historic outreach division, the extension service, flexed its muscles. During the Giles years, the agricultural extension service became known as the cooperative extension service, and general extension as the Division of Continuing Education. The cooperative extension service spread over Mississippi to the point that no part of the state escaped feeling its impact. Directed by William Bost, the service brought forth the old 4-H idea, and Mississippi young people won some fourteen national awards. By 1969, the state led the nation in 4-H activities, with an increase from nearly thirty-six thousand members to over fifty-eight thousand. Extension leaders in the mid-1960s stressed applied technology and set and exceeded production goals in the billions of dollars in farm production. By 1973, cooperative extension programs included the farm program at the Mississippi State Penitentiary at Parchman in the Delta, though eventually the legislature decided that this operation would be more properly leased into the private sector.54 Instructional programs off campus became a major issue for Giles and his administrative team. Many heavily populated areas of the state sought a university branch, and at MSU, there had been a history of such outreach dating back to farmers’ institutes. The legislature made the notion easier by enacting legislation that made any off-campus ventures equal to those on campus. But that did not solve the problem of where to go, and how to make local people satisfied with such decisions. The whole thing took on a competitive nature, and the board had to address a policy of setting up minimal standards for any such programs. One of the areas pushing the hardest proved to be the Gulf Coast, where the population and industrial growth were notable. The coast had several magnets, including Keesler • 194 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

Field, the Mississippi Test Facility and its space research, and a Seabee base in Gulfport. This led MSU to establish the Gulf Coast technical institute, which offered engineering technology curricula. Directed by J. E. Thomas, the institute was located in old naval facilities, and Thomas and his staff set up a two-year training program. Junior colleges in the region were not too pleased with this invasion of their territory, but the program lasted until 1969, when the Seabee base was closed. The closing took with it the institute’s housing, though the board decided to leave it and search for a new home. Possibilities included an old hotel and Gulf Park College, but eventually it came home to the campus as an institute of engineering technology with a four-year curriculum and was absorbed by the various engineering departments on campus.55 Another Gulf Coast operation that drew attention was the Bay St. Louis Test Facility; in 1966, MSU proposed a naval training facility there for graduate study in engineering and business, but the board wanted Ole Miss and the University of Southern Mississippi involved, too, and in 1968, a universities center was established. Things moved rather slowly, as they tended to do when all three institutions got involved in anything, but in 1972, a master’s in engineering program offered by State secured board approval; it was directed by Wendell J. Lorio, and a short time later a naval operation set up there gave a boost to the academic program.56 During this period, the board decided to, as John Bettersworth dryly put it, “buy its own property on the coast,” by securing Gulf Park College. This facility supposedly would be shared by the three big universities, but in 1972, it was given to the University of Southern Mississippi as a coast branch. Now, with the exception of the test facility operation at the Gulf Coast research lab, MSU had no significant presence on the coast.57 While losing influence in south Mississippi, MSU continued to have a presence in Jackson. The board took direct control of the Universities Center in 1966, and the board appointed a director, taking that power from the university presidents, creating what Bettersworth called an “amazing” situation, “an extension on extension.” Influential people in the Jackson area encouraged expansion of the center’s operations, and in 1967, the board approved a graduate program in business administration. Nearly three years later, the board took a positive step, barely, by including Jackson State University in the center’s activities by a vote of seven to six. How much racism played a role in the close vote is not known, but having a local • 195 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

university involved in a local Universities Center made enough sense that such a close vote should not have been expected.58 Jackson business leaders also wanted an engineering program at the center, but an obvious problem was lack of equipment for undergraduate work. Some graduate work could be arranged, and Giles, who had stated publicly in 1967 that MSU intended to maintain a presence in the capital city, said that the university would cooperate in this matter. The Southern Association checked things out and approved, and MSU moved ahead, cooperating with Ole Miss, not an unusual situation since the schools had a joint operation in biomedical engineering at the University of Mississippi Medical Center. The engineering situation did not work well, however, because the campus and the branch had trouble cooperating. The board approved a degree-granting status to the center in the fall of 1972, and the next year, the single-director concept was eliminated in favor of each having its own director. Roy Ruby became MSU’s director in Jackson, and that same year the university had the largest enrollment in Jackson.59 The year 1973 also brought controversy about Jackson State’s role at the center. This university found itself in the rather unique role of competing with other larger universities and having a branch only a few miles from its main campus. Giles proposed a solution of having Jackson State take over all undergraduate and graduate programs for both administration and awarding of degrees. A special committee looked at this, but, as expected, the operations of the historically white universities were barely affected. All that came of the situation was that Jackson State courses could not be duplicated at the Universities Center. The big three also received a promise that they could offer programs not available at Jackson State. MSU reported to the board its planned programs for the center for 1974– 1975, based on the division of programs among the universities, and State had priorities in agriculture, engineering, arts and sciences, and education. Also, the MSU continuing education division began a noncredit program, federally funded through HEW, that operated from the center and was designed for Jackson public schools. Though things settled down a bit, Jackson State authorities still felt unhappy, and MSU officials did their best to maintain a good relationship between the two schools, an example being the development of a cooperative graduate program in political science.60 The one Jackson-based program that did not include any kind of institutional rivalry was educational television. In 1971, Channel 2, with the tower • 196 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

located just northeast among hills near Ackerman, some twenty-five miles from the campus, officially went on the air. The Executive Council at MSU had high hopes for the possibilities of the station. A state educational television council on higher education prepared to use the medium to offer college credit coursework, one of the courses being the MSU-produced communications course taught by Sam Dudley and Marilyn Winbush.61 Another operation at the center with far-reaching possibilities was the medium of publishing, and it, too, would not involve any kind of institutional rivalry, for it was accessible to all public universities. The University Press of Mississippi, originally the idea of board member Cecil Cook, who had arranged to have the press located at the University of Southern Mississippi, later moved to a more realistic, central location at the Universities Center. As originally designed, each institution would have a representative on the board of directors, and each school would have a committee to review campus-produced manuscripts. Barney McKee became the first head of the press; McKee had been working for the Louisiana State University Press, one of the more prominent academic presses in the South. McKee set to work, and the press produced a profitable cookbook, prepared by the MSU extension service, to get off to a good start. The sales of this book allowed the press to branch into the production of more scholarly tomes, and by 1976, it had become a member of the Association of American University Presses. As time has passed, the University Press has become more of an independent operation, having to provide most of its budgetary support through its own sales. Likewise, its procurement of manuscripts has become more independent, as the concept of university-based screening committees has fallen by the wayside. Still, it continues to produce impressive works, many of them by MSU authors, and it has survived mostly on its own quite well.62 The university also expanded its outreach to Vicksburg, where the U.S. Waterways Experiment Station continuing education program became a branch of MSU. Eventually, the Vicksburg operation offered a master’s degree in education, and the College of Engineering, an even more appropriate field, worked through the Southern Association to set up a master’s program at the experiment station.63 The university looked even farther south than Vicksburg, one example being a two-year pilot program, authorized in 1971, in McComb as a resident center. However, this reach was too far and in the wrong direction, • 197 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

for it created administrative problems with the distant campus and infringed upon the territory of the University of Southern Mississippi.64 More feasible as a potential location for extension operations was the city of Meridian, located in east-central Mississippi and close enough to maintain a workable relationship with the university. In 1966, the university had secured permission to set up a master’s program in aeronautics at the Meridian Naval Air Station, but this project fell through. MSU officials did not give up on the city, however, even though until 1972, the University of Southern Mississippi was the only university operating any kind of program there. In 1972, the legislature decided to turn centers into branches, and though MSU had to give up any hopes of branching to Tupelo, which is located in Ole Miss territory, the board did give the university Meridian. Soon an impressive structure arose adjacent to the Meridian Junior College and became the Meridian branch of MSU. The university established a junior-senior-graduate program there initially, and enrollment at the facility was impressive for the first few years. Fee increases, especially affecting out-of-state students from Alabama, caused a decline in enrollment, but in 1978, Meridian was the only branch to show an increase, and the branch continues to hold its own. Though the university continued to try to work something out with the naval station, not until 1976 was a master’s in social studies in political science approved, which was designed mostly to draw military personnel. Nevertheless, attempts to attract military personnel have not been a resounding success.65 Despite the shift by the legislature from centers to branches, MSU continued its historic extension focus, reaching from towns on and near the Gulf Coast to the extremes of northeast Mississippi. These efforts included many small towns in between in south-central, central, north-central and the Delta regions of Mississippi. Also, a long-established program at the Columbus Air Force Base continued to prosper, with its close location to the campus being a definite plus. University officials carefully monitored all these activities, especially those involving degree programs, and the Southern Association, whose representatives were called in frequently to take a look at such operations, cautioned the board that branches especially had to operate as independently as possible. A board committee studied the possibilities of setting up branch regulations, and the legislature frequently voiced its collective, almost always diverse, opinions on such things as how many hours students could take and the making of all centers into • 198 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

branches. As usual in such cases, nothing much came of all the talk, and the universities continued to pretty much call their own tune. If there was one thing university leaders could agree on, it was that the legislature must not be allowed to run their schools. Meanwhile, the on-campus Division of Continuing Education, led by Homer Coskrey, received several notable federal grants to support the Mississippi Educational Services Center to assist with desegregation problems, an issue that seemed to become lost at times during all the debating over centers and branches.66 While many issues swirled around President Giles, there was one area that had to be addressed without becoming bogged down in controversy. Enrollment continued to grow, and that meant housing and other facilities had to be provided. During his era, new dorms for men (Hamlin Hall) and women (Hathorn Hall), were opened in 1966, and another women’s dorm, Rice Hall, named in honor of Nannie Rice, a retired librarian and former John Stennis staff member, would be constructed. Suttle Hall, named for A. D. Suttle, would be built for men. Both these dorms would be the largest on campus at the time. McArthur Hall, named after J. Neville McArther, an alumnus, was opened as a dormitory for athletes, though it is now occupied by human resources, and continuing education moved into the former dorm for athletes, Memorial Hall. The enrollment increases sometimes forced the university to house students off campus, and the apartment industry boomed. Some of the older dorms were air-conditioned to draw students back, but the issue of keeping students on campus has remained with the university for many years. Another new structure, Allen Hall, arose in 1967, as a combination administration-classroom building, a facility shared by students and the president, vice presidents, and other administrators. As previously mentioned, the library facility was expanded in 1971, and the Dorman forestry building was opened in 1967. In 1968, a veterinary science building was completed and named for J. W. Scales (not to be confused with the current Wise Center), and work on a forest resources laboratory was begun. The Clay Lyle entomology complex was planned in 1969, and a new chemical engineering building was constructed in 1971, named after the departmental dean, M. P. Etheredge. Other developments pertaining to structures during the Giles era included the renovation of the textile building, used by the industrial and agricultural education departments and notable as being the oldest structure on campus. Bowen Hall, an old building just recently renovated, • 199 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

became home to business for a time, and later for the social science departments of sociology and political science. Business moved into McCool Hall, a beautiful structure made possible in part by alumnus E. B. (Dutch) McCool. Business dean Gaines Rogers did much to see to the completion of McCool Hall through deft management of funds. Another equally unique building, adding to the increasingly eclectic architecture on campus, was the Cobb Institute of Archaeology. Cully and Lois Cobb’s generosity made the building possible. One of the most welcomed buildings of the Giles era was the Humphrey Coliseum, named in honor of Duke Humphrey, which gave the university a basketball showplace and an impressive place to hold graduations, equal to any SEC school. Gaddis Hunt was the first coliseum director, and the building was used not only for basketball and graduations, but by entertainers of note, like Bob Hope. The old gym was appropriately named for Babe McCarthy, who had won much more than basketball games during his tenure there as coach. In 1974, a dairy science building, named in honor of a former department head, Frederick D. Herzer, was completed, and engineering dean Harry Simrall appropriately had a new electrical and computer engineering building (where degrees in both branches of the discipline would be offered), located between the textile and library buildings, named in his honor. A new extension building, later named in honor of William Bost, located west of the football stadium, would also arise during the Giles era. By 1978, the main campus would have eighty academic buildings, thirty-three service buildings, twenty-one dorms, eighteen apartments for married students, and eighty-seven faculty residential units. Throw into the mix all the off-campus structures at experiment stations, extension offices, centers and branches, and MSU had become a virtual, if scattered, city.67 President Giles did not just sit back and watch all the massive construction going on. He looked at plans, at one point criticizing one building for having too much wasted space. He counted on such stalwarts as E. C. Cooley, Will Rogers, and Don Mott, heads of the physical plant department, to watch after the new buildings and keep them up to standards. Giles also reigned over the purchase of the Buck Creek Cotton Mill building, on the western edge of campus, which was taken over by the physical plant department. Appropriately, it has a large statue of a bulldog in front to remind everybody that even though it is an old building and far away from the campus center, it is part of the family. It has been named in honor of • 200 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

Cooley, who supervised electricity functions on campus for forty-six years. Energy, in fact, became an issue of some concern in the mid-1970s, enough so that an energy convention of the Mississippi Association of Colleges was called to discuss the problems of keeping campuses functional. The results were predictable; a committee was formed to look into the situation, led by Willie McDaniel, dean of engineering and director of engineering research at MSU, and the campus plant maintenance department worked up a manual on energy use and conservation.68 Aside from electrical power concerns, the Giles administration also had to consider improvements in streets and roads to meet the needs of the growing campus. Widening city streets in Starkville helped, and the abandonment and destruction of part of the Starkville-Artesia railway gave room for a four-lane connection of the campus into Starkville. There was talk of widening Highway 12 through Starkville and the campus, but that would not come until later years, and a beltway to relieve traffic congestion in the center of the campus was and is still being discussed. The fourlane structure of Highway 82 to Columbus was a breakthrough, though by the time it happened in 1977, male students no longer had to go to the W to find female companionship, since the enrollment of women students at State had increased many times over since the early A&M years.69 Although William Giles accomplished much and experienced more ups than downs during his years as leader of the university, one area that had suffered before he took over continued to be a problem afterward. Desegregation began the process of bringing some quality black athletes to the campus, but, even so, MSU was not known as a school where victories came easily. For example, in football, the 1966 team, coached by Paul Davis, lost all its conference games and had little good fortune outside the SEC. So Wade Walker, athletic director, and Davis both left, and Charles Shira came on board to occupy both positions. Before he coached a football game, Shira got the news that the basketball team was on probation for a recruiting violation, not a good omen. Shira had some good players, including D. D. Lewis, who would go on to an outstanding professional football career with the Dallas Cowboys, and Frank Dowsing, the university’s first black star player, but though, as Giles noted, Shira established good personal relations with his players, he had trouble making a team that could function on the field as a winner. Giles had hoped that a new athletic dorm, McArthur Hall, provided by funds from an alumnus, would help • 201 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

draw skilled players to the campus, but it would take more than facilities to establish a good program. State won only one game Shira’s first year, and the next year won none, though it tied two. In 1969, the record improved to 3–7, and then Shira and his team surprised many people, on and off campus, with a six-win season in 1970, including defeating rival Ole Miss, and the Associated Press named Shira SEC coach of the year. The basketball and baseball teams also won their conference championships that year under the leadership of Kermit Davis and Paul Gregory, respectively, both of whom were also named coaches of the year in the conference.70 The good times did not last in football, however, for in 1971 came a 2–9 season with one conference win, and the same thing happened the next year, though the overall record was somewhat better at 4–7. Shira gave up his coaching job, but he stayed on as athletic director, a post he held until his death in 1976. The Shira story was a sad one, for probably few coaches ever had the admiration of his players more than Shira did, and he likewise would have done anything for them. In honor of the good will he produced on campus, the physical fitness complex was named the Charles N. Shira Fieldhouse in 1984. One must say that he did not leave the cupboard empty when he stepped down as coach, for the man hired to replace him, Bob Tyler, enjoyed a very successful reign as head coach, though he eventually would leave under clouds of controversy. Tyler had been offensive coordinator under Shira, and in 1974, he had a 9–3 season, beat Ole Miss, and took his team to the Sun Bowl, where they beat North Carolina. Under Tyler, success begat success, and he produced such outstanding players as Jimmy Webb, Mel Barkum, and Rocky Felker. Things went so well that the SEC, based on a complaint from Auburn, banned the use of State’s favorite noisemakers, the cowbell, at SEC games. But that was nothing compared to the two-year probation slapped on the football team for recruiting violations, though the player involved, Larry Gillard, an outstanding lineman, managed to get in his full playing time at State. Giles, somewhat in protest, resigned as president of the SEC. The Gillard case seemed to open a Pandora’s box of charges and countercharges involving recruiting between State and Ole Miss, and in 1975, the board stepped in to set a policy that would reestablish some control by forcing athletes to honor their original letter of intent if it involved the two schools. It was • 202 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

hoped that this would end the charges of each school trying to steal players away from the other.71 While the football uproar went on, Giles made notable progress in improving women’s athletics. First came flag football, and then women’s teams in basketball and other sports began competitive schedules. The Title IX Committee worked to see to it that the university treated its women athletes fairly. In 1977, a major step was taken when Peggy Collins, who had an impressive record as a collegiate women’s basketball coach, was hired to take over the women’s program at State. Women’s intramurals also received much-needed attention, and facilities, both indoor and outdoor, were provided for the girls who wished to participate.72 The baseball team took a historic turn in 1975 when Paul Gregory, who had enjoyed a measure of success himself, retired, and Ron Polk, who would prove to be one of the nation’s most influential and successful college baseball coaches, took over. The basketball team would have some up-and-down years, but generally speaking, it provided exciting, competitive games for State fans each year, and its best years lay ahead.73 A significant development during the Giles era proved to be the organization of an athletic council in 1974. This group included alumni, faculty, administration, and students. One thing a president surely learns quickly is that when questions arise about shortcomings in college athletics, it is always good to have a wide range of people involved. Beyond the council came the beginning of the Bulldog Club in 1975, which provided alumni, students, and State fans who fit neither category an opportunity to get involved in athletics. One of the first fruits was the funding of a physical fitness complex, approved in 1976. The alumni association, of course, was, and always has been, important to the athletic program. Bob Williams was its leader in this era during the Giles years, and the alumni house was named in his honor after his death in 1975. Other important figures in the association were Charles Weatherly, secretary, and former football player John Correro, who joined the office staff. Certainly all these people had their work cut out for them, for when things went bad, complaints flew, and they had to be fielded, gracefully and effectively, and for the most part they were. And people had to be convinced that athletics was more than sweat and jocks. The alumni leaders found a way to remedy that issue by getting more involved in university affairs through the establishment of alumni-sponsored faculty awards. • 203 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

Another important group was the Development Foundation, the first such collegiate organization in Mississippi, and one which was led well from the beginning, first by Charles Whittington and then by George Perry. Both understood how to make money and how to spend it wisely, and the foundation did both, helping to fund the union, advising on how to handle faculty patents, establishing gift funds, administering academic chairs, providing extra support, when needed, to presidents, and finding wealthy donors from whom much-needed funds poured in to the campus. Donors were ranked according to giving, and the so-called Patrons of Excellence grew from 126 in 1967 to 500 by 1976. Complementing these efforts was the alumni foundation, which dated back to the Hilbun years and came up with funding for scholarships and to supplement professors’ salaries in certain cases. Alex McKeigney was an important leader of this group. Along with the leaders came some significant losses during the Giles era: Paul Blair in agricultural economics, Tom Tramel in computer science, and Don Echols, who had helped the university with legislative matters in a very effective manner.74 So the Giles era produced years of constant challenges from within and without, and through it all, this mild-mannered man held things together and kept things moving forward, as the university continued to grow and become ever more complex. As John Bettersworth put it, the years “had their share of visitations, studies, reports and evaluations.” The BoozAllen-Hamilton Report in 1967, involving Hinds County via the Research and Development Center, concluded that the state’s universities could take care of undergraduate education in Jackson and vicinity, and that only in education and business should graduate work be offered. The governor in 1973 put together a committee to study higher education, and the Mississippi Economic Council decided it would do the same. Next from the legislature came the Performance Evaluation and Expenditure Review (PEER) Committee to look over the schools’ shoulders. Then the board decided to establish a commission to put together long-range plans on what should be done in the future. As far as most institutions were concerned, there were no limits to the future, and, in the words of Bettersworth, they all faced “years without end.” During the height of all this, President Bill Giles was getting close to his sixty-fifth birthday, and he decided that it was a good time to step down. He did not ask for bells and whistles at his retirement, though he was pre• 204 •

giles: low-key, high results, 1966–1976

sented a plaque by Ole Miss, and the board made him president emeritus and professor of agriculture. He turned down a retirement party, but he did accept a gun from his administrative council, so he could patrol land he owned north of Starkville. There was a joke that he would try it out first on any administrator who sought him out, but he wound up shooting more at beavers that invaded his property. In retiring, he joined Lee, Hardy, and Humphrey as presidents who had made it through at least a decade in the position—pretty good company, and he deserved accolades for that and much more. After all, as Bettersworth noted, Giles presided over some good, progressive years, and he waited until he retired to carry a gun.75

• 205 •

9 McComas: Seeking a Balance, 1976–1985

W

hen William Giles stepped down as MSU president, university faithful hoped that his successor would be as good, with luck perhaps better. The subject of a possible woman president never came up despite the growth of women’s rights throughout the country. This simply said that MSU was, like the state in which it is located, not quite ready for big change and had succumbed only when it seemed unavoidable. So a West Virginia male became Giles’s successor. His name was James Douglas McComas, and he proved to be a good president, though whether his record was better than Giles’s would be in the eye of the beholder. Certainly, McComas had the background, and he had personal traits that any leader of a large academic institution needed. For one thing, he had the unique talent of remembering the names of everybody he encountered, and that ability made many favorable impressions. McComas wisely made no effort to be a copy of Giles; he made it clear from the beginning that, rightly or wrongly, he would do things his way, and his way was usually good for the university. Nobody could accuse him of not working at the job; he was somewhat of a workaholic and seemed to consider a full work day twenty-four instead of eight hours. Though he came from a section of the country sometimes characterized as hillbilly heaven, McComas had no traits that gave a clue as to his nativity. Perhaps drama class in high school had helped. He received his bachelor’s degree at the University of West Virginia, majoring in education, with an odd mixture of minors: guidance, sociol• 206 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

ogy, and biological sciences. He taught at a high school in his native state for three years, including holding a voluntary position as a drama coach. All the while, he did graduate work at Marshall University, and in 1954 he did a tour of duty with the U.S. Army Medical Corps. After the military, he returned to an educational career as a school supervisory teacher in Gettysburg, Ohio. There he met his wife-to-be, a beautiful woman named Adele Stolz, marrying her in 1961. By then he had finished a master’s degree at the University of Ohio; he earned his doctorate in 1962 at Ohio State University, and became an assistant professor at New Mexico State University. Within five years, he had been promoted first to associate and then to full professor. Ever busy, McComas found himself with appointments in three academic schools: in the College of Agriculture and Home Economics he was department head of agricultural and extension education on a halftime appointment; he was a sociology teacher in the School of Arts and Sciences; and he was an associate professor of educational administration in the College of Education, also half-time. With all that to keep him occupied, he also was a member of the faculty senate and the graduate council. In his last year at New Mexico State, he found himself professor and head of the Department of Elementary and Secondary Education. He codirected a state study of occupational needs, worked as a field leader for research proposals, and helped train Peace Corps recruiters. Though he accepted the load, he was heard to protest that he preferred teaching to administration, an oft-uttered phrase of academic administrators everywhere. His career, however, gave him little time in the classroom, for his future opportunities involved continual advancement in administration. From New Mexico, he moved to Kansas State University in 1967 to the deanship of the College of Education, and, due to there being no departmental divisions, he in effect became head of all the departments. It took two years, but he solved that problem by creating divisions. He chaired a committee on general education and started a doctoral program in the College of Education. In 1969, he and Adele moved yet again, this time to the University of Tennessee, where he was dean of education and professor of higher education. Finally, at his insistence, he got to teach, including a night class at Lincoln Memorial University. He kept up his usual work pace by reorganizing the College of Education at the University of Tennessee, despite some resistance. • 207 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

He further chaired an eight-state network called the Southeast Manpower Committee, headed a state council consisting of education deans, and served in the faculty senate. All the while he was active in national educational organizations and managed to keep up an impressive publication production. Even now, it makes one breathless to consider the pace the man kept, and so it is not surprising that MSU recruiters made a special trip to Knoxville, Tennessee, to see this phenomenon they had heard about. They were impressed enough to make him an offer, and apparently McComas was impressed enough to accept it; he was approved as the next president by the board on February 19, 1976.1 In an almost curious manner, all of Mississippi seemed anxious to welcome Jim McComas to the state. Even the powers at Ole Miss invited him to speak at their Honors Day convocation in April 1976. McComas demonstrated his political skills by telling State’s rivals that the two schools should jointly seek common academic goals, since both schools were comprehensive and their futures would be intertwined. Yet he found that such diplomacy could be tricky. He supposedly said later of his trip to Ole Miss: “I offered them an olive branch, and they switched me with it.” In any event, he outlined his perception of the challenges universities faced and said that to meet them, leaders must move “from the unknown to the known” and “from the usual to the extraordinary.” The language was simple, but its implications profound, and clearly McComas had in a few words outlined the goal he intended to pursue at MSU. He came to campus in May and informally talked with administrators, faculty, and students. Later that fall, in a speech he made back in his home state at Huntington, West Virginia, he described what he would want in a president of a university, someone “to direct an enterprise manufacturing societal products. Diversified interests range from agronomy to zoology. Duration of the manufacturing process: 3.7 years. Profit potential: none. Loss: $5,500 on every unit produced. President must represent company to vast constituency: 12,000 shareholders, state legislators, government bureaucrats, and the community at large.” None of this was just pulled out of the air. McComas was saying what he expected of himself at MSU.2 McComas anticipated what future presidents would find out soon enough, that a university president was necessarily a traveling salesman, especially in an area usually economically depressed and seemingly giv• 208 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

ing a smaller percentage of its budget to higher education each year that passed. Let other administrators, the faculty, and staff run the university; the president had to sell the product. So McComas did, speaking almost nonstop to alumni, extension clubs of one sort or another, service clubs, at other institutions of higher learning, and to groups on campus. The MSU Development Foundation leadership caught on quickly and gave McComas a plane in 1977 to help him with his hectic schedule. His traveling did not prevent him from taking care of administrative issues or keeping abreast of campus happenings. Some seemed trivial, like vending machine policies. The machines were the responsibility of the Division of Business Affairs, while the Division of Student Affairs operated milk-dispensing machines, as well as laundry and recreational machines in residence halls and the union. Other items of concern included the commonplace, such as building maintenance, waste treatment, cost of van trips from campus to branches, identification card uses, students’ desire to increase the alcoholic content of beer, health center policies, admission standards, parking decals, and computer systems. Many issues were of a more tactical nature. As examples, McComas’s administration set four courses as a normal full class load, which meant that students were not students unless they took at least four. He told his Executive Council, made up of all the various vice presidents, to expand their agendas, and he wanted this practice to descend to the level of deans. He wanted to be kept informed of priorities at all levels and what expectations administrators set for themselves. He asked for input on his idea of the university having a representative in the nation’s capital. He wanted such things as university patents, publishing plans, and telephone automation plans to cross his desk. He argued that WATTS lines could be effective in recruiting students. He wanted information on liability protection for university personnel against civil suits. Perhaps he understood that beneath his seemingly calm exterior lay a temper that could lead him to say some things better left unsaid. Thus, the fewer surprises the better. An example came early in 1977 when a report, probably from a nameless, faceless legislator, who likely leaked it himself to the press, accused institutions of higher learning of being among the most wasteful of state agencies. McComas, furious at the charge, kept quiet publicly, but he, like most university presidents, knew the Mississippi legislature rarely, if ever, gave the universities enough money to waste. He asked • 209 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

his vice presidents to gather data to refute the charge. They had little trouble doing so. McComas also detested being ignored, so when the university was noticeably absent from a list of schools forming a group to study the freedom from hunger act, he ordered the agricultural division to find out why. Indeed, it seemed odd that a university land-grant school with such a strong, widespread agricultural program would be snubbed. However, Mississippi’s reputation, tarnished thanks to a number of racial incidents in the 1960s, led to much snubbing, and is still a shadow over the state.3 Ever-present traffic problems on campus also provided a glimpse at the McComas temper. Enrollment increases during his tenure and insufficient parking spaces led to more fines and a concomitant problem of collecting them. McComas grew frustrated, especially when faculty and staff refused to pay fines, and he discontinued reserved parking privileges for two deans, sending a message that he expected everyone to obey campus laws.4 McComas mostly controlled his irritabilities, as when he learned early on the problems of being innovative in a poor state. During his presidency, a new veterinary medicine school and the School of Architecture were highlights; both needed much financial support, and yet, because they were new, they had no alumni from which to expect funding help. Other issues of concern included energy conservation, experimentation with solar energy, an energy research lab, and the need for a physical fitness facility. Continuing education on a statewide level also needed attention.5 McComas, too, had to deal with personnel evaluations, an ever-present and always controversial issue. He expected to meet face to face with those who reported directly to him, and he expected other administrators to do the same with those who reported to them. He decided to discontinue the past practice of publicizing student evaluations of faculty. Such evaluations had an obvious flaw, for they were little more than popularity surveys. He later relented a bit, allowing two copies of summaries of faculty evaluations to be placed in the library in University Archives.6 McComas indeed tried to build a reputation of flexibility, for he knew public relations would key his success. At one point he offered, through the Department of Music Education, un-uniformed student musicians to play at the opening of a local supermarket. Relations between the university and Starkville had historically not been close, and presidents often reached out to the town, no matter how mundane the occasion. A more significant case • 210 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

in point was Boswell Stevens of Noxubee County, who never quite finished his degree at State. But Stevens had become a power in Mississippi through his tireless work as head of the Mississippi Farm Bureau, and he loved State as much as anyone could love an almost alma mater. He supported the university with money and words, and for a year as a member of the board of trustees, so McComas made sure Stevens got his honorary degree in 1978. It was an appropriate move, not only because of Stevens’s loyalty, but because changes in graduation requirements in the School of Agriculture qualified him for a degree.7 McComas also understood that, of all groups, he had to keep a good relationship with the board, though problems sometimes arose from board members whose loyalties lay with rival schools. McComas encouraged all members of the board to speak and act for the state as a whole. He knew that would not always happen, but it was good to remind them that they were all in the same boat and that feuds would be counterproductive. He did his best to become good friends with other presidents, even of the junior colleges (or community colleges as they are now called). He and Adele even invited the junior-college executives to dinner one Sunday at their campus home.8 The Development Foundation took an instant liking to McComas, as the new airplane indicated. In October of 1978, George Perry retired as president of the group and J. C. Redd replaced him. Redd, who had built quite a successful business in pest control, had recently retired, leaving his family to take care of pests, and he was free to repay debts he felt he owed to MSU. Redd came from a poor background, and he fondly recalled professors who allowed him to do independent study while he was busy teaching in a public school. As the old saying went, Redd was educated in the school of hard knocks. Now he was ready not only to work hard for MSU, but to do anything he could to counter negatives wherever he saw them, including battling the state’s many racists. He was a board member of the Jackson, Mississippi, public schools and had been a firm, guiding hand through desegregation. At State, he had been one of the original Patrons of Excellence.9 Like any new president, McComas had to deal with personnel changes, which normally followed every presidential turnover. Two vice presidents were getting close to retirement, including Lewis Mallory, vice president for business affairs, and John Bettersworth, vice president for academic affairs • 211 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

and faculty dean. Bettersworth, liking what he saw in this new president, stayed longer than planned, serving as a special consultant to McComas, while updating the history of the university to cover the first one hundred years. Robert “Bob” Wolverton came to MSU in 1977 to become academic vice president and a professor of classics, and George Kirk from West Virginia took over briefly as vice president for business affairs. Less than two years later, George Verrall succeeded Kirk. Marion “Red” Loftin went from associate dean to dean of the graduate school, and J. C. “Chester” McKee became vice president for research and graduate studies. Rodney Foil, dean of forest resources, became director of the experiment station (MAFES), and J. Charles Lee, a future president, succeeded Foil.10 Other initial appointments with long-range significance included Verrall as acting assistant to the vice president for academic affairs. Verrall would have a lengthy, impressive career as an administrator. Margaret Estes, MSU’s first associate vice president for academic affairs, took office in 1978 and also taught sociology. She had come from an impressive career at Northeast Arizona University. Harry Simrall retired as long-serving dean of engineering in July 1978; Simrall, an alumnus, once had been editor of the Reflector, and he got in trouble for kidding President Humphrey about being a graduate of Blue Mountain, a women’s college in north Mississippi, which in fact had some male students. Simrall survived this youthful faux pas and went on to graduate, eventually becoming head of electrical engineering and serving as president of the National Society of Professional Engineers. Simrall had to eat some of his words about his jab at Humphrey when the College of Engineering began enrolling more and more women students. The electrical and computer engineering building on campus is named in Simrall’s honor, and he lived a long and active life after retirement until his death in 2005. Willie Lee McDaniel, Jr., replaced Simrall in 1978; McDaniel at the time was professor of electrical engineering and director of the engineering and industrial research station. Jean Snyder became associate dean in the College of Agriculture and Home Economics and no doubt influenced an emerging joint program with the Department of Home Economics and the School of Architecture in interior design. Lynn D. Furgerson left the directorship of admissions and registrar to become dean of admissions and records.11 Another important change, outside the academic area, was the hiring in 1978 of Gerry Gilmer to direct public information; he succeeded Bob • 212 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

Moulder, who had been around long enough to become a local legend. Public information also received a name change, which has survived to this day: university relations. The data processing department also changed its title to systems development; it was led by Charles Foskey, whose formidable task was to update the campus computer operations.12 One campus icon who stepped down early in the McComas reign was the campus chief of police. Burrell S. Hood did his job as well as anyone could do it. He was an impressive-looking man, the kind one would not want to anger, yet there was a soft side of his personality that endeared him to students, faculty, and staff. No major crisis on campus blotted his record, and indeed his anticipation of trouble kept the lid on potential problems. Prior to taking the job at State, he had been head of the Mississippi Highway Patrol, which familiarized him with administrative problems on a large scale. So when desegregation came to the campus, Hood proved to be a quiet, stern leader, and he also made sure that anti–Vietnam War demonstrations, which practically wrecked some college campuses, did not scar his. He had strong personal religious beliefs, and he practiced those principles without wearing them on his sleeve. When he talked, people listened and, if warranted, obeyed. John Moore, also very capable, took over for Hood.13 McComas took changes in stride, and rather than complain over losing so much experience and talent, he trusted in new leaders, and time proved that he put together a talented team. Though he came to the campus with many ideas, he wisely did not try to change everything at once. He asked questions about reorganization, committees, councils, whether there should be a university senate, and what kind of structure should be in place to make sure all had a chance to voice their opinions. McComas certainly had his own ideas about solutions, but he was a listener, and everyone at State found out quickly that getting an appointment with him was not difficult. And likewise he made extended visits to departments, to examine their problems, their accomplishments, their goals. He took his time, and gave lower levels of campus leadership plenty of time to get to know him. In meetings with the faculty council, McComas addressed wide agendas, giving faculty representatives ideas of how broadly he viewed his role. Of course, he discussed the budget, the usually underfunded engine that made the university go, but he also told faculty he would reach out to alumni, the Development Foundation, other universities, and the junior colleges. He intended to get to know the building commission, get more travel money, • 213 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

fund a teaching hospital for the veterinary medicine school, push academic planning at the department and college levels, give consideration to library needs, pay attention to summer school, and fund teaching assistants. He wanted policies that clarified the wide-ranging operations of dining services. He named areas in which he expected faculty assistance: establishing university policy on priorities regarding teaching, research, and service, and the priorities of these three areas regarding considerations of faculty promotions. He sought advice on the centennial celebration of the university, how to improve off-campus relations with various university centers, and recruitment of students. As for issues especially concerning faculty, he talked about improvements in insurance and leave benefits, distribution of information, grievance procedures, restoring reserve seats in the coliseum, and evaluation of administrators. He was concerned about the status of women faculty, and he sought the council’s input on recruiting more female professors. He promised to raise levels of titles, ranks, and salaries.14 Perhaps the major event of the McComas years was the centennial. As 1978 rolled around, McComas and others were determined to commemorate the university’s first one hundred years in fine style. For one thing, though he had taken office two years earlier, McComas decided to wait until the centennial year to be inaugurated as president. John Bettersworth’s updated history was published, this time under the main title People’s University, as opposed to the original People’s College, so the name itself demonstrated progress. McComas wanted the celebration to be well planned, and he set up a committee, sought slogans, and demanded creation of a flow chart, so everyone involved knew what was going on. As of the spring of 1977, funding for the celebration stood at seventy-one thousand dollars, most of which came from the Development Foundation. Campus divisions also contributed, and Senator John Stennis lined up U.S. Secretary of Defense James Schlesinger to be the keynote speaker at the inauguration on February 28, 1978.15 McComas, meanwhile, established in 1979 the Committee of 1985 to look ahead. The choice of 1985 was ironic, for that would be the year McComas would leave the university. But at the time, he was merely thinking future, and he asked the committee to identify trends, data, and assumptions; develop basic questions all units of the university must address; charge each unit with developing goals and priorities; identify new programs to • 214 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

be considered; include goals and priorities regarding teaching, research, and service; complete the work at the earliest date possible; and limit the final report to sixty or fewer pages. In effect, McComas wanted a conciseness that would help shape the future.16 To stress administrative goals, Vice President Bob Wolverton sometimes reported to the faculty council McComas’s positions and priorities. During the early 1980s, these included recruitment, self-studies, new entrance requirements for teacher education, revised admission standards for all state universities, cutting to six the number of hours a student could retake courses originally taken at State, salaries, equipment funding, library holdings, increasing faculty and staff positions, completing the creative arts complex, general space problems, completing the ten-year review of the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools, maintaining enrollment, outreach, and assistance to third-world countries, board-mandated program reviews, and improving relationships at local and state levels with those who affected the university.17 During that same time period, the faculty council donated one thousand dollars for seats, lights, and equipment for the new creative arts center, and discussed the so-called cafeteria benefits plan (which gave employees choices regarding insurance) and policies on consulting as related to departmental missions. Consulting should, McComas thought, become more standardized. All units should have written policies that dovetailed with missions and addressed particulars, with allowed time off equal to one day per week.18 In other areas, the faculty informed McComas of their concerns about tenure limits, quotas, and faculty housing. Some recommended that new faculty be allowed seven years to relocate from university-owned homes, but eventually, a policy evolved that allowed occupancy for only three years. That policy has been revisited many times. Vacancies varied, but low rental fees could be used to attract candidates. Faculty called, too, for raising rental rates, to encourage occupants to seek housing elsewhere. Increased revenues from the higher rates could be given to Starkville public schools. The implication was university support for public schools over the private Starkville Academy, which represented, at the time, a whites-only alternative. Faculty also called for better health benefits, a continual concern over the last several decades. Ever-increasing prices, the cafeteria plan nothwithstanding, caused delays in retirement, and still • 215 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

does, for retirement leaves individuals having to shoulder the total cost of insurance, which can be nonaffordable. Occasionally, McComas asked faculty for input on such matters as promotions and how they reflected contributions in major goals of teaching, research, and service. Was the promotional process working as it should, and if not, why not? He also wanted noncampus units to feel more a part of the university. Further, how well was recruitment working? And his earlier concern for adding women professors continued and ultimately led to the President’s Commission on the Status of Women, which remains a major vehicle for women’s rights on campus.19 Promotion, of course, could carry with it the principle of tenure, and here faculty had a plethora of concerns, ranging from tenure limits to quotas. Few believed there should be tenure limits. Faculty wanted more departmental consistency in academic advisement and achievement measures. This consistency should extend to methods of choosing academic advisors, and, if advising was used to help in the retention area, how credible would outcomes be? The simple fact was that adequate advising levels did not extend throughout departments, and everyone knew it. Advising often was forced on newly employed faculty, already burdened with acclimation to new jobs. Some advisors kept inadequate office hours, and others did not keep up with requirement changes. Students were the victims. Advisors needed to be trained, especially in the area of graduate students who must have skilled advisement. Most faculty agreed that advisement was vital and should be better organized. It seemed obvious that, at the graduate level, personal contacts, not only with advisors but with graduate faculty and experienced students, was essential to recruiting and fair treatment.20 Other faculty issues included cutbacks in summer school, which faculty saw as evidence that McComas had no desire to supplement nine-month faculty salaries with extra funds for summer teaching. If funds were short, there should be a special set-aside budget to cover supplements. The faculty also wanted to see the budget, so McComas agreed to make it available in the University Archives in the library, though photocopying was not allowed and the volumes could not be checked out. Regarding parttime faculty, they should not have tenure-track positions, but should be given preferential treatment when full-time positions became available. An ad hoc faculty committee urged that the university strive for a reputation • 216 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

of serving Mississippians, develop more of a research agenda, and concentrate on a reputation for excellence in teaching. High academic standards should be demanded. Yet some resented the balancing act required between reseach and publishing and classroom teaching. The faculty wanted more long-range planning, and decisions should be made when possible from lower levels, where there was more knowledge about issues and problems. Upper-level decisions should be made only after consultations with midlevel management, which had closer connections to faculty concerns. This middle administration should have imaginative leadership, and there seemed to be too many areas where that was not so. The university seemed to have outgrown its sense of community and purpose and cooperative effort. Examples included the perceived autonomy of MAFES, the extension service, athletics, plant maintenance, food service, and other areas. Barriers existed, real or imagined, between colleges and divisions. All signs and logos should emphasize the university, with secondary designations, such as MAFES, de-emphasized. The whole university should be a twelve-month operation, removing uncertainties about year-round employment, to encourage researchers to remain on campus. The library desperately needed more space, and the administration should make it a higher priority. There should be a greater effort to transfer material of value to University Archives, and to require students to use the library. The library administration should determine the adequacy of volumes and periodicals in every discipline and make efforts to strengthen holdings where necessary. Library allocations should be made based more on use and need for each department. Much archival material that should have been saved had not been, such as accrediting reports regarding various programs. Archival materials should be more available; some items were difficult to obtain. What faculty did not seem to appreciate is that University Archives relied on departments to send pertinent materials to the library, and many did not. The archives staff could not produce what they did not have. Further recommendations included highlighting and promoting good things about the university, such as its rural location, geography, insulation from metropolitan problems, openness, quality of students, and departmental competency. Research seemed to be rewarded more than teaching, and that should not be. There should be faculty liability protection, strengthening of fine arts, and a better state image of professorial faculty, • 217 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

which would involve more adequate publicity of accomplishments. In fact, there seemed to be communications problems everywhere. The university’s branches needed more support. Most people working on campus did not trust the board or the legislature, and there seemed to be erosion of local control. Too much money went to nonacademic areas, and there was not enough training of staff or emphasis on faculty improvement. There should be more cooperation with MUW, and the university catalog needed improvement. The comptroller should be separated administratively from plant maintenance, food service, and other auxiliary agencies. Public relations needed to be stronger, and better transportation should be provided for students. There should be efforts to have regional meetings, lecture series, etc., on campus. Intramural facilities needed more support, and bookstore prices should be more reasonable. More fraternity/sorority housing was needed, and students with nonmajors should be given guidance. The computer center needed to be improved.21 Some faculty argued that individual faculty members determined the reputation of the university, rather than dependence on policies and procedures. Further, all scholarship and honors programs should be combined under the umbrella of a single university committee on academic excellence charged with improving the academic environment, to promote scholarship among both faculty and students. This committee would report to the vice president for academic affairs. Many believed that until this step was taken, admission standards and developmental studies should be left alone. In other words, give one plan a chance to work before manipulating others.22 Regarding computers, the faculty suggested that the administrative structure of the computer center be altered in a manner that would place the administration of the center either under the executive council or a senior level administrator with computer experience. Further, an acting head of the computer center should be appointed to serve until a new director was selected, and administrative data processing should be separated from the computer center.23 The Instructional Improvement Committee of the Faculty Council threw in a concept paper entitled “A Vision of Faculty Development for Mississippi State University,” which discussed two areas: instructional improvement and career development. The committee recommended a faculty develop• 218 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

ment center, a testing service, an office of research and graduate studies, library improvements, a computer science department, statistical services, a learning skills center, more continuing education, an audio-visual center, faculty development programs for special groups, and sabbaticals and a variety of other factors to meet the goal of faculty development.24 From the beginning of his presidency, McComas had been concerned with improving quality of instruction, so he supported ideas such as new faculty orientation, measuring the effectiveness of teaching assistants, course design workshops, audio-visual techniques, assisting teachers with problems in the classroom, a teachers’ reading room in the library, an instructional issues newsletter, promoting faculty-student relations, teacher improvement convocations, minigrants for innovative instruction, and advisement on syllabi development.25 As McComas went into his second year, he received a faculty council report on institutional goals, mostly echoing his own thinking. The council wanted MSU to have a reputation of service, which it had had for many years. What they actually wanted was more time to research, thereby producing products that had a positive economic impact, while reemphasizing the agricultural and mechanical roots of the university. They wanted to raise academic standards. More parking space should be available for library patrons and off-campus visitors. John Bettersworth, upon reading some of these demands, could not refrain from commenting, “Faculty reach must exceed its grasp, or what’s a university for?” At least some faculty wanted things made better; they did not seem to be complaining about publish or perish as much, and they supported university growth in student population.26 McComas, of course, cared as much about increased numbers as anyone, for surely enrollment growth is one of the most visible gauges of a successful presidency, and he wanted faculty to have a significant role in making it work. One participatory program was called “high school nights,” a series of meetings over the state. McComas called upon Roy Ruby, who unfortunately retired in 2005 and always had that special ability to reach out to students, and to people in general for that matter. Blessed with a special storytelling ability and a natural sense of humor, Ruby had been an effective director of the Jackson center, and now McComas wanted him to direct university student recruitment. Ruby would wear many more hats, all very effectively, before he finally ended his career, which was capped by the naming of a new dormitory after him.27 • 219 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

The faculty also wanted something special for a particular group of potential students, their own children. It was fine to increase scholarships to draw top students, but other state institutions of higher learning had been exempting children of their faculty from fees, and MSU faculty felt that their kids should be included. However, such a practice could significantly reduce scholarship funds, for large numbers of faculty children would have to be assisted under such a policy. Thus State had shunned the free fee programs, though qualified students of faculty could certainly compete for regular scholarships. The issue came to a head in 1976 when the legislature called for an end to give-away scholarships, and the board began phasing them out. In later years, however, waiving of out-of-state fees for children of alumni was approved with the restriction that students must make at least 20 on their ACT test and have a B average. The debates and discussions would continue.28 McComas responded to promotion and tenure concerns by appointing a so-called “blue-ribbon” committee, chaired by Bob Wolverton, to come up with standards everyone could live with. Yet he would find that wide variations among departments would continue in these areas.29 Faculty wanted the administration to help deal with angry parents who complained about professors. The faculty council in April 1979 recommended that all parental complaints involving faculty conduct in class be submitted for disposition to the vice president for academic affairs, and that the vice president act to insure that the rights of all involved would be respected and protected.30 In 1980 the Faculty Development Center asked McComas to speak at a conference at Lake Tiak-O’Khata on how he saw “higher education in the eighties.” It was a chance for McComas to address the many issues concerning faculty, and he did so with several points: (1) there would be a decline in college-age students; (2) retirement laws regarding early retirement would have an immediate impact on higher education, for much valuable experience would be lost; (3) state governments, responding to public pressure, would likely increase controls over higher education, especially by emphasizing undergraduate education; (4) there would be a movement toward more program standardization and funding, and mission and scope limitations would be more restrictive; (5) increased fuel costs would reduce weekend trips home by students as well as university travel (of course, McComas could not know how true that statement would become by the • 220 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

early twenty-first century); (6) there could be a saturation of graduates in the medical, legal, and veterinary medicine fields; (7) deferred maintenance and renovation could create serious physical plant problems; (8) opportunities for greater selections could come in the choosing of new faculty and staff, where more effort was needed; (9) the liberal education component would become a focal point required by most universities; (10) there would be greater involvement in public service activities; (11) exchange programs with other universities would increase; (12) reallocation of resources and shifting of funds might be required. With the benefit of hindsight, one can see that McComas’s points were very prophetic in many respects.31 Other faculty concerns continued to evolve. Limitations on sabbaticals were necessary to make sure there were enough faculty left to handle course loads. Some did not like not being able to pull out of the social security system due to state legislative inaction. Research professor designations should be made where appropriate. There should be a general education program for all undergraduate majors. Any faculty violations of dead week policy should be reported. There should be a faculty microcomputer lab. Faculty should be allowed to evaluate administrators, and there must be better communication with administrators and clarity in the chain of command. The library should be open more, and library director George Lewis agreed to an experiment during Christmas holidays in 1984.32 Faculty council action in the mid-1980s included discussion of a new cafeteria benefits plan that permitted using pretax money for employee benefits; the ad hoc committee on consulting reported that different policies were permissible within the university due to variants in unit missions, and leave policies should be standardized to stop inequities. All units should be required to prepare and implement written policies on consulting that dovetailed with missions and address particulars, with allowed time off to be equal to one day per week. The impact of low salaries obviously made consulting attractive.33 As the new year of 1985 dawned, the faculty council looked at issues regarding shortages of faculty in engineering (bachelor’s degrees in construction engineering technology and electronic engineering technology were phased out in 1984) and computer science, the development of a technology with national implications known as MagnetoHydroDynamics (MHD), systems which with conventional coal-burning power plants could increase efficiency by nearly 50 percent. There was the possibility that this • 221 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

could make some of Mississippi’s low-quality coals, such as lignite, more economical. The work that would be carried on at MSU included materials testing, computer control, and instrumentation development. The U.S. Economic Development Administration gave MHD a $7 million grant to go with $4 million from the state to continue high technology research.34 This was good news, but many technological research faculty needed instruments they did not have, like centrifuge, oscilloscope, spectrophotometer, and a small microscope. Much of the equipment still being used was outdated. The U.S. Secretary of Defense’s office advised McComas in 1984 that science and math were deficient at MSU, that there were deficiencies in engineering faculty and laboratory facilities, as well as a noticeable decline in the number of American citizens pursuing advanced technological degrees. McComas, recognizing the need for urgent monetary help, pursued cooperative projects with other universities and corporations to overcome these problems.35 Other faculty issues in the early months of 1985 included spring reviews of doctoral programs, a report that library use during Christmas was not heavy (even though Lewis said he was pleased), a spring faculty social dance and faculty awards, accommodations for Senator Stennis in the alumni building, administrators not being allowed to require identity cards of faculty members for purposes of internal identification, an increase in tuition for the coming fiscal year (1984–1985), and a report on money needed for the creative arts complex, the McCain Engineering Building, and an ag mechanics shop, plus $2.2 million for a water tower. The faculty was told that the university would have an exhibit at the TennesseeTombigbee Waterway dedication in Columbus, and that a new scholarship endowment by the Salisbury Foundation for the veterinary medicine school totalled one hundred thousand dollars. McComas had already made clear that those opposed to the TennTom Waterway could vocally object, but not as university representatives. A new dental plan was being offered, and sexual harassment had been addressed through an official booklet, MSU Sexual Harassment Policy and Procedures. McComas listened and reacted to long lists of faculty complaints and concerns no matter how unending they seemed to be. He knew one thing on many minds was a problem in its early stages then and one that continues to exist, the proliferation of litigation. Lawsuits, both filed and threatened, • 222 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

seemed to abound, most dealing with faculty actions and their manner of instruction. The faculty council wanted the university to have a permanent legal advisor, and though McComas did nothing right away, he shared their concern for what seemed petty attempts to get large lump sums of cash from the university. For the time being, the university depended upon Starkville area lawyers, and it helped that the new vice president for business affairs, George Kirk, had a law degree.36 McComas also went on the offensive with the faculty in ways that seemed both positive and negative, but they learned he meant business either way. He started a tradition that has worked well ever since, a new-faculty orientation picnic lunch at the president’s home. Now this idea includes all faculty, and it has created much good will for succeeding presidents. McComas also started the fall convocation, which included bringing in outside academic speakers. This inspired invitations to people like U.S. diplomat Andrew Young. He further required a faculty evaluation procedure, and he urged interaction regarding any problems that included discussions between faculty and department heads. An appeals process allowed faculty not happy with ratings to take their case to the appropriate dean. Other administrators had to be evaluated by whomever they reported to, and here, too, an appeals process was set up. Bob Wolverton oversaw the process, which encouraged communication and reinforced expectations. Jim McComas might be Mr. Nice Guy, but he wanted to make sure his people took their jobs seriously. In 1977, the Southern Regional Educational Board looked at evaluation by examining procedures at thirty institutions of higher learning, including MSU, which had four faculty, appointed by McComas, participate in the study.37 In another area regarding faculty, McComas understood, more so than most faculty, that the public must never perceive that professors were not staying busy and working hard. He urged, for example, that creative use of sabbatical time be a top priority, that time away from normal duties not be turned into a vacation, for he knew there had been instances where that happened. He wanted, on the other hand, to see to it that distinguished professors be recognized for contributions to their fields, and, by extension, to the university. Prior to the McComas reign, this group had been under an umbrella known as the society of university fellows, but “distinguished” had a better sound to it, and perhaps was a more accurate description, so the name change was adopted. • 223 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

He also urged departments that had split appointments, and this was especially true in the agricultural wing of the university, where professors in the College of Agriculture often worked for extension or the experiment stations, to take care in how they handled promotions. McComas further wanted the faculty to be beneficiaries of good leadership down to departmental levels. No doubt he had heard complaints about some department heads doing little more than call weekly to monthly meetings, drift through a meatless agenda, and do nothing to follow up. It was not always a fair accusation, but in light of persistent tight financial times, McComas wanted active, serious department heads. The evaluation process became more and more important as fund shortages continued. Faculty workloads had to be dealt with, for there were always complaints, especially from senior faculty, about having to teach too many classes. The policy finally agreed upon, at least for the time being, was twelve to fifteen hours per week, with twelve considered the norm (usually four classes). Any less, and many senior faculty insisted on two classes only, would have to go through an approval process.38 McComas worked almost continuously on the persistent problem of low faculty salaries, which remained well beneath the southeastern average, in fact some four thousand dollars lower on the average. Whether speaking on campus, off campus, on television interview programs, or in any of the numerous speeches he made in towns of all sizes around the state, he mentioned how harmful these insufficient salary levels were to Mississippi’s higher education. Moreover, he promised to use whatever raise money became available to remedy inequities. The legislature sometimes responded, but during one fiscal year, the board withheld one hundred thousand dollars intended for distribution at MSU, in order to help Delta State and Ole Miss. Other institutions also had to give up funds. Still, salaries occasionally did go up, though there were, and continue to be, long dry spells, and the issue will likely never go away. Making things more difficult was the addition of funds to professors’ salaries in colleges like engineering, where research monies (called soft money) inflated salaries well above those in other areas, such as arts and sciences. This drove up the average salary for each academic rank, thereby creating some noticeable disparities. In fact, disgruntled faculty, furious over having the hundred thousand dollars taken away, filed suit against the board, with much of the issue • 224 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

involving the so-called LeBauve trustee, a board member whose authority had been, dating back to the 1940s reorganization of the board, to vote only on issues pertaining to Ole Miss. This was the sort of thing that created agitation between the state’s two premier universities, despite McComas’s efforts to maintain good relations with State’s rival. The suit died a quiet death, but the issue did not, and in 1988, a majority of Mississipians voted to abolish the trustee position.39 Of course, faculty complained incessantly about salaries, though they understood McComas had to make do with what the legislature appropriated. He watched funds carefully and angered easily when something went wrong. A case in point came in the fall of 1979, when he grew furious after learning that fifty thousand dollars set aside to enhance fifty associate professors’ salaries in the College of Arts and Sciences had been given to only seventeen of them. He fumed to assistants that the administration must keep its commitments. A few weeks later he learned that the figures given to him were in error; thirty-one, not seventeen, had received the increases, and the rest would soon get theirs. Relieved that the problem had been solved, he no doubt took steps to make sure such an incident did not happen again.40 Beyond salaries, the administration and faculty had other common concerns, like making academic requirements tougher as student recruitment increased enrollment. No one wanted the reputation of the university’s standards to suffer. Such things as exempting seniors from final examinations, a carryover from the 1960s, needed to be abandoned, and in fact was eliminated at the end of the 1977 summer session, a move fully supported by the faculty. Another outdated policy seemed to be the forgiveness of Fs, which the academic council played a key role in abolishing in 1976. Oversight also increased on problems of cheating, which ranged from plagiarism to the copying of answers from classmates’ papers. Usually each professor handled miscreants in his or her own way, but it seemed wiser to have a consistent policy in place, to assure fair treatment and to avoid litigation. So a committee was appointed and made recommendations, and a new policy was adopted, beginning in the fall of 1997, which had elements of old remedies like dismissal, plus an appeals process.41 More progress in modernizing campus operations came with the addition of Latin graduation honor terms—summa cum laude, magna cum laude, and cum laude, ranks previously referred to as “distinction.” During • 225 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

this period, interest in having a Phi Beta Kappa chapter gained momentum; while that would certainly boost the academic perception of the university, as of this writing it has remained an elusive goal, and somewhat of an embarrassment, as State is the only SEC school without a chapter. Until there is more emphasis on the arts and humanities and consistently more library funding, it will likely remain so.42 On the subject of academic reputation, McComas applauded the concept of land-grant universities focusing on educating the “whole person.” People needed to know how to live while making a living. Courses in the arts had rarely been taught to nonarts and nonhumanities majors, and so very few alumni made notable contributions to those areas. If his administration accomplished anything, he told John Bettersworth, he wanted it to be remembered for helping “strike a balance.” During his administration, there were signs of progress, like the establishment of a bachelor of arts degree in general liberal arts. He pushed the university’s reaching out to local communities and encouraging establishment of local theaters and performance of musicals. And the faculty could definitely play a role. He had said he wanted State to strive for the extraordinary, and to him that meant combining living and learning as a fulfilling experience. Many faculty, especially those in the College of Arts and Sciences, embraced McComas’s notions as hope that the university could indeed broaden its scope beyond its agricultural and mechanical roots. If other land-grant universities could accomplish this worthy goal, why not State? It is a question not yet adequately answered.43 In a vital area that would determine “greatness,” the evolution of academic programs continued as it had since the beginning of the university’s one hundred years. The board could be stubborn, and institutional rivalries could sometimes be a blockade. But there was ever a need for new, additional, innovative, positive programs, or State, like any university, would stagnate. As just one of many examples, the establishment of the John C. Stennis Chair in Political Science brought with it the need for a degree program to match. Thus a master’s degree in public policy administration received board approval in 1977, and that program has produced many quality state leaders ever since. Finding someone to become the first holder of the Stennis Chair took some time, for the person chosen had to measure up to the respectability of one of the most powerful national figures of the twentieth century, John Stennis. In 1977, about the • 226 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

time the program received approval, the choice was made: Morris W. H. Collins. Collins had been dean of the graduate program in public affairs at American University, and he proved to be an active leader who brought in famous political figures to highlight the quality of program he intended to run. Included was Secretary of Defense Harold Brown, an event that brought media coverage that Collins sought to provide impetus to Stennis Institute programs.44 Long discussions were held regarding setting up a bachelor’s degree program in general studies. This came about in the early 1980s when the university requested that its program Higher Education General Information Survey (HEGIS) 4901 in the College of Arts and Sciences be changed to Bachelor of General Studies, with the same number designation. The intent was to broaden the expertise for interdisciplinary study beyond the current limits of the College of Arts and Sciences.45 Another area of emphasis was economics education, supported by the Mississippi Economic Council, which during the seventies promoted educational training and economics teaching. Two deans, Gaines Rogers and Merrill Hawkins of MSU, joined together to make sure teacher training would involve knowledge of economics. Another change during this period involved changing the Department of Aerophysics and Aerospace Engineering to aerospace engineering. This simple act gave more emphasis to what the program was all about.46 An issue that had been hanging around like a bad penny for decades, duplication of programs, frequently had to be addressed. The board delved into more self-studies, marking out long-range plans and role and scope terminology that was as old as the controversy itself. But as usual, each institution was doggedly determined not only to keep the programs it had, but to add more. Examples of continual expansion at State included an agri-communication program, a master’s degree in statistics by arts and sciences (eventually mathematics and statistics would be combined into one department), and a proposal for a master of engineering degree. The board ultimately approved them all, and later did the same for an undergraduate degree in real estate and mortgage financing. In 1978, the Robert W. Warren Chair of Real Estate in the College of Business and Industry was set up, financially administered by the Development Foundation and given support by the Mississippi Association of Realtors. A couple of years later the Peter Koch Lutken Mississippi Chair of Insurance was established • 227 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

in business and industry. A bachelor of business administration degree became an alternate for the bachelor of science degree in business and industry. Then came a doctorate in forestry and a master’s and doctorate in statistics. Other future changes included consolidating the departments of sociology and anthropology, and combining economics and finance into a new department to be named later. When that time came, economics and finance, including business law, became the Department of Economics, Finance, and Applied Legal Studies. The Department of Business Statistics and Data Processing, at the same time, was changed to the Department of Business Information Systems and Quantitative Analysis. Name changes produced more changes. In 1983, the bachelor of business administration degree and master’s of science in business administration with a major in business statistics and data processing evolved to a major in business informations systems and quantitative analysis.47 Thus, with all the talk about cutting the fat by eliminating duplication, new programs flourished, as usual. However, the board did accept an MSU proposal that external review teams be invited in to examine doctoral programs in some disputed duplication areas, including education and the sciences. The board no doubt feared that the results might not agree with their own desires. MSU in general came out better than other state universities in such studies, though nobody believed the issue would die. At the January 1978 board meeting, McComas said he was taking steps to combine the five doctoral programs in education into one degree, called doctor of education, and that he also intended to put botany, microbiology, and zoology in one department, biological sciences, and offer one doctoral program in that field. He proposed and the board approved changing the Department of Industrial and Occupational Education to vocational education and technology, one of several moves involving industrial/vocational education programs. For example, the B.S. degree in vocational education and technology was changed from trade and technical education to trade and technical studies. The board liked this sort of thing, and the combination theory opened the door to other, similar possibilities at other universities; McComas’s reasoning was simple and to the point, that university leaders had to figure out if they could “afford all the graduate programs we now have.”48 McComas’s remarks indicated that higher education might be headed for a leveling off, at least at State. Things were not as smooth as they sounded, • 228 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

however. At the June board meeting of the same year, Ole Miss and Southern both proposed schools of accountancy. This apparently reflected a national mood of moving accountancy toward separation from business schools in general. McComas was caught off guard, especially when the board went ahead and approved the proposals. Worried that double programs in the state might cause problems for State’s accountancy program, he requested that the board at least leave the door open for a similar move at MSU, where accounting training had been notable for many years. His protests brought results, for in January 1979 MSU also received approval for a School of Accountancy.49 McComas seemed determined to expand the outreach of academics and to add new programs. He became interested in management training as supported by the Exxon Education Foundation. He liked the possibility of a high voltage lab for engineering students, which would complement a $1.5 million research contract with the U.S. Department of Energy, and probably draw industry to the area. Early in 1979, the shortage in computer science professors was addressed. Everyone could see that by the end of the 1970s, computers would dominate all phases of American life, and trained graduates in that field would be in great demand. Also, a doctoral program in forestry started up in the fall of 1979. Forestry got a publicity boost when the northeast Mississippi experimental forest received attention at the naming of the area the John W. Starr Memorial Forest in honor of a deceased professor.50 McComas looked closely at cooperative programs with Ole Miss and junior colleges in north Mississippi. He and Ole Miss Chancellor Gerald Turner believed joint outreach could help higher education in general, especially in the capital city of Jackson, where the legislature might take notice. Both schools needed better salaries, libraries, and equipment. McComas agreed and supported the establishment of undergraduate engineering programs in Jackson. The possibility of offering various curricula in the capital city and elsewhere in the state brought many possibilities to his mind. His attitude often brought organizations to him, as in the case of Columbus Air Force Base leaders broaching the subject of abbreviated master’s degree programs. The Naval Air Station in Meridian got in on the act, with its officers asking about a public policy and administration program, and McComas was receptive. After all, if any problems arose, McComas could pick up the phone and contact Senator Stennis and Congressman Montgomery for help. • 229 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

Some academic programs could distinguish themselves with items they produced. Dairy science produced cheese, and McComas saw an opportunity to reach out by offering such commodities for sale. The cheese was good, and it is now a big business, and McComas knew that anything the university did to get attention would help with the legislature and other potential supporters. Somewhat less successful was a contract by the extension service with Nutricake, Inc., regarding production and domestic distribution of fortified cookies, the recipe of which had been developed by the food and fiber center of the extension service. The demise of this project apparently had something to do with internal convulsions in Iran, when the shah of Iran was overthrown, which led to Americans being held as hostages by Iranian radicals. Another food plan that did not take off was BAM, a beef product developed in animal science (beef for any meal— hence the name).51 McComas used every opportunity to take his concerns for the university to the people, relating to a Pontotoc audience how academic programs had and could benefit the state. He pointed out the importance of all universities to the state, but, of course, focused on his own. He noted that experimental research in agriculture at State could mean the difference between profit and loss to farmers. Academic changes now allowed for a master’s degree in agricultural engineering technology. He asked for support in budget matters, for budget cuts threatened the purchase of equipment and would make classes larger and less effective. Labs were worn out and needed updating, new computer equipment was a must, a new technology center was in the planning stages and desperately needed funding; Senator Stennis had already managed to get $5 million for the center, subject to congressional approval. This center would operate in cooperation with the state’s other two major universities and Jackson State; there would be links between higher education and private industry. Mississippi State was ready for such an enterprise, for it ranked in the top one hundred research universities in the nation, proof that higher education could help improve the state’s image. Public schools and higher education both desperately needed public pressure on the legislature for better funding.52 In Greenwood, McComas encouraged public school students to major in whatever they truly wanted career-wise. But he also warned they should not assume a college degree would automatically mean financial security. This was the kind of honesty students rarely heard and perhaps had • 230 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

trouble understanding, but they needed to hear it anyway. Whatever their interests, those who got jobs they loved would likely be much happier than those who only cared about money, and sometimes degrees opened doors for the former group. He also encouraged students to develop and practice diversity in their worldviews, for what they learned about other countries and cultures would increase their appreciation of their own country.53 As he lobbied among the people, his university became an active participant in a national study of research and doctoral programs. Continual program evaluation had to be endured. Conducted by the Conference Board of Associated Research Councils, under the auspices of the National Research Council, this massive study looked at twenty-six hundred programs in thirty-one academic fields, and involved ten thousand faculty who evaluated their respective areas. Such an effort required serious funding, which came from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, the Ford Foundation, the National Science Foundation, and the National Institutes of Health. McComas saw that being proactive in such a study would be beneficial in the long run.54 As John Bettersworth pointed out, the logical alternative to the almost constant competitiveness among the big three universities regarding academic programs was cooperation, and it seemed logical for MSU to work together with the nearby Mississippi University for Woman. McComas had a good relationship with James Strobel, president of the W, and in the fall of 1977, they got together to discuss possible areas of cooperation. Also Phi Beta Kappa faculty members at the W met with their counterparts at State for the annual meeting of the Northeast Mississippi Phi Beta Kappa Association, the two universities providing the majority of the membership of that group. This association fueled talk of cooperative programs between the two schools.55 McComas knew, too, that cooperation should go beyond working with the W. All the universities should plan together for the future of higher education in the state. Among his ideas was an increased emphasis on precollege offerings to high school students, something similar to the Summer Program for Academically Talented Students (SPATS) that extended beyond campus boundaries. Getting faculty involved with off-campus advisement would help recruiting for all the universities. But trying to get eight universities to cooperate exceeded McComas’s capabilities and is yet an elusive goal.56 • 231 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

But he did not give up easily. He felt that the administrators of universities in the state needed to update themselves before they came together to plan cooperation. In the summer of 1978, a report, “Proposal for Leadership Development of Administrators for the Eight State Universities in Mississippi,” was drawn up for funding from the Mississippi-based Hardin Foundation of Meridian. During this time, the legislature decided to do what previous legislators had wasted time doing, and that was to set up a series of studies of higher education to see what worked and what did not. The major issue, always, was duplication. Emmett Kohler, director of institutional research at State, represented MSU, and he and his peers determined that they would fight for factual information. McComas, despite his hopes, shrugged off the legislature’s efforts as a chance to see where the universities were and were to go. The legislature did as expected, dredging up an old plan that recommended revised allocations of major fields and degree programs in the universities, which included “birth control” over any new doctoral programs affecting expansion of graduate work at predominantly black universities. This made no one happy, and turned out, as most educators suspected it would, to be a royal waste of time in which nothing was accomplished.57 Off-campus programs also concerned McComas. He did not like the idea of treating these programs as if they were unrelated and separate from campus operations. He thought having faculty participate in off-campus programs made them more effective on campus, for they brought their experiences back with them. McComas foresaw making better use of television, videotape, and telephone lines to expand the reach of off-campus instruction to all of Mississippi. He understood, too, that MSU’s involvement in the Jackson center, as well as the campus branch at Meridian, needed more of his attention and more interaction with the main campus. He asked the directors of both to join the campus academic council. McComas also had to monitor the Vicksburg branch’s efforts to coordinate projects with Alcorn State University and Hinds Junior College. The university continued to work with the Vicksburg Waterways Experiment Station.58 While State and the W worked toward cooperative programs, conflict appeared on the horizon in the Jackson center, where State had a master’s degree program in public policy administration. Jackson State University wanted to expand its horizons, and State had offered to do a joint venture in • 232 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

this master’s program with that school. However, clouds loomed between the two schools and Ole Miss, which also had such a program. While all this was going on, there was an effort to set up the same program at the Naval Air Station in Meridian. Adding to the mix, the Meridian branch of MSU announced its intent to have an upper-level B.S. program in nursing at the Meridian campus. To come to grips with all this, Dean Coskrey and Vice President Wolverton went to an April 1978 meeting at which all other university administrators pledged no duplication of programs taught by Jackson State. And, as Jackson State expanded its curriculum, no competing programs would come from other schools at the Universities Center; if they were already there, they would be cancelled.59 Though potential conflict had to be monitored in Jackson, one area where there was no argument was architecture; State had begun in 1977 to offer the final year of its program at the Universities Center. The architects in Jackson would now have an opportunity to offer their experience and advice to students about to enter their profession. No controversy arose, because State had a firm grip on the field. The program would eventually offer master’s degrees in architecture, curriculum design in architecture, and small town design.60 State also set up a project with the Choctaw Indians at their reservation near Philadelphia. The College of Education was involved, along with East Central Junior College. MSU offered degree courses designed to recognize Choctaw language implications; federal money helped get this program going. The junior college commission approved, and East Central took the responsibility of offering lower-level instruction while the upper level would be given at the State campus.61 Extension, or course, remained active in outreach by the very nature of its structure; in 1974, the directorship came up with a “III by ’83” program for farming production income. Two years later a level of $2.5 million had already been reached. The Stoneville station flourished, and during the McComas years, the president showed his political awareness by asking the board to name a laboratory at Stoneville in honor of B. F. Smith, a retired officer of the Delta Council. Extension also reached out to counties in north Mississippi to get a grant from the federal bureau of outdoor recreation for putting together a park. Another project was dubbed “pocket watch,” its purpose being to help Mississippians use their money more wisely to raise their quality of living.62 • 233 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

While activities went forward on many fronts, funding remained the university’s major concern. McComas continued to look for opportunities to talk about budget problems. He unceasingly urged alumni and others to support increased taxes, favored by some few legislators, for funds were desperately needed to offset threats to essential services. In 1983, he pointed out that threatened cuts could cost thirty new faculty positions much needed due to enrollment increases. He talked, but McComas himself knew there seemed to be little hope. Voters might say they supported higher education and public education in general, but the words “higher taxes” seemed to blind them, and legislators understood that truism well. More people, certainly including MSU supporters, always seemed concerned about athletic teams, whose success certainly outweighed the number of volumes needed in the library. Basic educational programs needed to be improved just as much as the stadium needed more seats. McComas kept preaching the need to make sacrifices to improve quality, but he could never be sure enough were listening.63 McComas especially worried about the impact of budget restraints on personnel. He noted in the spring of 1985 that staff resignations had increased from thirty-six the year before to sixty-two, and three months remained in the fiscal year. The university had also lost seven of ten accounting clerks. Two of four heating and air conditioning specialists had left. McComas noted this was a natural result of asking people to work year after year for the same salary.64 He made sure that, on campus and off, everyone kept up with board agendas, and he periodically communicated his personal observations about the state of affairs. In 1977, for example, he said budget problems had the board asking many questions. Should universities be allowed further involvement in junior college programs? Which institutions should lead in various academic programs, and should all the universities offer doctoral degrees? Further, to what extent should each institution devote resources to organized research, and should research be limited to specified fields at institutions? Should the board try new professional schools in mortuary science and other usually unorthodox areas at the university level? Should some universities have a general curriculum, while others moved toward more specialization? Other board questions included what kind of off-campus offerings should be made and what kind of status they would have with the main campus and whether program reviews should • 234 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

be more stringent, especially at the graduate level. Of course, this tone by the board made every institution feel threatened and suspicious. McComas especially was miffed that the board seemed determined that State would not have a master’s program in speech communication, when the curriculum in that area was so strong.65 McComas, early in his tenure, and like other state university presidents, had to deal with negative attitudes expressed by some members of the legislature. Many complained that too many people attended universities, and there were too many unqualified students among that group. Furthermore, the budgets had too much fat, and professors did not have enough to do. Some opposed the private consulting activities of university employees, and said that faculty on nine-month contracts had too much annual leave compared to leave for other state employees. Other complaints included reports that faculty did not consult often enough with students, and graduate students should not be used to grade papers. While some legislators understood that faculty salaries were low compared to other states, they pointed out that support staff did not receive enough pay. Proposals to raise tuition to fix the problem were not uncommon. As usual, the board reacted by announcing a study of all doctoral programs; perhaps there were too many, or just too many in which there were too few students enrolled. Whatever the case, accountability would be expected in all academic programs. Specifically, as far as MSU was concerned, some representatives and senators said the university was too large, lacked a personal touch, and did not have enough housing. They saw increased recruitment as one solution, a need for more academic scholarships, and greater enrollment per department, given the current number of professors. In effect, many legislators refused to see themselves as villains in higher education’s funding problems.66 McComas administration solutions to defuse such attitudes included more analysis regarding the number of students recruited, making personal visits to superior students who had an interest in the university, commiting more scholarship money sooner, involving local alumni in recruiting, using current students to contact potential students, having recruiting programs in place in all the colleges on campus, publicizing the university more, having more outreach programs, holding faculty presentations in campus residence halls, and otherwise promoting more interaction with students. Perhaps the Reflector, the campus newspaper, should be periodically • 235 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

circulated throughout the state. McComas did not want to go too far in fighting back; he opposed television advertising per se, but he did want the public to know of MSU’s diversity and quality. These kinds of sound bites could be targeted at newscasts and special programs. Yet, the best way to fight a negative image held by critical legislators was to promote a positive one to the people of Mississippi, who had a right to expect a broad-based statewide university system that met the needs of the people. This should be done without State or any other state university trying to overemphasize their programs. Certainly all eight universities should not have doctoral programs, because some could not afford to build research opportunities essential to those programs. Duplication should be as limited as possible. This meant branch campuses also had to be carefully assessed and their needs met in cooperation with parent campuses. An example was State’s Mitchell Memorial Library providing a listing of holdings to the Meridian campus. What had become clear was that the university system must police itself in several areas before it could continually beg for more funding in a state with a low economic base.67 The tight budget times and outside criticism convinced McComas that he must make his vision of where the university stood, and where he wanted it to go, clear to his executive team, so they could help spread the word. In 1978, his second year and the centennial year, he told the Executive Council in part that he wanted a national space technology lab for graduate students, programs in gerontology, manpower, biomass, a national center for energy conservation, a local infirmary, and five-year departmental plans, including analyses of leadership, effectiveness, direction, and guidelines. He wanted half-hour accountability meetings with each council member to discuss their actions and expectations. Other concerns included traffic, cable television in dorms, parking, gender and racial mix of the student body, facility needs, keeping offices open during noon if the office had more than one secretary, Government Appreciation Day activities, policies governing student and nonstudent use of university facilities, more university people in the local chamber of commerce, a student check-cashing service, a multimedia promotion of the university, more alumni pressure on the legislature, repairing current buildings, campus program evaluations, library expansion (the 1970 addition already had proven inadequate), funding branch libraries in architecture and veterinary medicine, examining the necessity of other unofficial branch libraries around campus, lowering insurance premiums by build• 236 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

ing up associated funds, bookstore expansion, a new water well, computer enhancements, publicizing Miss America (MSU student Cheryl Prewitt), combating a potentially costly board plan for flagship designation among state universities, an FM radio station on campus, compliance with federal guidelines on energy, research needs, more academic planning, and a central planning committee’s recommendation for the university’s next five years. A special committee called the Committee for ’85 was to be set up to plan and prioritize activities and see them through. Anyone who thought a university president drew a big salary and did nothing need only take a look at McComas’s “to do” list. His team must have been somewhat intimidated, yet the boss asked no more of their time than he was willing to give of his own. He even became invested as a civilian aide to the secretary of the army, meaning he would interpret and relate army policies to Mississippians and advise the secretary concerning Mississippians’ opinions on army matters of interest.68 In early 1981, McComas presented another “to do” list, addressing some of the same issues but plenty of additional ones. They included accreditation, personnel, formula funding, grading and dropping of courses, offcampus and service programs, large research projects, graduate enrollment and programs, nonthesis options, recruitment, foreign languages (during the McComas era German and Spanish were consolidated into a bachelor’s degree program, and, later, bachelor’s degrees, both in science and the arts, were offered in foreign languages in general), interinstitutional relationships, affirmative action, the emphasis of positive developments (like the football team’s thrilling 6–3 victory over nationally ranked power Alabama in Jackson—still one of State’s most famous athletic moments), continuing good will efforts with faculty and students, and positive relationships with the legislature. In subsequent meetings, the McComas team talked about a one-policy liability program that should cover all personnel, a possible flu epidemic, establishment of an alcohol safety education program (the minutes of that meeting contained the note “There is ferment in the legislature”), and a policy on holding student academic records when fees had not been paid. Though beer distributors proved later to be a valuable source of revenue for the university, McComas wanted programs to warn students about the dangers of alcohol abuse.69 One issue anticipated future debates over tort reform. To keep legal matters under control, McComas stated that university employees who received • 237 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

letters from attorneys regarding any grievances, personal or against the university, should not respond, but turn the matters over to Vice President T. K. Martin. Martin would contact the board to get approval of legal counsel to represent the university. The administration also took a look at private corporations formed by university employees, making sure that the McComas administration had an extensive report on the corporation before it was formed, to avoid any sign of conflict of interest.70 As president, McComas, like past presidents, realized a balance had to be maintained between all his administrative problems, faculty and staff concerns, and the reason the university existed—students. These groups certainly needed each other, but the relationships often played out in troubled atmospheres. McComas knew that to understand their concerns, he needed to talk directly with students, and he did so as often as his schedule allowed. McComas was the first president to have to deal with a student president of the so-called “hippie” or “long-hair” generation, whose name was Sam Cox. McComas managed to maintain a good relationship with Cox, who liked to muddy the waters occasionally, but he was no match for Jim McComas, who made a much more positive impression on students because he emphasized them rather than himself. He even arranged a successful student leadership conference off campus at Lake Tiak-O’Khata in nearby Louisville. McComas further managed to defuse a seemingly stormy dorm visitation controversy by convincing all involved to accept a policy, beginning in 1977. It provided limited visits to students and guests in afternoons and evenings on Thursday through Sunday, and each group of dorm residents could vote regarding their dorm’s participation. A two-thirds vote would be required either way. The residents of two women’s dorms voted no, and the program started, and the visitation rate remained low through early 1978. Of course, variables came along, and upperclassmen had more freedoms and options; the office of residence life and the inter-residence hall council had to draw up guidelines. There were also systems of review and evaluation, and the administration had to keep up with developments at Ole Miss and Southern Mississippi to make sure there was some sort of equity with the other two large universities. So, while things were complex, McComas’s handling of the issue was admirable, and demonstrated his considerable diplomatic skills with students.71 Student life at the campus has undergone many changes through the years since the early A&M days and even since the student days of Roy Ruby. • 238 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

There are more women, more minorities, many more students in general, and in the 1970s a noticeable increase in day students, not only those staying in the ever-increasing number of apartments, but many driving long distances. This trend led to a pretty dead campus on weekends, except for home football game days or when there were concerts or other events that kept students around. Yet, the impact on student organizations was not negative; by 1979, there were some 271 of one kind or another, including social, professional, academic, honorary, military, and subject-based groups.72 Student housing became a major concern for McComas, who understood there would be ramifications of enrollment growth that could cause problems. For one thing, sororities asked about having their own houses built on campus, and though fraternity houses were already a part of the landscape, more fraternities wanted their own structures, too. After much discussion over several years and endless perusal of maps, administrators finally settled on property sites south of the Highway 12 entrance to the campus, where today several impressive sorority buildings stand. Other sites would be chosen in the future, as this issue at times seemed to dominate, or worry, depending upon one’s point of view, the internal discussions of the McComas administration. Student housing in general was also a concern as the university tried to plan for appropriate dormitory space, while at the same time the beginning of an apartment boom began all around Starkville. A place called Arbour Acres, built for graduate students on the south side of the campus, helped. The facilities were named for former students who had lost their lives in military service: W. H. Abele, H. G. Armstrong, Robert H. Bennett, Howard G. Brown, William J. Prichard, Charles R. Shannon, and Francis P. Smith. The student population increase also brought with it some vandalism problems, which ebbed and flowed, and, along with occasional drug arrests and burglaries, kept the campus police busy. Sometimes their duties were a bit more mundane, such as trying to control cursing and other detrimental behavior at athletic events.73 Student discipline, an issue since the days of Stephen Lee, had not been a serious problem for many years, even during the turbulence of the 1960s, and McComas felt determined that nothing should happen during his administration to change that. His administration worked to set up regulations that would thwart abuse of university property by students, to insure safety, and to protect important devices such as fire safety equipment, including extinguishers, alarm stations, smoke detectors, and the like. • 239 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

The administration had to worry enough about storm warnings, which involved shortwave national emergency alerts, emergency cooperative ventures with Starkville, steam whistles, and a chapel microphone, to spend time protecting such devices and policies from students in playful moods. Elevators were often checked to make sure they survived students who seemed to enjoy finding ways to make them malfunction. Strict policies against dropping any objects from the tops of buildings were enforced, and discharging on campus any kind of firearm or anything else that might propel dangerous projectiles could lead to interim and perhaps permanent suspension from the university, not to mention being reported to campus and Starkville police. The filing of criminal charges was definitely an option, and a publicized one at that.74 Student affairs inherited problems caused by drug abuse, and the leaders of that division depended both on law enforcement control and campus education programs to combat use of illegal drugs. University and federal laws would be strictly enforced, through a broad and comprehensive proactive program covering the entire scope of drug concerns, from alcohol through controlled substances. Monitoring would go on at several points to try to stop abuse and criminal activity. Sale or possession would result in arrests, and drug-related health problems would be reported. Any related psychological problems would be monitored through the university counseling center. All sorts of informational programs would be used to spread the word and warnings, such as classroom presentations, counseling, and publications.75 McComas also had concerns about the financial problems students had to face, for in many cases through his term, continuing into more recent years, the only way universities in Mississippi found needed additional funding was through tuition rate increases. He urged that the university be strong, for example, in its support of a middle-income student assistant act being debated in the U.S. Congress in 1978. Student-related issues were bound to come up on such occasions as “senior nights,” sponsored by university alumni in some of the state’s larger towns. To make sure smaller communities and rural areas were not ignored, McComas urged the extension service, with its many local contacts, to be active in spreading the news that the university was doing what it could to ease financial burdens of potential students. He believed that recruiting depended upon keeping a strong image as a people’s university, one that was willing to help students from all social strata attend MSU. • 240 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

At the same time, he had to deal with an issue that he knew could be explosive in a Bible Belt state, that of homosexuality, which had become a more open topic nationally. A Gay Alliance had formed on campus during previous years and had been refused space for material submitted to the campus newspaper, the Reflector, and the alliance had taken the matter to federal court. The U.S. Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit decided in favor of the newspaper editor; McComas, being a realist, figured that this could potentially hurt recruiting, but he also understood that it was an issue that would likely not go away quietly. His perception proved to be accurate, for reports soon came from New York City that the American Civil Liberties Union planned to appeal the case to the U.S. Supreme Court. The nation’s highest tribunal, however, refused to review the lower court’s findings, and McComas no doubt breathed a bit easier. In later years, the gay organization on campus would have its meeting times appear in the school paper, and enrollment does not appear to have been adversely affected, so it would seem McComas and others worried without cause.76 Another student issue was connected to federal law requirements, for it dealt with the assurance of family rights and privacy regarding student records. Known as the Buckley Amendment, this 1974 act required institutions of higher learning to establish guidelines set up in accordance with the amendment’s parameters. McComas found that nothing had been done at State about the issue, and he immediately ordered the executive council to get moving on it. Ignoring any federal requirements could affect federal funding, and for Mississippi institutions of higher learning, that could mean a cutoff of desperately needed money. So the guidelines were soon in place.77 Other student issues, some serious, some not, included requests to have the spotlight on the Chapel of Memories shine later in the evening, with student fees financing the cost. The failure of students to pay bills due in any area would be handled as an administrative procedure within departments, which would order a hold on student records. Bad checks, ever a problem with students not used to keeping up with their own financial situations, would also result in record holds. That meant students could not get copies of their transcripts, sometimes necessary for employment applications. The dean of students handled any other financial problems; these might include check forgeries, checks on nonexistent bank accounts, counterfeit identification cards or meal plan cards, and any unauthorized use or theft of university or private property.78 • 241 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

McComas worked to improve Starkville resident–student relations, which, though generally positive, did occasionally cause bickering by both sides. Discussions of a bicycle trail connecting the campus and town did not lead anywhere at first; in fact, not until 2005 were lines drawn marking a bicycle trail drawn on University Drive, the street that most directly connects downtown Starkville with the university. Perhaps it was thought by all concerned that outrageous gasoline prices would lead more students to bicycling, but there has been little evidence of that. Despite lack of much positive action during the McComas years, the dialogue helped clear the air on other issues and mend a few fences.79 One issue that would challenge the patience of future students and faculty, especially advisors, was online scheduling of classes, brought about by advancements in computer technology. By 1984, the program had begun, and seminars instructed students on how to deal with it. It was a process that needed much fine-tuning, but eventually became an accepted way of registration on and off campus. Registration was but one example of the computer revolution on campus, for as the university grew, so did the flow of data connected with every office. McComas decided that he wanted an office of institutional research to coordinate all the raw data in a timely fashion. The results gave the president and other administrators a much clearer picture of where the university was and where it was going in a number of areas.80 Meanwhile, the continual influx of foreign students had initially been welcomed and encouraged at the university, but the trend hit a snag with the Iranian crisis in the late seventies during President Jimmy Carter’s administration. The daily television images of Americans being held hostage by Iranian militants created much anger in the United States, and the university had to handle enrolling Iranian students with great care to avoid a public relations backlash. Compounding the situation were problems with these students’ ability to get money from their homeland, due to the disruptions going on there. The university worked to help them when possible; however, in May 1980, when it was discovered that Iranian students owed the university about thirteen thousand dollars, the McComas administration decreed that these students would not be allowed to register until they settled their accounts, and, beyond that, no more Iranian students would be permitted to enroll. Some exceptions were made, but Iranian students received encouragement to complete their degrees as soon as possible. • 242 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

As things began to settle down a bit, with the election of Ronald Reagan as president a few months later, the moratorium on admission was lifted. Despite the Iranian problems, McComas led the university successfully in outreach efforts with other countries, building upon the progress made by his predecessors. Examples included a cooperative program in seed technology with Thailand and a cooperative program exchange with National Chung Hsing University. History professor Janos Radvanyi, a Hungarian refugee and former Communist official who fled to freedom in the U.S., established the International and Strategic Studies Center in 1980, and he used his former diplomatic connections to bring students into contact with a variety of world leaders. The university set up a cooperative program with Kenya and also worked to improve contacts with Great Britain. K. R. Narayanan, an ambassador from India, spoke at the spring 1983 commencement (at which Carmen McLendon became the first woman faculty member to carry the mace). In fact, McComas, who had to know how difficult it would be, even with John Stennis in the U.S. Senate, worked to get Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher to deliver the commencement address in 1981. For whatever reason, the plan never got off the ground, and a close Stennis friend, Senator Mark Hatfield of Oregon, delivered the address.81 Health problems, especially potential epidemics, were always a concern for the administration. Growing enrollment made the issue potentially more likely and more dangerous. In one case, warning signs about a fungal disorder called histoplasmosis, spread by flocks of blackbirds which annually invade the state, were posted near areas around campus where the birds had been seen. At times worries over health were more mundane, though results could be serious. McComas was sometimes reluctant to cancel classes when rare snowstorms hit the campus, simply because he knew students would be outside risking injury, including broken legs and arms, by performing daredevil, and stupid, acts like sliding down hills backwards while sitting in chairs. The emerging issue of AIDS, certainly potentially much more dangerous, caused much discussion among administrators and campus doctors on what the university could do to fight this dreaded disease as it infiltrated the western hemisphere.82 Another health matter, which centered on ethics rather than sickness, arose about doctors who worked on campus but earned additional income from private practices. This led to a policy that allowed doctors to have private practices, subject to certain limitations, mainly focusing on reimbursing • 243 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

the university if the doctors used campus health facilities in their nonuniversity practices and to pay for any supplies they might use that had been purchased with university funds. Nonuniversity physicians were not especially pleased about this kind of “double-dipping,” despite the regulations, and they threatened to appeal the matter to the board, but apparently nothing came of the threat.83 Another campus issue proved to be the nature of race relations. Though the matter of racial integration had been mostly settled by violence, federal intervention, and legislation during the turbulent sixties, McComas learned that he would have to deal frequently with overtones of racial questions. The federal Equal Employment Opportunity Commission kept a close eye on the South, and public universities would be scrutinized. In McComas’s first year at MSU, a professor filed a complaint of racial discrimination leading to his dismissal from the university. The matter was settled quietly enough, but it sounded a warning that African Americans, though heavily outnumbered on the faculty and staff and among the student body, would not be quiet if they sensed bigotry. McComas made it clear that he thought the percentage of black faculty and staff at State was unacceptable, and he expected his administrators from the top level on down to do something positive about the problem. His understanding that something must be done proved to be accurate, for other black employees soon filed complaints with the EEOC, which convinced McComas that the university’s affirmative action plan and efforts must be revised and improved.84 McComas himself did not shrink from the issue. Rather than just orate, he set about establishing ten graduate doctoral-level assistantships for promising black students, while at the same time making plans to hire more African American faculty. He dreamed of having enough racial balance to inspire and impress both black and white doctoral students. He had a vision of sending white faculty from State on an exchange program with historically black universities in Mississippi. At times, he was frustrated. In the fall of 1977, he met with black students, and “much more heat than light was generated” at the gathering. Yet he moved on, and the university began celebrating Black History Week, and an important symbolic event occurred when the first black male student went through fraternity rush. Despite communications setbacks in the past, he remained determined to keep up a dialogue with black students. • 244 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

One idea included using Government Appreciation Day to provide information booths that addressed minority concerns; at the same time, McComus increased the size of the campus human relations committee. He wanted affirmative action to be more than a phrase, and he toyed with the idea of a staff position, filled by an African American, who would report to a vice president, keep up with federal programs, have a doctoral degree, teach, be experienced in higher education, and have oral and written communications skills. In effect he wanted a skilled person in an advisory position to help him make sure the university did positive things in the area of race relations. He closely tracked the percentages of black students enrolled, and how many were doctoral students. To raise the level of true involvement, at least in the public eye, he changed the title of director of minority affairs to assistant to the vice president. Such an administrative move underscored the sincerity of the McComas administration’s determination to do a better job with racial matters. He could point out in 1979 that State had the largest minority enrollment of fifty state land-grant universities in nearly as many states. He also complimented the job corps centers, which were of great help to minorities, for, as he noted, it was important to educate students well in the first place rather than reeducating them at later times. McComas also thought, foreseeing the coming influx of black athletes in college sports, that it would be good to have a black assistant football coach. He would no doubt have been pleased that the university one day would be the first in the SEC to hire a black head football coach. When affirmative action funds became scarce in the summer of 1979, McComas checked with the Mississippi Department of Education for funds to hire two African American professors in the field of agriculture. He looked at lapsed salary funds, salary money remaining when professors left the university before the end of the next fiscal year, to help fund positions for black professors. One of the two people he had in mind for the agricultural posts later declined the offer, but at least McComas was doing more than just talking the talk. He showed this when he granted a minority graduate assistantship to a black student to attend the University of Alabama under special circumstances. He tracked racial progress constantly and noted that, in one poll, among twenty institutions of higher learning, MSU was in tenth place in number of black faculty and third in number of students, figures that partly pleased him and partly made • 245 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

him determined to do better. Again, to highlight his devotion to the issue, he promised the political science department lapsed salary money for an African American professorial position when an opening occurred and subject to departmental needs.85 The number of black students noticeably increased during the McComas years, a trend that has continued, as MSU has maintained the largest percentage of African American students by far of any of the other historically white institutions. And the numbers keep growing. Several factors promoted this trend, including good race relations, well-grounded and wellrun black social clubs, and a black fraternity, Alpha Phi Alpha, chartered in 1975. The oldest black sorority, Delta Sigma Theta, was chartered on campus in 1976 and within two years there was a total of seven social clubs, four fraternities and three sororities. The growth of the African American student numbers did not always mean everything was fine; minor occurrences, such as a scuffle between a black batter and a white catcher in an intramural baseball game, proved that racial incidents could be blown out of proportion, as this one was. But McComas stepped in quickly, cooled things down, and offered counseling; even though the board looked into the matter, it died a quiet death. The black youth graduated and received an air force commission, and his grateful mother praised and thanked McComas for his delicate and effective handling of the matter.86 Another racial problem was not so easily solved, and this was a matter that was not the fault of the university or McComas, but a reflection of a nationwide issue. Attracting black faculty was not easy, and still is not, for competition is tough and aggressive, and a school in a poor southern state has trouble competing for quality African American faculty. Making these efforts doubly difficult were desegregation commitments, affirmative action plans, and court pressures to increase the numbers of black faculty. The 1977–1978 budget was set up to improve efforts to bring black faculty, as well as black graduate students, to State, but the result produced only three in each category. Yet, federal authorities seemed to understand that efforts were being made, for the Office of Civil Rights, after reviewing the situation, approved a $1.5 million engineering research grant for the university with the Department of Energy.87 Public relations, especially regarding racial matters, but in many other areas, too, remained an important part of the ongoing business of the university, and in 1978, a group consisting of university supporters in gen• 246 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

eral, including alumni, offered to fund an experiment in weekly half-hour television highlighting MSU, with time also offered to all state-supported universities. The organization was called Centennial Productions, Inc., in honor of State’s centennial, and even featured a puppet which had the voice of Senator John Stennis. The show went well, but demanded a little too much of everything for the producers to keep it going, and it was abandoned after only three shows.88 During the mid-seventies energy crisis, which paled in comparison with the one the United States is going through at this writing, the engineering college addressed the problem both in research and outreach. An energy research center, set up in 1973 as part of the engineering and industrial research station, conducted research in high-temperature burning of powdered coal and in the promising field of solar energy. A program for Mississippi grew out of these efforts, and in 1974, a conference that included other state institutions of higher learning was held on the main campus. Within three years, federal contracts exceeding $1 million had been signed with the university energy research center. In related developments, the board got involved and called for institutional representatives to meet in April 1977, the gathering being chaired by Don Mott, physical plant director at MSU. The board that same month recognized the establishment of the Mississippi Energy Research Center and the Mississippi Energy Extension Center at State. Thus both cooperative extension and engineering extension would be outreach arms of MSU.89 While all the academic and administrative wheels moved along, McComas unfortunately inherited the Bob Tyler regime in athletics, and with it some problems with the NCAA. Though there were some good times, alleged recruiting violations hovered over the university, involving especially a top African American football player, Larry Gillard. A chancery court stepped in and allowed Gillard to participate, but he could not go to bowl games for two years, nor play in games until the third one on the schedule in 1977–1978. That season was not a good one, though State did manage to squeeze by its archrival Ole Miss 18–14. Tyler probably saved his job with that win, but the Gillard situation refused to go away. A state supreme court judge in 1978 overturned the chancery decision, and thus all nineteen wins in which Gillard had played had to be declared losses. The team, artificial losses counting just as much as real ones, suddenly had a losing streak of twenty-seven games. • 247 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

In the fall of 1978, Tyler’s team beat two small Texas schools early, but in succeeding weeks Florida and Southern Mississippi beat the Bulldogs decisively; then the team did a spectacular turnaround by soundly defeating Florida State at homecoming, 55–27. The ups and downs continued with a loss to Alabama, a win over LSU, and a substantial loss to Ole Miss to end the year. The last of the losses was made all the worse because the Rebels had fielded a mediocre team that year. Naturally, Tyler bore the brunt of criticism, but he seemed safe in his job until December 1978, when three assistant coaches resigned, apparently not being on good terms with the head coach. McComas tried to smooth things over by removing Tyler from the athletic directorship and allowing him to remain as coach. Tyler had been accused, sometimes openly, of ignoring other sports, but he did not like the idea, or perhaps humiliation as he saw it, of being told he had to step down as AD. So he resigned, with the university agreeing to buy up the remainder of his contract, aided by unnamed alumni. It proved to be a bad end to a tempestuous relationship. Despite his uneven record, Tyler had brought respectability to a program that had been down for a long time.90 So the search began immediately for a new coach and a new athletic director. Carl Maddox, athletic director emeritus at LSU, filled the latter position, and a former head coach at Texas A&M, Emory Bellard, was hired by Maddox as head coach. This was all done hurriedly, ostensibly to undo any damage that may have been done to recruiting by Tyler’s departure. The situation had an ironic twist, for many MSU employees had gone to Texas to better paying jobs, and now a Texan was coming to campus to take over the football program. Whatever the circumstances, Tyler had left Bellard enough of a team to upset Alabama, and a trip to the Sun Bowl came in December of 1980 (a loss to Nebraska); the university used the opportunity to show a promotional film that was viewed nationwide. The next year Bellard had another good team, winning the Hall of Fame bowl against Kansas. After that, his teams went downhill.91 While competitive results varied in sports, McComas had concerns about athletes who used the university as a way station to professional athletics and did not show any interest in pursuing degrees. Some did just enough class work to maintain their academic eligibility. This was undoubtedly a national trend, but Jim McComas did not like it, and he determined to pressure the athletic department to make changes. When he became presi• 248 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

dent of the SEC in 1984, he made it clear that one of his areas of emphasis would be on the “student” part of the term “student athlete.”92 Beyond having to deal with persistent coaching controversies, McComas knew that, despite the main business of a university being teaching, research, and service, attention must be paid to athletics. Alumni must be kept happy, willing to donate money, and student morale should be up, and that meant winning teams must be fielded, especially in football. So a part of the McComas program was not only to win, but to make the university’s small stadium more attractive by adding seats to Scott Field, which held only thirty-five thousand people, a low number for an SEC school. To attract recruits, new practice football fields were added. McComas also determined, despite the expense, to keep the postgame playback programs on television, hosted by legendary university football announcer Jack Cristal, who remains at this writing at the microphone and is still hosting the playback programs. Cristal has been the only positive constant in the school’s football history.93 In men’s basketball, there had also been controversy. In 1977, Ron Greene put together a winning season, though a final loss during the regular season to Kentucky kept the team from going to the NCAA tournament. Still, Greene was voted SEC coach of the year. And then he left, to be succeeded by James M. Hatfield, a former assistant at Kentucky. The situation made recruiting difficult, and when it was learned that Green and Hatfield had, unintentionally one assumes, visited a prospect too many times, due to the changeover, the player, though coming to State, had to sit out the 1978–1979 season. There was also a rumor that Greene had film from the Babe McCarthy years destroyed. True or not, the film has never been found, so whoever was responsible did a great disservice to university history. Perhaps some of McCarthy’s players kept film that will someday be donated to the University Archives. If football and basketball were somewhat chaotic, baseball was not, for Ron Polk, who came to the campus in 1977, proved to be a gem. Like his predecessor, Paul Gregory, Polk was a workaholic, and still is, and he began right away fielding impressive teams, as mentioned, and recruiting star athletes. Though in recent years, he briefly left for a short stint at the University of Georgia, he has returned, and he will certainly be in the college coaches hall of fame someday, for he not only wins many games but also runs a tight program. His athletes attend class and most of them graduate; it was that • 249 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

way in the beginning and has been so ever since. During the McComas era, his teams won the SEC tournament in 1979 and 1985 and went to the College World Series in 1979, 1981, and 1985. His leadership ultimately led to board approval for naming the baseball facility Polk-DeMent Stadium in 1984. The university under McComas made considerable progress in improving the status of women’s sports, and he made efforts in other so-called minor sports. In addition to basketball, teams were fielded in volleyball and tennis. New tennis facilities were named in honor of A. J. Pitts. The volleyball team in 1977–1978, fresh from being in the southern regional tournament for two consecutive years, had a 27–11 record. In tennis, one team had a 9–6 record and finished third in the state intercollegiate competition. By 1979, women’s sports in general had come a long way, but, due to federal expectations, there were concerns. The Title IX legislation had been written to guarantee equality for women’s athletics, and that meant more funding, which strained the athletic department budget. It would be up to McComas, and those who followed, to deal with this ongoing problem. One thing was for sure, women’s athletics were on campus to stay, and the university’s athletic budget would have to be dealt with accordingly. Women’s athletic director Libba Birmingham saw three major problems: the lack of transfer rules, television contracts not being equal to contracts for other sports, and de-emphasis on recruiting. As for other minor sports, a track was planned for the north side of the baseball field.94 While athletics went through turmoil and changes in the seventies, one consistent aspect of university life that often appeared at athletic events, especially football, and to a lesser extent, basketball, was MSU’s Famous Maroon Band. The band’s history dated back to the early A&M days, for it was expected to add some flair to the military overtones of the college as men cadets went through their drills. During the lean years of football, and there had been many of those, the band’s performance before and during the halftime of the game, and sometimes after the game was over, was the only highlight Bulldog fans had to cheer. It was not unusual to hear State fans talking about winning the halftime show, especially when the football team had been beaten badly. One man shaped the fortunes of the band in its early twentieth century years—Henry E. Wamsley. A small man in stature, he was a giant in putting together a band program that made students and alumni proud. He had been a member of the U.S. Navy Band, and in World War I, he had been • 250 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

assistant band director in the army. He came to the campus in 1922 and was still around in the seventies. He also was postmaster on campus, but band directing was his love, and he stayed at it until he retired in 1951. In 1976, he and his 1926 band, known as the Famous Forty, received recognition at a home football game. When McComas found out that Wamsley had never gained emeritus status, he changed that quickly, giving the old baton waver the title Director Emeritus of the Maroon Band. There were others who kept the Wamsley tradition going: Tom West, Peyton Crowder, Kent Sills, Richard Prenshaw, and, currently, Elva Kaye Lance (the first woman director), talented musicians and leaders all. Unfortunately for the band program, it has never been rewarded with a first-class band hall. The band inherited an old building northeast of Bowen Hall, and its primary asset was that it was big enough to hold a lot of band members. And there it has remained, up to the time of this writing, a scandalous facility. But earth movers are molding the foundation for a new band hall at last, south of the health center. At last, at last!95 Building progress was made during the McComas era, and in fact a new band hall was in the original design of the creative arts complex, but funding ran short. Plans for new buildings to house the campus post office and the telecommunications department were discussed but dropped. The cost of building anything became so prohibitive that McComas, like his successors, had to turn his concerns to keeping the current buildings livable and safe, and tone down new projects. Successes included transforming an agricultural building from the 1920s into an admirable structure for the School of Architecture. The Epsilon Epsilon chapter of Alpha Tau Omega fraternity had a new building constructed. Montgomery Hall received interior renovations yet again, this time for space for the landscape architecture and guidance (later counselor) education departments. Because it had been named to the National Register of Historic Places, Montgomery had to be handled with care, so as not to impair its architectural integrity, the building having been designed by Reuben H. Hunt. The exterior of the building has thus remained mostly intact. The ancient cafeteria, still an impressive building, had a grill, bakery, and fountain added to the north end of the structure on a level even with the main street through campus. Montgomery, Lee Hall, and possibly the YMCA buildings became targeted by McComas for handicapped accessibility under a federal act that provided funding for such projects.96 • 251 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

Bowen Hall, which has just gotten a major overhaul as of this writing, underwent renovation so that the Stennis Chair and Institute of Government would have facilities. Both Bowen and Lee Hall, the old administration building, had been placed on a high priority list to be shored up, especially the classrooms. Lee, too, had been a project designed by Reuben H. Hunt, along with C. E. Ard. Lee also needed auditorium work, classroom improvements, a new roof, and air conditioning; renovation work is still going on.97 Agricultural structures received special attention. The extension service moved into a new building in 1977, and a plant science research facility was named the A. B. McKay Food and Enology Laboratory. In time, a bachelor’s degree in viticulture and enology would be offered. Plans for a new poultry research center also received approval in 1976, and in 1977, the first unit of the veterinary medicine animal research center was completed and named for the past director of the agricultural experiment station, Henry Leveck. A research center for wood products was approved in 1978, so it could be moved out of the Robert T. Clapp Forest Products Utilization Laboratory; Clapp was the first dean of the School of Forest Resources.98 The animal husbandry building, sitting on a hill overlooking “malfunction junction,” had been called State’s first coliseum, for it was the only place where large programs could be held, even though it had a dirt floor. Popular entertainers like the Lettermen and Johnny Cash sang there, and there were others who endured. In 1978, it was named for Paul F. Newell, former head of extension, and Ed Grissom, also of extension. And the abattoir building, converted into an animal science lab, was named for Poston S. Bedenbaugh. The board also in June 1978 approved an education center as phase II of the veterinary medicine complex. The McCain Engineering Building, having had a third floor added since its original construction, needed repairs.99 In the area of new construction, McComas did not have enough funding to do much, so his priority list was important. Unlike past presidents, he decided that fine arts needed to be emphasized if State was ever going to be a real university. More than that, statistics proved that MSU was instructing the largest number of credit hours in the communications arts in the state, including drama. In 1975–1976, State was second only to Southern, which had had a considerable head start, in credit hours taught in music. In communications arts since 1969–1970, there had been an 88 percent • 252 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

increase at State. John Bettersworth summed up McComas’s reactions to available facilities well when he wrote that “he [McComas] was appalled at the magnitude of the effort and the paucity of the facilities.” The arts had been in the old campus railroad station (later remodeled and now the home of the John C. Stennis Institute of Government), an entomology lab that had been abandoned, the old health center (George Hall), part of the YMCA building, and an old World War II barracks. Dramas had to be performed in the Lee Hall auditorium, which had a shallow stage and dressing rooms hardly worth the name. The only other site was the ballroom in the union building where stages and props had to be brought in and where acoustics were hardly sufficient. The advantages of the union (named in 1985 in honor of former president Dean Colvard) were that it was sufficiently air-conditioned and had a food court close by. McComas saw all this and launched a campaign in the centennial year for building a creative arts complex. Mike Sturdivant, an alumnus and wellknown state politician, chaired the drive, and all friends of State, whether alums or not, were contacted. McComas called the campaign “A new century, a new dimension,” but a more effective slogan from the president was, “The sciences make life possible; the arts make life worthwhile.” Charlie Whittington of the Development Foundation made a large pledge, and a telethon by the Starkville First Methodist Church on local cable television helped bring together pledges and gifts of around $113,000. Faculty were also generous, with C. T. Carley, head of mechanical engineering (and later head of nuclear and mechanical engineering when the departments merged), chairing a campus campaign. The effort quickly spread statewide. McComas personally contacted alumni and other potential donors and by April of 1978, some $352,000 had been raised, in cash and pledges, enough to convince additional potential donors that this was a serious effort. Perhaps the superwealthy, looking for tax write-offs, might now be interested in becoming a part of the effort. Though the complex never became all that McComas envisioned, due to cost cutting, it does bear his name, and it is a heavily used building.100 Additional needs included an agricultural mechanics lab in extension education, as well as air-conditioning in the coliseum, where both heating and cooling were problems. Planning had to take into account power bills, which must be controlled due to tight budgets. The long-anticipated College of Veterinary Medicine finally came to the verge of reality with the • 253 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

laying of the cornerstone in the spring of 1978, with longtime Mississippi congressman Jamie Whitten the special guest speaker. The veterinary medicine facility cost much more than the physical structure itself, for it required many dollars to equip it properly. Other problems included finding a home for the vocational education department and improving the campus entrance from Highway 82. More minor issues included a logo for MAFES and vague discussions for a pedestrian mall on campus, which led to nothing, after it was discovered that to do what was wanted would cost nearly $180,000, and it seemed certain the legislature would not cooperate. With all the renovation and construction going on, it became apparent that, in spite of worries about energy costs, more security lights would be needed on campus.101 The alumni building, with its location near the east side of the football stadium, became a favorite place for all sorts of functions during the McComas era. At the time, the top floor became the home for the university relations department, while the campus office of the alumni association occupied the bottom floor. Several rooms were equipped for overnight stays by special guests, including important alumni.102 Another critical need was more expansion to the university library, which had been noticeably ignored through the years. Though a large annex had been added in 1970, the place was still bursting at the seams. Library parking was available; there was a small lot south of the building, and the south end of the old military parade ground could be used for parallel parking. Any space used in the front of the library for expansion would affect McCool Hall, the impressive business building, and expanding north would visually affect the union, Lee Hall, McCain, and Carpenter. Wherever an addition to the library might go, it seemed part of it might be dubbed the John C. Stennis Library, in recognition of his papers, the largest collection of manuscripts in the library. As things turned out, talk was all that happened, and it would be many more years before a library addition would provide any relief to the overstuffed building of the seventies. As the 1980s began, the board mandated that each university should spend 1.2 percent of its budget on purchases of library volumes, which complicated space problems.103 McComas also looked beyond campus limits during his reign, and the university sold land to the Industrial Foundation of the Starkville Area of Commerce to provide funds for development of a research park. This park • 254 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

is north of Highway 82, adjacent to the campus, and has been a valuable asset to the development of the university. The Engineering Research Center and the Stennis Center for Public Service are but two of the operations that occupy the park’s facilities.104 In the spring of 1985, James McComas, worn by years of budget battles and with little promise of an economic bonanza anywhere on the Mississippi horizon, decided he had done all he could do in his present position, and he left Mississippi State University, his resignation officially accepted on July 5, 1985, to become president of the University of Toledo. In the past, he had withdrawn his name from consideration at such universities as Ohio State, Arizona, and Missouri. He obviously had now decided it was time to move on, even though many of the projects and programs he had envisioned and inaugurated would be left unfinished. On May 15, 1985, the board named Harvey Lewis interim president; Lewis was an alumnus who had obtained a doctoral degree in business from the University of Arkansas in 1966. Before returning to his alma mater, he had been employed at Ole Miss for about a decade.105 Reaction to McComas’s departure was general regret. Most agreed that he had provided quality leadership, and he had been a friend to students and faculty alike. Faculty supported a resolution of appreciation to present to the departing president. Columnist and alumnus Wayne Weidie wrote a plainspoken analysis of why he thought McComas had decided to go. For one thing, Weidie concluded that McComas had little hope that the board and legislature would do anything about closing or consolidating any of the state universities, which McComas felt necessary to the proper funding of higher education. If he felt that way, he was right, of course, for there is no sign that a Mississippi legislature or board of trustees will ever have the political courage to close or consolidate regarding higher education. Talk of closing or merging MUW with MSU had been floating around for a while, and a report in early 1985 indicated that up to $3.7 million could be saved if a merger took place. If the W went private, Mississippi would save $5 million. Despite the report, the W had powerful alumnae support to keep the university open, so McComas knew nothing would happen. While McComas received criticism for not leading efforts to raise as much outside money as rivals Ole Miss and Southern, this was a matter of perspective. He had won the battle to get the College of Veterinary Medicine built, and that accomplishment had required a massive mobilization of • 255 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

alumni and friends of the university. Yet some had criticized the college as unnecessary and too expensive. Others pointed to the pathetic condition of State’s athletic department, which was due to a chronic lack of winning teams, and Weidie was critical of McComas’s submission to the influence of the alumni in sports, especially those who liked to pick favorites rather than the best candidates for coaching positions. Yet it could as easily be said that perhaps McComas thought academics more important than athletics, and therefore he did not base his presidency on how many victories the various teams compiled each year.106 Others were more generous in assessing McComas’s contributions. A Memphis paper applauded his attempts to improve classroom performance by athletes, and noted the building of a recital hall for the music department. A Jackson paper called him an “outstanding educator, equal to the job’s demands.” Another Mississippi editor commented on the addition of the veterinary medicine school, the annex to the School of Architecture, the creative arts complex (finally opened in 1984 and dedicated as McComas Hall), the all-weather track, Humphrey Coliseum, and expansion of the football stadium. The Starkville paper mentioned his hard fights for salary increases and his once turning down a personal increase when faculty and staff received nothing. The Tupelo editor commented on his favorable decision to end the isolation of student athletes from the rest of the student body.107 The editor of the Jackson Clarion-Ledger wrote of McComas’s dual and generally successful goals of bringing the world to Starkville and taking the town and the university to the world. One of McComas’s main desires was to improve the negative image of Mississippi wrought by racism. During the Iranian crisis, some Mississippi officials wanted to block the admission of foreign students from state universities, and the State campus newspaper wanted to send all Iranian students back to Iran. McComas refused and risked his popularity, but he knew that higher education could not be contained within a vacuum. He once made it clear, too, that the university would hire foreign-born professors when they were the best qualified of candidates; there would be no discrimination on the basis of “nationality, race, or religion.” If refusing to blackball foreign students due to situations beyond their control was a high point, the Bob Tyler incident was one of the lows, but McComas survived it. Perhaps the departing president was most proud • 256 •

m c comas: seeking a balance, 1976–1985

of his relationship with the faculty, for somehow he kept morale up and things moving despite the constant budget woes and few raises. His successes in raising private donations had been creative, for improvements in both the football and baseball stadiums had been made without use of public funds. His proudest achievement was likely the creative arts complex, but he had much pride across the board about what had been accomplished during his tenure. As he prepared to leave, he sent a letter to the campus that expressed his feelings: “The university has stayed close as a family though the years and has had to make the most of its opportunities and generate most of its own resources. Perhaps these are the same reasons though that have caused us to be more successful than those universities who have received more and have done less.” Whether he had achieved taking the university to the level of the extraordinary would always be in the eye of the beholder, but he had been a good, progressive president. Jim McComas died of cancer in February 1994, shortly after resigning as president of Virginia Tech University.108 University business continued, of course, during the brief stint of Harvey Lewis. The lake east of Shira Field House was named in honor of a former coach, W. D. Chadwick. The ROTC building was named for Troy Middleton, and the board approved the transfer of the viticulture and enology curriculum from the horticulture department to the food science and human nutrition department. Meanwhile, Lewis, like his predecessor, called for improvements in Mississippi’s economy, noting that the state seemed to be going nowhere. He pointed out that people doing well needed to be much more concerned about those living in poverty, and that improvements in quality of education would be a good way to start. He emphasized the computer age, technology (especially biotechnology), robotics, and outreach. In effect, Lewis echoed McComas’s concerns, which is about all an interim president can do. His brief time in office ended officially in August, when, on the tenth, the search committee recommended unanimously to the board that Donald Zacharias be named the university’s next president.109

• 257 •

10 Zacharias: The Starship Years, 1985–1997

D

onald Wayne Zacharias was forty-nine years old when he came to Mississippi State as the institution’s fifteenth president in 1985. The Indiana native brought with him a love of the outdoors, especially camping and fishing. He cherished his wife, Tommye, a native Georgian who came from an air force family, and their three children, Alan, a junior at Vanderbilt, Eric, a freshman at Indiana University, and daughter Leslie, a high school freshman. Tommye had been an English literature major and had taught in the Indiana public school system, and Donald, a communications theorist, which one Mississippi newspaper thought to be his “greatest gift,” said without hesitation that she was his biggest and best supporter. The Zachariases were and are Episcopalians, and a local paper said the new president had values which combined “to shape and to guide” his path to Starkville from Bowling Green, Kentucky, and Western Kentucky University. Don Zacharias also was a talented photographer, and he loved the theater and music. He had taught himself to play the organ, but he made clear that he played for himself, and perhaps his family; he did not give concerts. His successes in the field of higher education he attributed to a strong educational background and a small-town upbringing in Indiana, where education was valued. Zacharias let it be known that he looked forward to working with the administrators already in place at MSU to meet the challenges of technological advances that constantly affected higher education. • 258 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

As he put it, “One of the university’s major roles should be to impart information and try to help society solve its problems. Historically, there has been a concentration of development in certain parts of the country, such as the upper East and Midwest, while that type of economic development has been more minimal in other places, the South in particular.” So Zacharias understood some of the problems he would face in a state where economic growth was at best sporadic, but he also knew the South possessed a success story like the city of Atlanta, and he believed that if Mississippi provided an environment for growth, the economy that had struggled for so long could advance. Further, he believed MSU could be a catalyst for transforming the state into something much better than it was. The man came with an attitude of hope and determination, and he would maintain both through his years at the university.1 Zacharias’s ready smile and communications skills caused many to predict for him a successful tenure at State. One journalist commented that the new man showed self-confidence, vision, and a healthy ambition for carrying the university to new heights. A Vicksburg newspaper reported that Zacharias’s “experience and communications skills” led the board to choose him for the presidency. Their choice had been unanimous, and they liked what they heard when Zacharias promised he would seek input from alumni, faculty, and students before making decisions, for these groups could help him build a strong foundation.2 The new president came at an unsettling time, both in the history of his new university and in higher education generally. He was inaugurated on May 16, 1986, at his first spring graduation ceremonies, and by then he had already won admiration from alumni for the way he had addressed head-on the one forever problem he inherited from James McComas and other predecessors—funding. He talked about ways to save money, while underscoring his success in saving the College of Veterinary Medicine from threatened closure by the state legislature. He knew MAFES and the extension service as well would be hard hit by budget cuts. He saw the big picture clearly, that higher education, not legally protected from cuts as were many other state agencies, would always be the legislature’s first target, despite their campaign promises of support.3 Zacharias built an effective team of executives with holdovers Rodney Foil, vice president for agriculture, forestry and veterinary medicine, and Ralph Powe, vice president for research, giving continuity from the • 259 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

McComas years. Powe set up a Research Operations Task Force within each academic college, and, under this expansive plan, external funding would continually set new records during the Zacharias years. Other carryovers who had deep roots and brought much stability were Roy Ruby, vice president for student affairs, and George Verrall, vice president for business affairs. John Darling, provost and vice president for academic affairs, and Billy Ward, vice president for administration, brought new blood to the university, and both had an impact on the policies and prospects of the administration. Darling eventually left to become chancellor at Louisiana State University–Shreveport, and he was replaced by Willie McDaniel.4 Zacharias put in long hours that first fiscal year (1985–1986), and he could look back on those months with some feeling of accomplishment despite the ever-present shadows of budget cuts. He stated with a sense of pride that he could see State making more direct contributions to Mississippi’s economy and having the potential of doing much more than most people realized. Just by its normal activities, the university enhanced various segments of the state’s business activities. MSU brought in grants, some very substantial; in fact, more than $10.8 million had been received during that first year, more than four times the previous year. But there were some troubling problems; more faculty had retired and some good people had moved on to better-paying jobs at other universities. This trend forced the hiring of part-time faculty, and some positions, due to budget restraints, had been left vacant. The university seemed to be depending more on foreign-born faculty, which sometimes resulted in communications problems with students. Certainly funding was nowhere near sufficient, with salaries too low, not enough money to replace worn-out or outdated equipment, the library woefully underfunded, and buildings like the creative arts complex not completed. Declining prices in oil and farm products contributed to the weak state budget, for tax revenues lagged behind projections, a common problem in Mississippi’s budgeting process. Zacharias’s main theme throughout his years in the presidency was that the legislature, and the people of Mississippi, must look upon higher education funding as an investment in the future, not an expenditure for the present. As during the McComas era, some departments had to retrench and combine their efforts, though a change in funding formulas eventually helped MSU. Zacharias planned to fight for state dollars, and he especially was determined and successful in seeing to it that the veterinary medi• 260 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

cine school survived, despite intense pressure to eliminate it. All in all, Zacharias remained positive because that was his nature, though his budget struggles would be long and difficult, as they were with other institutions of higher learning in Mississippi.5 The new president did not shrink from the financial bleakness that pervaded Mississippi. He discussed with his vice presidents, the Executive Council, various strategies, cuts, and needs, and he made it clear that adjustments to cuts would be the responsibilities of the vice presidents. He and the council also arranged a meeting with the staff of Governor Bill Allain and the Research and Development Center to discuss budgets and the state’s tax structure. At State, enrollment was increasing, as was, according to test scores, the quality of new students, and the university had the largest on-campus enrollment among the eight in the state. There had been impressive monetary contributions from alumni, and MSU had a large number of nationally recognized faculty. Advances in research had produced significant research grants in the millions of dollars. The division of agriculture alone had brought in $29.2 million in federal appropriations, plus $3.5 million for a warm-water aquaculture program. With tongue in cheek, Zacharias announced, “Perhaps we should change our name to Bulldog Motors Incorporated and see if we could generate more enthusiasm for money we bring the state.” Little wonder he thought the university ought to have a personal representative in Washington to keep up with federal programs. Budget cuts were the norm, and they negatively affected purchases of library books, forced reductions in services, energy conservation (ideas such as consolidating night classes in fewer buildings and having timers to cut off unused lighting were discussed), purchase of maintenance equipment, capacities of off-campus branches, especially in the agricultural divisions, and some freezing of funds. So what could be done? Zacharias confessed that there wasn’t much more than what was already being done—providing leadership, making people more important than things, doing strategic planning, reallocating, reprioritizing, and limiting the institution’s scope. “In many ways,” he said ominously, “we are economic prisoners of war held hostage by unfriendly times and unstable funding.” But he stayed hopeful, and his people worked hard to plan their own routes of escape.6 • 261 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

In a 1986 paper entitled “Searching for a New Future at MSU,” the president continued elaborating on financial circumstances for which he blamed the legislature. He stated frankly that higher education had become the scapegoat of Mississippi economic woes, and the old legislative habit of gutting university budgets had to stop. The so-called E&G (education and general) fund at State, MAFES, the extension service, and the veterinary medicine college were suffering huge hits. “We are already dying a slow death with no signal that our suffering will soon end,” he wrote. Could the board, legislature, and governor not see this? He wanted an opportunity to analyze and plan for the future, but how could he with such a bleak outlook? The beleaguered president addressed the continual threat of closing the veterinary medicine college. The college went hand in hand with the university’s mission and justified higher taxes, for losing it would cost Mississippi a resource that helped catfish, poultry, and other agricultural and industrial industries. Livestock and aquaculture industries needed a major research unit, not to mention small towns needing veterinarians. Eighty-five percent of the veterinary students came from Mississippi, and most would stay in the state. How could the university carry out its people’s university mission if its resources were depleted? State should be offering high school graduates a sound place to earn professional, technical, and liberal arts degrees. The branch campuses at Meridian, Jackson, and Vicksburg were all important in helping with the university’s commitment to outreach. Of course, on-campus research helped the state, too. Food researchers worked with a local area industry to produce a cholesterol-free, low-fat hot dog. These kinds of things were why the university was an investment, not an expense. Therefore, Zacharias looked to faculty, staff, students, alumni, and friends of MSU to continue nonstop campaigning for adequate funding. The university could produce accountability any time for the critics and doubters, but the legislature must understand that tax increases, rather than continual budget cuts, had to become part of the funding scenario. State, given all factors, was being funded at the second-lowest level of any of the institutions of higher learning and still maintained efficiency, though not enough people noticed. The state’s largest newspaper, the Jackson Clarion-Ledger, agreed and urged the legislature to stop playing politics with the veterinary medicine • 262 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

and other professional schools at the state universities. Zacharias agreed; using computer models to examine the state’s economic picture meant little since the computer could not make allowances for political nuances that plagued fund allocations. Zacharias made clear that he and his university had no interest in seeing cuts elsewhere to satisfy MSU cuts. He said plainly that MSU wanted no facilities on the MUW campus. Cooperative programs such as those with MUW, Jackson State, Ole Miss, and Southern were mutually beneficial. He continued to explore such programs with the W and came up with projects in pre-nursing and preengineering. The two universities also joined the corps of engineers in 1988 in developing the Plymouth Bluff Nature and Culture Study Center near Columbus. MUW president Clyda Rent noted, and Zacharias agreed, that her school fed students into certain doctoral programs at MSU.7 Zacharias at one point sent a “personal message” to everyone who toiled for the university. He admitted that the budget outlook was bleak, primarily because budget projections by so-called experts had been too high, a problem that continually causes upheaval in the state. Low revenue collections, national fiscal problems, a drop in oil prices, the loss of federal grants, and general opposition at all levels to tax increases had reduced options. Even if the state legislature considered increasing revenue, declines in funding would not be offset. The state simply could not adequately fund eight universities. George Verrall, the vice president for business affairs, collected and analyzed financial data, and Zacharias and other administrators met monthly in Jackson with the alumni association board of directors. He wanted help, both from alumni and the Development Foundation (now called The Foundation), the latter of which would begin processing all gifts and grants (except those related to athletics), and identify possible corporate grants. If the university’s goals of quality teaching, research, and service continued, something had to be done, and the president welcomed suggestions. Complaining loudly solved nothing. If faculty and staff did not continue to do such an outstanding job with the resources at hand, things could be worse. Grants became a prominent part of the Zacharias years and helped the university through budget woes. In the summer of 1986, the university won a $2.5 million computer research contract. Asked if this meant Mississippi might be in a position to become another Silicon Valley, • 263 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

Zacharias humorously responded that with one more earthquake in California, MSU might be able to attract a lot of scientists. A year later another more substantial grant, $11.9 million, made possible a computer research center. An Exxon grant helped programs in archaeology at Cobb Institute and in forestry at Dorman Hall. Forestry research became so complex that Vice President Rodney Foil suggested that a new entity, called the Forestry and Wildlife Research Center, be set up to consolidate and streamline research in MAFES and the forest products lab. The Forest Products Utilization Laboratory, as it is officially known, had the distinction during the Zacharias era to register the first university patent, a result of lab research. Also a furniture research unit, built after Zacharias left office, gained approval and was located near the forest products lab.8 The fiscal year 1995–1996 saw the university secure grants and contracts totaling just over $61 million. The Campaign for Mississippi State during the same period reached a $102 million total.9 Zacharias noted an article written for the Association for Communication Administration that higher education was shifting to a new style of management which advised how to avoid decline and bankruptcy. No academic department was immune from this threat, for competition for resources would be severe. Solutions ranged from state tax and tuition increases to expansion of a state’s economy to reallocation of funds, but, in the end, each department would have to justify its existence, especially as it related to the mission of the institution where it was located. Clearly, this was what Zacharias expected from all departments.10 He spoke at every opportunity to express both confidence and concern about the future. He told the Starkville Exchange Club that the legislature was going to have to make some funding decisions reflecting their attitude toward higher education. Then the board and various universities would have to take funds and do the best they could. He did not feel that continually increasing tuition was the answer, but sufficient funding must be found. The campus library needed 881,000 books just to be adequate as a research library, at a cost of $51 million, and Ole Miss and Southern were only slightly better off. He remained determined not to cut positions or salaries. He promised that those promoted would receive raises, and that sabbaticals would continue. He thanked the faculty for major increases in • 264 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

research funding, and he praised alumni and friends for increasing their giving by 67 percent. Meanwhile, on campus, such things as increasing library overdue fines, fees for special reserved parking, housing, health center, athletics, computer use, student activities, admission applications, library/information services, golf course, transcripts, commencement, copyrights (for master’s theses and doctoral dissertations), and summer school (with general increases in tuition always looming in the background) could raise funds. No one liked placing these burdens on students and their families, but often circumstances dictated such actions. Zacharias liked an emerging idea of a new statewide higher-education group that would present the funding case for all the state’s eight universities. He wanted a mass movement within the state to support the schools, and this citizens’ group, funded by businesses and corporations, sounded like a good solution. He talked with the presidents of Ole Miss and Southern, and they agreed that it was time to stop talking about closing universities and try making the existing institutions more productive. The bottom line was that higher education could not go on this way, for if things did not change, the production of quality graduates would become unlikely.11 Columnist Wayne Weidie wrote that “no one can blame Dr. Zacharias” or “any other president or faculty member for rethinking their own personal commitments.” The words rang true to the president as he watched quality faculty leave constantly, which plagued campus morale. Zacharias did not try to sugarcoat facts. He once said, no doubt talking directly to the legislature, that eight universities had been established and that “if you weren’t serious, you shouldn’t have established them.” Early in his tenure, he told the Starkville Rotary Club that the university had about 236 less staff, faculty, and administrators than the previous fiscal year, and more would likely leave if the financial situation worsened. These losses, he stated plainly, resulted from MSU’s inability to offer competitive salaries. As he looked into the future, he saw things getting worse.12 The impact of budget cuts thus dominated the Zacharias administration, but he never stopped trying to make the situation better. He once pointed out that the university had had an 11 percent increase in its freshmen class, which gave it the largest on-campus enrollment in the state, and that it was ranked nationally as one of the leading research universities • 265 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

and had the largest number of faculty of any institution of higher learning in Mississippi listed in Who’s Who in America. Zacharias favored enrollment growth, but he must have wondered when questions arose about how much growth the university could afford. In his view, however, discouraging enrollment growth, especially at the people’s university, would send the wrong message to the public. He continually praised alumni for their support. He understood that the university needed to be in a position to give back to the state. Yet these things meant little if the budget cuts kept coming. At times, he cut funds from unfilled positions on campus, deferred planned purchases for the library, reduced general administrative services, sought greater energy savings, and put off buying major maintenance equipment. The extension programs and experiment station operations, plus the forest products lab and the state chemical lab, often received cuts. Other programs reduced included water resources, veterinary medicine, and aquaculture. These initiatives resulted in savings of millions of dollars, but the impact was totally negative. The president took many other steps to cut costs. Three university airplanes were put up for sale, and he at times faced the dreaded possibility of laying off personnel. He asked the board and the legislature to authorize an optional retirement plan to permit faculty members to accept a combination of retirement and part-time employment to reduce salary expenses. Despite the gloom, he paid special attention to preserving academic quality and preserving State’s role of helping state departments and local communities in economic development. Zacharias warned that the state was headed down a road that might require a decade of recovery. It was no accident, he said, that states with the best economic bases had the best colleges and universities. He proposed a rhetorical question: how long would it take to convince the state government leaders that this was true?13 Yet, he hated cultivating an image as a constant complainer. Zacharias took advantage of opportunities to learn from other institutions about dealing with funding issues. He attended conferences of the National Association of State Universities and Land-Grant Colleges, such as one in the spring of 1986 in Washington, D.C., to hear briefings on funding legislation for scientific research, student aid, and campus organizations.14 He testified before the Mississippi House of Representatives and hammered on the theme of investment. He emphasized the positive; there • 266 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

would be a high rate of return on any dollar appropriated to the institutions of higher learning. Lack of funding for the libraries and laboratories that were essential to research at Mississippi universities would hurt state efforts to land economic projects. The library is the heart of any university, he said, and is usually the most complex resource. Most candidates who interviewed for faculty positions at MSU wanted first to examine library facilities. In 1988, the Executive Council placed library expansion first on the list of “Intermediate Needs” of a preplanning list. It was one of the few times in the history of the university that the library had been given such a high priority. Zacharias and all the other presidents agreed that compatible computer systems connecting the eight libraries were essential. As an example of this need, he pointed out that the Louisiana State University library had more volumes than State, Ole Miss, and Southern combined.15 Zacharias hoped funding would improve when the board put into effect in 1987–1988 a new funding formula, based on an institution’s actual needs and potential for growth. In the past, allocation had been based on a university’s past year, including the number of credit hours taught and the cost of teaching those hours. The new formula took into consideration the cost of specific majors and offered funding options for salary increases and quality enhancements so that schools could move ahead to be more competitive. The new formula also allowed comparison of Mississippi’s programs to comparable programs elsewhere in the Southeast, while the old compared programs only within the state. What this meant for the eight universities was that each would be assured that its basic needs would be met year to year. Once those needs were met, priorities for enhancements could be agreed upon and accomplished. Thus the new formula gave opportunities for catching up and moving ahead. All the university presidents liked it, and the board felt it was fair. The new formula set up three levels of funding, A, B, and C. Level A funded the basic needs, B provided for salary increases, inflationary adjustments, and quality improvements, and C for one-time projects and programs. Zacharias, in explaining the concept, said that A was money similar to funds for house payments, utilities, and groceries; B adjusted funds to inflation over last year’s cost, comparable to money needed for more taxes and utility costs or a new baby; and C covered one-time needs like braces for teeth.16 • 267 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

Of course, implementation of the formula was something else. Zacharias reported to faculty and staff in the late eighties that he and the vice presidents had “made maximum allocations for salaries in accordance with our assumptions of legislative appropriations. We have reevaluated our original approach.” First, he wrote, they had found evidence that comparable universities in the state had used different interpretations and made different allocations. Second, a review of MSU’s income projections had given greater confidence in late July than had been foreseen in May about income estimates. To maintain competitive salaries among faculty, the council had identified more resources for deans and department heads to allocate. This process caused a delay in issuing contracts until after the board’s August meeting. Zacharias found this regrettable, but it allowed full implementation of changes in salaries on December 15 as the legislature permitted.17 Later, he announced he was working on changing the funding formula to improve salaries at MSU. He intended to make technical adjustments to the formula that would affect funding. He noted that MSU, being the largest of the three Doctoral II state universities in national rankings of universities offering doctoral programs, received less general operating money per student than Southern or Ole Miss. He therefore wanted raises for faculty, administrators, and support staff. The budget put together by Governor Ray Mabus did not provide enough money. There were some legislators willing to call for a tax increase to support universities, but Mabus, protecting himself for future elections, took the popular position of opposing all taxes. Zacharias understood, but he remained ever hopeful.18 The president did his best to boost campus morale. Even when funding looked bleak, he communicated that no one should jump to conclusions about the ultimate outcome. He could not say, except by faith alone, that everything would be okay. He continued to rely on alumni and other friends, and students as well, to pressure the legislature. A grassroots campaign always carried more weight than the complaining of a university president, so he promised to keep speaking publicly and privately in support of more funding.19 As the 1990s began, Zacharias urged his administrative team to coordinate and prioritize funding efforts. Coordination, he said, ensured that potential donors would not receive concurrent solicitations. The development office should track and monitor fund-raising; prior to contacting a donor, administrators should check with their unit’s development contact • 268 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

person. Any request in excess of ten thousand dollars should be approved by development; solicitations of one hundred thousand or more should include a cover letter from the president. The development office would establish procedures and track activity to ensure that prospects were solicited in a timely manner. High-profile donors, such as corporations and foundations, would be referred to as university prospects, and the director of development and the president must both be consulted before contacts were made. The president must be consulted about identifying greatest needs. These guidelines should encourage cooperation. Also, the administration looked into honoring donors during a major gifts “Campaign for Mississippi State” with a brick sidewalk into which names would be etched. Known as the “walk of excellence,” the sidewalk would eventually be placed on the old drill field in the center of campus.20 Budget clouds did not deter record-breaking enrollment each year, making lack of funding more severe. During 1990 thirty-five faculty members left the university, including thirteen veterinary medicine professors. The time when professors received no raises stretched to three years. Hostility toward the legislature expanded out of sheer frustration. Even so, the legislature occasionally made notable contributions such as investigating the development of a statewide telecommunications network in which the universities would play a key role. Yet funding problems did not go away, and Zacharias admitted that he could not find new ways to make people listen. “The lack of money . . . is having a devastating effect and it’s sheer fantasy to think otherwise,” he said. He feared that people outside the university communities simply did not appreciate the crisis, because they rarely heard about it on the evening news. Faculty did not march and demonstrate; they simply did their jobs, and when better opportunities came along, as they frequently did, they left quietly.21 Those who remained struggled with lack of classroom space, and everincreasing enrollment led to overflowing parking lots. Streets deteriorated, and shuttle buses began operating to alleviate traffic. Parking fees, bicycle paths, and parking meters were also utilized in an effort to ease parking problems. When Zacharias took his concerns on the road, as he often did, he hoped for that grassroots effort to develop. On one such north Mississippi tour he • 269 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

spoke in Alcorn County, Iuka, Booneville, New Albany, Pontotoc, and Ripley. The message was basically the same; higher education in Mississippi needed a massive funding transfusion. Soon programs would have to be cut. The universities, he pointed out to the public, the board, the legislature, and anyone else who would listen, brought millions of dollars in federal aid and private money to Mississippi, especially at State, but at other schools, too, so how could anyone reasonably say the state’s universities were a drain on the economy? The university continued to set records in amounts of federal research dollars received; State had become a Research 1 institution in the Carnegie system, and he expected a Doctoral 1 ranking in the near future. Outstanding faculty made such advances possible, but they must not be forced to leave for greener pastures. Though donations, such as a million dollars by the Kelly Cook Foundation for an endowed chair in civil engineering, helped, such gifts could never totally compensate for lack of state support. If things did not improve, the state’s institutions would wind up being privatized. It had now been four years since there were faculty raises, morale was at an all-time low, all the universities were losing their competitive edge, and yet there was no leadership at the state level calling for a solution. Not only faculty but good students would be leaving the state if trends did not improve.22 In Tupelo, the president proudly announced that Honda Motor Company had given $5 million to the university for research projects and $1 million specifically to the College of Engineering. The university would have a productive relationship with Honda. The president and CEO of Honda was invited to be commencement speaker in 1991. Yet Zacharias quickly pointed out what the state of Mississippi was doing to its own universities, which was quite the opposite. In the early 1980s, State got 18 percent of a $1 billion budget; in 1992, the budget was $2 billion and State received only 15 percent of that. In effect the university was getting less of more. Many people, he concluded, either did not know about this disparity, or they did not care. These statistics supported his claim that state allocations were turning his university into a private institution. He noted that salaries were seven thousand dollars below the national average in some areas and ten to twelve thousand lower in others. The university looked for ways to give faculty 5 percent raises and 3 percent to staff for each of the next two years. Possible moves included requiring some professors who were department heads to teach more classes and a reduction of nonteaching • 270 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

personnel in instructional areas such as computers and of secretarial personnel. In answer to some criticism, he said he had already cut the budget in his office. He said he understood the legislature’s dilemma, but they could either wring their hands or try to control the state’s destiny in a positive way; that was what was being done on his campus.23 During the Zacharias years, budget problems produced some seemingly unusual effects. The Non-Hazardous Waste Minimization Committee had a wonderful name change to Recycling. The Americans with Disabilities Act Compliance Committee and the Spirit Committee were established, and the Harassment Advisory Committee became a standing committee. All of these changes occurred within the milieu of negative potential results of budget cuts which could deter the effectiveness of any one, or more, of them. The university had to expand its vision in spite of risky budget problems.24 In early 1992, Zacharias hinted to a legislative committee that years of budget strife might cause him to give up his post. He later said he was trying to make a point, and he should not have been taken literally, even though he did receive a four-year contract extension as a result, taking the focus off problems and putting it on him, much to his dismay. The committee otherwise was certainly unmoved, for they told Zacaharias that there was little hope of increased revenue in the next budget year. Little wonder that he genuinely worried that politicians had turned their backs on quality education. So far Zacharias and other presidents had shied away from layoffs and tuition increases, but such might be the only way to survive. Zacharias continued to assure that no massive layoffs were expected, and that extra funds would come from money saved on campus operations and increased charges for services. Still, neither he nor other presidents wanted to let the legislature off the hook. Together they warned that a sales-tax increase, which had been passed and generated more state funds, would not be enough, for professors were still leaving, libraries were still behind in funding, and equipment needs remained.25 The problems of funding never went away. In early 1996 Zacharias once again found himself explaining how MSU would deal with feared budget shortfalls. He expected lack of funds to lead to demands from the legislature and others for more accountability, and he and the university would be prepared for that. He found it challenging to explain the university’s • 271 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

programs to the general public. He said some results of spending were apparent, like the Comprehensive Assistive Technology Center (structurally an addition to the Longest Student Health Center) to help people with disabilities. Also, he made public that $75 million in research and contracts, mainly from the federal government and from industry, had been received. The “Campaign for Mississippi State” raised more than $21 million, and in the area of scholarships, alumni and friends helped raise $1.5 million. A monument to its success, called “Keep the Flame Burning,” would be placed in front of Allen Hall, where the centennial monument had stood. The centennial structure would be moved to the area fronting the main entrance to the union. The scholarship money helped, for by mid-1997, Zacharias’s last year, the National Merit Scholarship Corporation announced statistics showing that MSU attracted more top students than any other state institution. ACT enrollment information in late 1997 showed that MSU was the most popular university for Mississippi students taking the test. Zacharias said that despite a tendency to “demand new kinds of reports and more quantifiable results” he did not intend to get bogged down with paperwork. The university faced the reality of being a major research institution, and, as such, had to compete with comparable institutions throughout the nation. We argue, he said, that there are differences between State and other state institutions. The National Association of State Universities and Land-Grant Colleges presented a set of recommendations on accountability in formats that attempted to offer consistency in reporting, dealing with student costs and financial aid, retention and graduation, placement and employment after graduation, and faculty responsibilities and activities. The new Kellogg Commission on the Future of State and Land-Grant Universities met for the first time in February 1997 in the nation’s capital. There, discussions included the topics of chronic funding shortages, accountability, questions about university research and faculty workloads. The Mississippi state legislature’s budget committee had asked for $90 million less than asked for by the board, which was $6 million less than the current budget. Our first goal, then, said Zacharias, was just to get even. For the fiscal year 1997–1998, he asked for major increases for a wide variety of programs and salary adjustments, as well as for computer technology, research, libraries, academic support and instruction, repair and ren• 272 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

ovations to various buildings, capital improvement bonds for classroom renovation, water system upgrades, the north entrance to campus from Highway 82 and the research and technology park, and restoration of historic Montgomery Hall. His point in giving out such details was to show the legislature, and the state, what the university had to do just to maintain its current level.26 Zacharias looked not only beyond the state’s borders, but to overseas countries for possible financial ties that would benefit the university. Honda had come to MSU with a large $2.5 million contract for research ties with the Raspet Flight Research Laboratory; perhaps other companies from other lands would do the same. The Federal Republic of West Germany sent an economics delegation to campus in 1985. MSU officials held discussions with a representative of Barbados, and the Zacharias administration worked with Southern Mississippi to put together a summer program at the University of Perugia in Italy. Contact with South Korea made positive inroads with universities there. More investments came from Japan and China, and an agreement was signed with the Federation of Korean Industries. Contact was made with representatives of France, Argentina, Finland, Brazil, and San Salvador. Guests from Russia were also entertained, and Zacharias did his best to maintain good relations with the Middle East, despite war clouds there. Many students at MSU came from that area, and he reminded everyone at the university that these students must continue to be treated with dignity and respect.27 There seemed to be a renewed global interest in agriculture, and more could be done. An MSU alumnus, Rafael Callejas, president of Honduras, would certainly work with his alma mater. (He had the distinction of being the first graduate to become president of a country.) Changes in eastern Europe and the European common market had created new opportunities for American agriculture, with an emphasis on nutrition and food safety, areas where MSU agriculturalists could make contributions. This was vintage Zacharias, pronouncing hope and optimism wherever he looked.28 As the last half of the eighties progressed, positive events included board approval of the MSU Educational Building Corporation, for the purpose of building a larger baseball stadium. Masters programs received approval in the department of political science, physics, and statistics.. Also receiving board approval were undergraduate degrees in animal science, biochemistry, business information systems and quantitative analysis, genetics, • 273 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

philosophy, and poultry science, and a doctoral degree in computer science. The landscape architecture program was extended to five years, the bachelor of general business administration degree was changed to the bachelor of business administration, and a cooperative program with Jackson State to offer more graduate degree programs at the Vicksburg center was approved. Other program approvals included an animal health technology cooperative plan between the veterinary medicine school and Hinds Community College, a doctoral program in mathematical science, the addition of molecular biology to the name of the Department of Biochemistry, the placing of a combination of agricultural degrees into the master of agriculture in agricultural pest management, a doctoral program in education, and a change of the master’s degree in small town studies to a master’s in town planning and design. The Department of Food Science and Human Nutrition became food science and technology, and several departmental names underwent changes in the College of Business and Industry. The MSU-Vicksburg engineering center became the graduate center; wood science and technology became forest products. A doctoral program in public administration received approval, and bachelor’s degrees were approved in agriculture pest management and social work. The bachelor of fine arts degree in art replaced the B.S. art degree, and more facilities were approved for catfish research. On the negative side, the master’s program in medical technology was suspended, as were the doctoral programs in biomedical engineering and in economics. Also, the Department of Business Information Systems and Quantitative Analysis was closed. Then in early 1986, the board, responding to budget pressures, passed closure resolutions affecting the school of dentistry at Ole Miss, MSU’s veterinary medicine college’s various off-campus programs at all three of the major state universities, the closing of MUW and Mississippi Valley State, and changing the designation of smaller universities to colleges. None of this happened, largely because of alumni and other pressures on the legislature, which did not have the courage to tackle such politically sensitive issues, but certainly the threats were signs of the times.29 As the president wrestled with various issues, he kept a promise he had made early of being available. In the late eighties, he said that despite continual financial difficulties, he would not isolate himself in his Allen Hall office. The administration had a system of committees, commissions, and councils to give the president and vice presidents advice and • 274 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

counsel, and sometimes action had to be taken so quickly that employees might feel their opinions did not count. Funding worried everyone, so to make sure everyone had a voice, he set up a variety of informal sessions in the president’s reception room in Humphrey Coliseum. These hour-anda-half sessions were open to all employees. At times randomly selected groups would be invited to meet with him, including faculty, secretaries, and managerial staff. Zacharias was determined not to lose touch with the grassroots concerns and opinions on campus.30 Zacharias let the state of Mississippi know that his goals included heading a university that was on the move, not stuck in the mud of underfunding. Education, he said, “is not only an introduction to life; it is life itself.” He sought new levels of cooperation and achievement, both on campus and beyond, such as with the formation of a Tennessee-Tombigbee consortium of universities along those rivers and with Hinds Community College regarding a joint research and experiment center on its campus at Raymond, Mississippi. Late in his administration, the John K. Bettersworth Leadership Lectures developed, which included sending university faculty to present programs to high schools and community colleges. Zacharias wanted to focus his administration on planning, students, faculty, resources, recognition, and leadership. He wanted especially to see strong leadership at every level of the university. He intended to enforce new state admissions standards, to evaluate doctoral programs, to see students more actively involved within the university structure. He saw a need to broaden instruction to focus on needs of nontraditional students. He noted that people in Mississippi are affected by what goes on in the rest of the world, and the university’s vision must include that world. He wanted to recruit good students, and after just a few months in office, he would thank faculty and staff for their help in finding the top high school seniors, there being an 11 percent increase in highest ACT scores among committed freshmen. He also intended to reach out to assist in whatever ways possible the elementary and secondary schools of the state. He wanted to establish research priorities and support minorities and women. The President’s Commission on the Status of Women became a regular budget item during his administration, and he asked this commission in 1988 to do an equity study. He also made it clear that sexual harassment would not be tolerated. He wanted the universities of the state to cooperate with each other more, and he saw a special need for MSU and MUW to look at joint programs. • 275 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

The university could shape destinies and at the same time be shaped, in positive ways, by external forces. For example the Executive Council voted in 1997 to affiliate MSU with the Center for Academic Integrity, based at Rutgers University. Also MSU was the only state university participating that year in the Southeastern Regional Electronic University.31 Zacharias determined to practice outreach on a personal level, too, and he continued the practice of having lawn parties at the president’s home and informal meetings with faculty and staff and of hosting faculty festivals. He indirectly applauded his predecessor when he announced that the creative arts complex was nearing completion; a first performance there had been arranged with alumnae Marilyn Winsbush and the campus drama club, the Blackfriars, taking the stage. He committed his administration to affirmative action by promising equitable treatment of all employees. He promised strict adherence to affirmative action guidelines that emphasized a broad applicant pool and fair evaluations.32 In communications with the faculty, Zacharias repeated initial themes and added a few new ones. Again, he emphasized being on the move, saying that the best way to gauge movement was to focus on areas like planning, students, faculty, resources, recognition, and leadership, and, by implication, to excel in all these areas. He wanted more external recognition especially and improvements in faculty quality. Faculty should not be satisfied with anything less than developing new ideas and finding greater opportunities to expand their vision. Initiative and creativity should become routine. The university needed systematic planning and improvement in traditional functions. Student needs should constantly be addressed, and research strengthened. Minorities and women must not only be recruited but given support and encouragement. Interaction between students and faculty should be commonplace, and more nontraditional students should be sought. The overall curriculum should be internationalized, and interaction and problem-solving emphasized. He asked faculty for two lists, one of things that should be considered and would not cost anything and the other of things that would cost, the latter list being projected over a five-to-ten-year period. Finally, the university must blow its own horn, making sure Mississippians knew about achievements at MSU.33 Zacharias encouraged his faculty to look beyond financial problems and stay focused to do their jobs at high levels. The Executive Council • 276 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

endorsed an Instructional Improvement Committee, intended to help faculty become better teachers, and also recommended that the recipient of the Alumni Association Outstanding Teacher Award be the marshal (honorary leader of the processional) for commencement in May 1986. Despite low salaries, the university owed students quality instruction. Zacharias no doubt understood that with the legislature continuing to cut funds, parents would be asked to shoulder more tuition increases. Each time that happened, they had a right to expect their children to receive an education worth the sacrifice. Therefore, faculty should strive to improve themselves and be committed to their work. They should be aware, too, of building strong political alliances in civic and other organizations, especially with people successful in other fields, thus enlightening them personally and, it was hoped, pushing them to apply pressure to the legislature.34 He assured the faculty that the 1986–1987 year could be a good one in spite of budget cuts. Everyone should participate more in university goals and activities, and there should be better class instruction. Additionally, despite lack of legislative support, some ninety-six lawmakers would be attending Government Appreciation Day on campus, twice the number from the past year. The faculty should be friendly and impress these people with positive attitudes. The legislature must know that university personnel would not be beaten down. MSU would move on. Some 250 students and 290 parents had attended Scholars Recognition Day in 1986, another positive sign, for these numbers were greater than the past year. A gift of $1.5 million from the Ottilie Schillig Trust would help students and faculty, and fund scholarships. The extension service continued positive outreach in urban and rural areas, despite significant budget cutbacks, and university research contracts had been signed with the U.S. Department of Defense, the U.S. Department of Education, and Honda. The university currently ranked in the top one hundred in getting research funds. Cooperation with Governor Bill Allain and other state university presidents was producing results in getting research funds. The Council for Support of Public Higher Education in Mississippi and the Mississippi Economic Development Council pitched in. Zacharias said all these things were significant developments, and the university must provide leadership and sound planning from administrators and faculty. He set aside forty thousand dollars to award faculty for notable accomplishments in innovative teaching. Distinguished Professors received a • 277 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

new title: Giles Distinguished Professors, in honor of the former president. Zacharias also planned to set up an administrative intern position for a faculty member to work half time in the president’s office, a program that never really got off the ground. Top priority, however, must always be students, the diamonds on campus that faculty must help shine for, as he put it, a brighter tomorrow in the state. Productivity must remain high, and he reminded faculty in later years that the board’s prescribed teaching load was four courses (or the equivalent, whatever that meant) per semester. In essence, Zacharias would not tolerate wringing of hands; he wanted inventive, working faculty to propel the university.35 He reminded faculty council leaders in the late eighties that he would periodically visit each building and maintain a strong relationship with faculty and staff. He communicated to faculty leaders that he was all for their finding ways to help faculty who chose to stay at the university, in spite of lower salaries than some of the new hires. He, like these leaders, wanted to explain how and why this happened, that it had to do with trying to keep up with the market value in hiring as well as an underfunded university could hope for, and he had no objection to inviting alumni leadership periodically to these meetings. He wrote further about the faculty council’s checklist, acknowledging their desire to find a permanent home for the faculty council’s records. At the time, no one, including Zacharias, mentioned the obvious choice, the University Archives in the library. The faculty council would eventually become the Robert Holland Faculty Senate, named in honor of a former professor. The name change did not indicate any change in the council’s activities.36 In a specific move to gain information about the condition of the campus library, Zacharias and the Executive Council also created a task force to review library operations. This move apparently resulted from some complaints that had reached executive ears, though the actual reason remains somewhat vague. Was it the same as a “no confidence” vote for the director, George Lewis? Zacharias would very likely have insisted that such was not the case, but that it was merely a study to identify the library program’s strengths and weaknesses. Whatever it was, it caused resentment among library faculty and staff, who had struggled with particularly low salaries, crowded facilities, and • 278 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

lack of operational funds for many years. Yet it seemed as if they were being singled out for criticism, and they especially did not like hearing one of the task force comparing the MSU library to a “real library.” The library at State was underfunded, understaffed, and underpaid, but it was no illusion. It was very real, and whether the so-called study changed anything was questionable.37 As the end of the decade of the eighties began drawing near, Zacharias felt good about the future, and he insisted to the faculty that there was much to be celebrated. The governor at the time, Ray Mabus, and others seemed to see the truth that education is an investment, and the state government even seemed to show a sense of urgency about funding education. The governor had put forth an encouraging appropriations request in 1988–1989 that would increase the education and general budget, if not that of agriculture, forestry, and veterinary medicine. There were also requests for salary adjustments and endowed faculty chairs and a bond issue for repair and renovation. Zacharias outlined an agenda by the American Council on Education that seemed adaptable to MSU. The goals were to help educate Americans for an increasingly interdependent world, revitalize the economy, expand educational opportunity, address human needs and quality of life, and restore respect for fundamental values and ethical behavior. He also could not resist mentioning the “starship” designation he had given State to contrast with the “flagship” institution, Ole Miss, as referred to by the Commissioner of Higher Education, Ray Cleere. Who would not rather soar above the earth in search of new galaxies, rather than cruise at a slow pace on water? he asked, tongue in cheek. The incident was a source of embarrassment to Cleere.38 In a general speech to the faculty in 1989, Zacharias reviewed how the legislature had honored certain MSU faculty and students; it had become his usual style to begin his presentations on a positive note. Later that semester, he made another popular move, when the Executive Council decided to allow each faculty member to decide if he/she wanted to be evaluated. Also, the evaluations would no longer be placed in the University Archives in the library as in past years. He also reviewed his testimony before a state senate subcommittee, focusing on the future. He noted that during the past year the legislators had helped with salaries and renovation funds, beginning a chain reaction that continued to transform the campus. Now funds were needed to satisfy • 279 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

the state’s commitment by fully funding new salaries given to faculty the past December. He told the politicians he wanted to reward faculty and staff for their hard work, as well as establish programs that would help Mississippi solve problems in its schools, on its farms, in its urban areas, and in its small towns. A strong legislative commitment would excite the university and the people of the state, especially by inspiring people to give more to the university. This would always occur as long as the legislature maintained its commitment to higher education. He had, he said, on behalf of the faculty and staff, personally thanked the governor, lieutenant governor, and the legislature for their support.39 As the fall semester of 1989 began, he shared his perception of major goals for the 1990–1995 period: quality faculty/staff recruiting and career enhancement, comprehensiveness in teaching, research, and service, student recruitment and retention and assessment, increases in minority programs, emphasizing development and alumni programs, pushing public relations, recognition for achievements, administrative development, legislative support, improved facilities and equipment, more computerization and library enhancement, an expanded university community life, more international programs, interagency cooperative efforts for economic development, local to state to regional and national relationships, effective operating policies and better budgets and allocation procedures, improved planning processes, more off-campus programs, and improved communications.40 Perhaps the most controversial aspect of Zacharias’s presidency came about in the spring of 1991, when he sought a solution to continual funding problems with what some considered an overreaction. Whether it was overreaction or simply a plan to deal with financial realities is debatable, but certainly it created an atmosphere of uncertainty and lowered morale on campus. The solution was a Priorities and Planning Committee, which, through three phases, from 1991 to 1992, examined all MSU programs regarding numbers of students, cost, and other factors and made recommendations for the future of the programs. Zacharias, in his charge to the committee, wrote that “major new strategies and directions by the University are needed to address the contemporary needs of a state that continues to search for new ways to strengthen its economy and provide a better quality of life for its people.” In effect, the president said that the university needed to examine its strengths and weak• 280 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

nesses and put together a ten-year plan of prioritizing where it was to go. The so-called “planning agenda” was entitled “Commitment to Excellence.” As a result, many programs were cut at all levels, including bachelor’s, master’s, and doctoral programs. Some have resurfaced, in some cases under different umbrellas, but some, at this writing, remain gone, though there is no guarantee that they, too, will remain off the books for good. Despite the pain, frustration, and outright anger the process caused, it did show the legislature that Zacharias was willing to do whatever it took to maintain quality within the means forced upon him by the budgeting process. Financial support for state university programs at all eight institutions of higher learning has declined in real dollars for many years, and the universities, in addition to seeking outside funding wherever they can find it, must go with their strengths and sooner or later cut the fat. Zacharias understood this, if many faculty did not, and he was willing to take the heat that the reports produced. Not all the committee’s recommendations went into effect, but most did, and the university, despite the stress, survived.41 In an address to faculty in the early nineties while the review of programs was still going on, Zacharias continued to emphasize the positive. After all, enrollment was still increasing, and he said he intended to focus on problems, but at the same time to count blessings. Other words he threw out included sacrifices, teamwork, and survival. He praised those who had made sacrifices during budget crunches. He said ongoing studies to narrow the mission and focus of the university had become necessary to maintain a balanced budget. He apologized for the anxieties and explained that the Priorities and Planning Committee had been charged with naming no more than ten major priorities to set the direction of the university for the next ten years. The fact that the audience was small, however, reflected the low morale on campus.42 Zacharias’s efforts to develop a close relationship with faculty served him well at times, perhaps no more so than in the mid-nineties when a movement to censure the president was attempted by some disgruntled faculty. The majority refused to go along when some unhappy faculty grew angry at Zacharias for not going through a national search when the university hired longtime financial officer Leah T. Norman as vice president for business affairs. This move may not have been popular, and the anger may have been a carryover from the planning process, but it was legal, and • 281 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

when news of the censure movement got out, several alumni called faculty leadership to urge that it be dropped. And it was. Obviously, Zacharias’s efforts to cultivate a positive relationship with alumni served him well. He kept handy a list of prominent alumni to correspond with or to call when needed. One of these was comedian Jerry Clower, who for some reason did not choose to donate his memorabilia to the university. Many of his items are now in the Country Music Hall of Fame in Nashville, Tennessee. Among the most prominent alumni was Senator John Stennis, whose retirement from office was announced in 1988, and whose devotion to the university never ceased. The university sponsored a major tribute to Stennis in Washington in June of that year. Successful novelist and alumnus John Grisham and African American composer Quincy Hilliard, another successful alumnus, donated their papers to the Special Collections of the MSU Libraries. So did Congressman G. V. “Sonny” Montgomery, an alumnus who was elected to the U.S. Congress in 1966 and served from 1967 to 1997. He managed a first when he brought his friend President George H. W. Bush to campus to be commencement speaker in the spring of 1989.43 Perhaps the censure incident was on Zacharias’s mind when, a few weeks later, he published an article in the Starkville paper that talked about creating lasting friendships. He said that mutual respect formed the foundation for such relationships, along with honesty, open-door communication, warmth, a helping attitude, celebrating each other’s achievements, and the absence of jealousy. Surely the attacks on him due to the Norman appointment must have been in his mind when he wrote this article.44 The rifts with faculty over priorities and planning and a job appointment did not prevent Zacharias and the faculty from coming together to promote advances in academics, including an attempt to get a Phi Beta Kappa chapter on campus, an effort which preceded the events described above. The university had, in fact, applied for a chapter every three years since 1979, but lack of funding, low salaries, insufficient library holdings, and too few Phi Beta Kappas on the faculty blocked the efforts. In fact, not until 1990 did a Phi Beta Kappa team even visit the campus, but the visit, too, brought negative results. Zacharias was frustrated, and perhaps would have been even more so had he known that, as of this writing in 2006, MSU would be still the only SEC university not to have a chapter. At the time, his disappointment was belittled by some, not surprisingly by both a journalist and a politician. The former could not believe that MSU • 282 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

supporters would be disappointed by being “rejected by an academic club.” The latter, a member of the legislature, wanted to know if Phi Beta Kappa was kin to Saddam Hussein. The journalist even was suspicious of Zacharias’s timing when the president announced the rejection. After all, it came just when the universities were asking the legislature for more money. Imagine that. The Jackson Clarion-Ledger showed much more respect for academia when it blamed the legislature for not, during a special session, doing anything to “adequately fund higher education.” The legislature and the people of Mississippi should be embarrassed by this latest rejection. The lawmakers, said the Jackson editor, “are failing to lead when leadership is most needed.” The failure of State to get Phi Beta Kappa meant that “higher education officials have been telling the truth in pleading for more money for salaries and books.” The legislature obviously did not care, nor did those who belittled the university’s efforts to gain a major status symbol for the benefit of the state’s university students. Such attitudes clarify in part why Mississippi has remained at the bottom of so many national lists in so many areas.45 Academic recognition did come elsewhere. The College of Engineering went after a national engineering center, to be funded by the National Science Foundation. Engineering also sought private funding to encourage females to enter the engineering field and appealed to minorities through a project proposed by the National Society of Black Engineers. Eventually, the Engineering Research Center was established in the research park constructed north of Highway 82 across from the athletic complexes. In 1994, the research center was designated by Silicon Graphics as an Image Works training site, where center researchers provided training in computer graphics for Silicon employees. The center also set up the Center for Visual Creation. Mississippi funding grew, according to Experimental Program to Stimulate Competitive Research (EPSCoR) data, at a faster rate than the national average. Also State established the Mississippi Magnetic Resonance Facility, and the Mississippi Department of Education and the state’s Educational Television Network asked MSU to take the lead in developing a National Information Infrastructure within Mississippi. These kinds of occurrences helped keep Zacharias and the faculty going in spite of those who preferred keeping the state stuck in the mud.46 Other boosts brightened the academic picture. The legislature actually passed an aquaculture bill to establish a center under MSU’s control. The • 283 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

university eventually joined with the Mississippi Power and Light Company to operate the aquaculture center on the Gulf Coast. A possible contract with the Department of Defense for a microelectronics study brought some excitement, and Zacharias opened possible doors with foreign countries by making the Office of International Programs a permanent part of the campus budget. The Mississippi Alcohol Safety Education Program became a part of the Social Science Research Center. An MSU delegation visited the naval oceanographic office at the National Space Technology laboratories to familiarize themselves with possible benefits between the naval facility and the academic community. The board of trustees approved a criminal justice cooperative program for Southern, MSU, and Meridian Community College. The Center for Robotics, Automation and Artificial Intelligence arranged for the Third Artificial Intelligence Satellite Symposium to be held on the MSU campus. Despite the prospects for program elimination in the early nineties, new degree programs constantly emerged. They included doctoral and master’s programs in environmental toxicology, a master’s in industrial technology, a bachelor’s in construction management and land development, and a bachelor’s in physical geography. Degrees in geology became degrees in geoscience. The bachelor of science degree in trade and technical studies and the master of science degree in architecture were reactivated after being suspended, due to increased demand. The Department of Electrical Engineering broadened its scope by becoming the Department of Electrical and Computer Engineering. The Department of Animal Science became the Department of Animal and Dairy Sciences, and the College of Agriculture and Home Economics became the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences. Master’s degrees in instructional technology and systems management were approved by the board, the latter being a cooperative program of the three major universities and Jackson State. A bachelor’s degree in manufacturing technology was approved, and degrees in secondary education became identified by the subject area, followed by the word “education.” The architecture school received a gift of four hundred thousand dollars from the Hearin Foundation in Jackson. Distance learning master’s degrees in competition management and in systems management, to be coordinated by a consortium of the three major universities and Jackson State, was set up, as was a graduate degree in business, and MSU joined with Jackson State to operate distance learning in nursing • 284 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

and rehabilitation management. In forestry, several programs were consolidated into the Forest and Wildlife Research Center, which replaced the forest products lab. The general agriculture bachelor’s degree changed to agricultural science, and new majors at the master’s level included wildlife and fisheries, taxation, environmental engineering, instructional technology, and architecture. An exciting development in 1992 gave the university an opportunity to establish spin-off companies resulting from university research. A new state law created the Mississippi University Research Authority as the catalyst for such opportunities. This authority, like two other organizations, the Mississippi Research Consortium and the Mississippi Education and Research Group, was composed of multiple state universities. Also, the U.S. Navy began discussions with MSU, which, it was hoped, would lead to the incorporation of an Office of Naval Oceanography at the John C. Stennis Space Center into the MSU Research Center there, which included a Center for Air and Sea Technology. The university offered graduate programs at the space center, as well as at Vicksburg and Meridian, in civil, electrical, industrial, and mechanical engineering. Other centers approved for MSU included Rehabilitation Engineering and Technology, Companion Animal Nutrition Research, an offshoot of the veterinary medicine school, as was the Animal Physiology Research Unit, and the Center for Insurance and Loss Control Education in the College of Business and Industry, to be headed by the holder of the Peter Koch Lutken Mississippi Chair of Insurance. The Monsanto Company, which had a key executive named Will Whittington who was an MSU alumnus, wanted to work with MSU, as well as with North Carolina State and North Dakota State, regarding a research relationship. Meanwhile, a new database system on campus called Banner, which controlled student records, all sorts of accounts, and other business functions of all these advances, went into effect initially in 1993–1994. The board staff recommended MSU as the lead institution and provider of training to get the system up and running at all state institutions of higher learning. It remains in place, constantly undergoing updates, and just as constantly drawing mixed reviews. During the Zacharias era, the use of computers reflected the impact of the technology nationwide. The president wanted a campus master plan for computer systems, and their use brought the emergence of issues that • 285 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

had to be addressed. He pointed out to administrators and teaching faculty that copyrighted computer software had inherent legal requirements related to licensure agreements. A computer advisory committee came up with a policy statement, reviewed by Mississippi’s attorney general, who approved the particulars, and Zacharias issued a follow-up statement. The computer center director on campus had the sole responsibility for managing software, and he would maintain a software inventory. MSU personnel must use software as dictated by licensure agreements or face disciplinary and possible legal action. Thus the computing center director must be kept informed about purchases and agreements. The university also had a satellite uplink truck stationed near the Wise (veterinary medicine complex) Center. Updating systems became a challenge, and the Computer Integrated Manufacturing Center was dedicated on campus in August 1992.47 In the spring/summer of 1987, a situation developed which showed that Mississippi had the ability to reach out, cooperatively, for a technological prize that would benefit both the state and its neighbor Alabama. A federal project, dubbed the superconducting super collider, a multibillion dollar program, needed a home, and Governor Bill Allain and the state’s leading engineering school, MSU, worked with the legislature and other state agencies to pursue the program, which would test atom smashing in connection with the national space program. The collider required a fifty-two-milelong tunnel and would be an economic boon to the state with an annual operating budget of $270 million and 2,500 technology-related jobs, plus construction employment. Zacharias vigorously applauded the joint effort and made a push for a doctoral program in computer science, a decision left to the board since Southern wanted the same degree. Zacharias argued that MSU had the only fully accredited bachelor’s degree program in computer science among state institutions. In November 1987, a symposium on the collider was held on the State campus, and Zacharias thought the doctoral program would add to Mississippi’s competitiveness in going for the collider project. Even though budget woes caused the loss of many good people, such a program, especially if Mississippi was successful in the bidding war, would draw many experts; those on hand were already enthusiastic about the possible future. Ultimately the program went to Texas and was not as successful as planned, but the incident showed that Mississippians could come together for a common purpose.48 • 286 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

Other academic challenges also emerged that involved local control. In 1994, Zacharias noted that the board had “presented a sincere challenge” to all public universities in Mississippi to demonstrate improved undergraduate education, especially as reflected in graduation rates. This challenge would be met, and successes were indicated by such facts as MSU producing five of eleven Truman Scholarship finalists from Mississippi over a three-year period. Also, an educational foundation, the Bridgeforth family, donated funds to underwrite scholarships in the University Honors Program, which reflected undergraduate achievement.49 Despite all the ups and downs of his presidency, or perhaps because of them, Donald Zacharias kept his promise to talk to students. In an interview with a Reflector reporter, he impressed the youngster as a “builder at heart” of relationships between students and faculty. He said he might teach a class in the communication department. He talked about foreign affairs, especially the threat of the spread of nuclear weapons, and how important religion was to him, though he made it clear he did not wear his beliefs on his sleeve. He talked about his religious beliefs when asked, but he felt religion was a private matter. He mentioned his love of fishing and camping and his fascination with photography and music, and admitted that he had once been a disc jockey. In effect, he wanted to be sure that students who read the paper understood him as a human being, rather as some unapproachable administrator. He continued student meetings and exchanges throughout his presidency.50 In another interview, this one in the Delta, he talked about the importance of elementary and secondary education having proper resources to prepare students for college-level work. And he bragged on State students; he was impressed with their quality, something he knew about because he had talked with them, interacted with them to see how they responded to various issues. He said their quality was all the more reason Mississippi must work harder to pay good faculty to teach these bright minds.51 Zacharias also asked State students to be active recruiters. He said they should take advantage of every opportunity to talk seriously with potential freshmen and transfers they might encounter. They should share positive things about State, and, if possible, they should encourage parents to bring these potential students to the campus for a visit.52 The president showed that he was not just talking the talk when he said he wanted to be in the classroom. In the fall of 1986, the local Starkville • 287 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

newspaper noted that Zacharias was the only university president in the state teaching a class; his was in communication group leadership. Later the college board named all university presidents professors, and Zacharias would officially be a professor of communication. He said this helped him remain familiar with the classroom and get to know students on a personal level. As for the students in his class, they did not seem intimidated when he strode into the room. They liked his friendly demeanor and teaching style, which encouraged their participation in discussions.53 Zacharias also made sure the university provided adequate health protection for students. The university had a committee that monitored health issues, and the one medical issue receiving attention worldwide was AIDS. The Executive Council approved a proposed committee statement about the disease: “Mississippi State University follows the guidelines on AIDS published by the American College Health Association.” Yes, the words were dry, but they no doubt gave assurance to concerned parents. After all, the university could not police student behavior twenty-four hours a day, only try to educate them on how to protect themselves. A short time later the university participated in an AIDS testing program as requested by the American College Health Association and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. A new smoking policy was also discussed, one that would ban the practice in buildings. Action was not taken regarding smoking at athletic events, since Zacharias wanted to discuss that situation with the alumni and Bulldog Club boards. Another health-related issue was the use of skateboards on campus, and potential accidents regarding them. They were banned in the summer of 1990. In 1992, the university took steps to comply with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta regarding immunization for measles and rubella. An unfortunate outbreak of salmonella poisoning from Chinese mushrooms at MSU resulted in several tort claims in 1995– 1996. Policies on radiological, chemical, and lab safety were also put into effect. Another key Zacharias goal that was health-related was his determination to complete an outdoor intramural complex on the south campus by the fall of 1997.54 The president also took time to offer detailed advice to new students. They should establish a friendly relationship with their advisor and make a strong effort to attend class regularly. They should go beyond standard assignments to broaden their knowledge and understanding. They should • 288 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

make an effort to get to know students in advanced classes in their field, who could offer advice, and they should talk with alumni who majored in their field. If they were not attending summer school, they should look for summer jobs in their field. They should read widely about their profession and become involved in campus organizations to develop listening and leadership skills. They should keep in mind they were learning the basics, and they should track changes in those basics. They should keep in touch with those who loved them first; in other words, maintain close contact with families, especially parents. These were all common sense directions, and no doubt those who paid attention were better off.55 The president had advice for those who would help retention. He thought the key was advising and counseling in faculty offices and in classrooms. All must help students make decisions about their future and extracurricular activities. Faculty should keep up with progress of graduates, so there could be hard evidence of whether the university had made a difference in their lives. Whatever they achieved reflected on what MSU had done for them, yet another reason why the university must attract quality faculty and staff. Of course, Zacharias, like all previous presidents, worried about the intertwining of negative publicity regarding making the university appealing to students and also having to handle student crime or crimes against students. Such incidents could not be covered up and had to be delicately handled in order not to worry parents at home. University leaders, campus police, and often Starkville and Oktibbeha County law enforcement officers worked together, such as when rapes occurred on and off campus, and when two students were murdered in the county in 1992 (trees would be planted to memoralize the students, Jon Steckler and Tiffany Miller); the killer, a nonstudent, was subsequently caught, tried, and convicted. Such events led to enhancement of security around female dormitories and other campus areas. The most common occurrence continued to be vandalism, crime often not against, but by students who were also caught with drugs and firearms. Incidents of racial harassment were also occasionally reported, as were burglaries, computer thefts, armed robberies, and the selling of stolen textbooks. To aid campus police, the administration purchased handheld radios for all officers to help overcome the inadequacies of worn-out equipment. Also, the Executive Council investigated the possibility of having the state legislature pass a law prohibiting firearms • 289 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

on university campuses. Such laws existed for high schools, but there was not one pertaining to universities. The council also looked at possible fines for students and others caught possessing alcoholic beverages on campus. Soon the university would have to have a drug-free workplace policy established in order to maintain federal funding in some areas. Such legal problems, though rare considering the size of the university, along with occasional lawsuits, no doubt led to a decision by the Executive Council to hire a university attorney, and Charles Guest came on board in the spring of 1988.56 Despite such negatives, the Zacharias administration continued to emphasize the positive, and no doubt had students in mind when a park area was established between McCool Hall and the union, partly as a tribute to students who had died in all wars, and partly to give students a lounge. The administration also used funds from the sale of MSU vehicle license plates to support a student jobs program. Too, the president listened when some students brought up the idea of a fall break like the traditional spring break. Eventually, after much discussion, it became a reality.57 Like Jim McComas, Zacharias also cared about student development beyond the university’s historic grounding in such fields as engineering and agriculture. He wanted strong academic programs in humanities, because he felt exploration of societal values led to better understanding of human existence. The university must be a place, he thought, where people help and inspire other people as they searched for purpose. The university needed to graduate students who had a well-rounded education.58 Of course, despite the educational goals and despite budget problems and all the other myriad issues a university president must deal with, perhaps the most visible area is athletics. Wayne Weidie, an alumnus and newspaperman at the time, did not know what to make of this new president at first, but that did not keep him from commenting, tongue partially in cheek. He wondered if the university would get more library books before baseball coach Ron Polk got his new baseball field. “If Zacharias,” he wrote, “ can get the athletic department mess cleaned up, build a new baseball stadium and then get alumni concerned about library needs, the state College Board should double his salary.” By “mess,” Weidie was likely referring to a $430,000 deficit in the athletic department that had to be solved and kept from recurring. Alumni knew athletics had been woefully inconsistent through the years, and that the football team had had some particularly bad times, • 290 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

and yet Weidie believed Zacharias had the wherewithal to accomplish as much as former president Dean Colvard, who called the university a sleeping giant. Zacharias first named a new athletic director, Charley Carr, in November 1985.59 In 1986, Zacharias had to deal with turmoil in athletics due to several turnovers. Besides the replacement of Scott with Carr, Emory Bellard left the head football coaching job in the hands of former MSU star quarterback Rockey Felker. Bob Boyd gave up the head basketball coaching job and was replaced by Richard Williams. This was certainly not the kind of continuity athletics needed, but at times seemed all too symptomatic at State, with the exception of the baseball program, where Ron Polk’s successes were consistent and impressive.60 In an interview with the Clarion-Ledger early in 1986, Zacharias fielded questions specifically about the athletic situation at State. He stated plainly that Rockey Felker had been his number one choice for football coach, and that so far reaction had been totally positive. Felker had instant name recognition, but, of course, a disappointing first season would torpedo the fan enthusiasm. Zacharias knew he had gambled, hiring someone without head coaching experience, but wanted young coaches to boost athletics. The new athletic director was thirty-nine, Felker thirty-two, and though a basketball coach had not yet been chosen when Zacharias gave the interview, Richard Williams, too, fit the youth movement theme. The president said he had hoped Bob Boyd would stay. Boyd, who had a dismal record, told Zacharias that 1985–1986 would be his last season at State. Clearly, Zacharias saw his presidency as a chance for new beginnings in athletics. The athletic director must develop a close relationship with the coaches, and that could establish a foundation for State to be a consistent contender in the rugged SEC. A quality program was possible, but budget cuts had led to more scrutiny of an auxiliary budget. Zacharias made a move, proven to be long-lasting: the hiring of Larry Templeton as athletic director. Felker’s tenure was a relatively short one; in five years, his record was 21–34. In late 1990, Jackie Sherrill was named head coach. Sherrill had a history of tenuous relations with the NCAA rules committee, and, almost predictably, in 1995, the NCAA sent a letter of inquiry regarding possible rules violations within the football program. Through the Zacharias years, Sherill’s record was 41–37–2, hardly spectacular. He did however, produce several bowl teams, losing the 1991 Liberty Bowl to the Air Force, losing the • 291 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

1993 Peach Bowl to North Carolina State, losing the 1994 Peach to North Carolina State, winning the 1998 Peach over Clemson, and beating Texas A&M in the 2000 Independence Bowl (remembered as the snow bowl). In basketball, Richard Williams had an up-and-down tenure during the Zacharias era. In 1990–1991, his team went 20–9 and was SEC cochampion. In 1994–1995, the team finished 22–8 and was western division SEC cochamp. In 1996, the team had a 26–8 record, winning the SEC west and the SEC tournament, and making it all the way to the Final Four in the national tournament before losing to Syracuse. Yet, aside from these spectacular seasons, Williams’s teams finished above .500 only three times during his twelve seasons as coach. Ron Polk’s baseball teams had winning seasons every year during Zacharias’s presidency, taking the SEC championship four times (cochampion one of those years), and winning two south and one mideast regional playoffs in the NCAA tournament. During that period, Polk’s teams passed the fifty-win mark three times. Among the so-called minor sports, the tennis program was the bright spot. After four years of finishing above five hundred, in 1992 Coach Andy Jackson’s teams began an impressive run that continued past the end of the Zacharias years. In 1992 and 1993, they won the regular season SEC championship and in 1993 won the postseason tournament. The team record for the 1992–1997 period was 115–33.61 Certainly to be competitive, the athletic program needed money, and Zacharias supported the cowbell tradition, under attack as too noisy by other conference schools. He said he had not brought them back—the athletic council had—though he had recommended they be allowed only at non-SEC games. Zacharias promised that State would always compete for recognition; good athletic programs were important to the overall university image. Education should come first, but a bad athletic program could make poor educational funding worse. Student morale could be hurt, too, as when State students abandoned the football stadium early in a home loss to Auburn in October 1986. Excessive student profanity at basketball games was also upsetting.62 More significant potential problems included possible reforms by the NCAA. Some of the areas under review included scholarship reduction and limiting new scholarships each recruiting season. Zacharias had concerns that this might put coaches in the position of discouraging current • 292 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

players to stay on the team so they could sign a promising high school player. For a president determined to rebuild a struggling athletic program, these reforms could make things more difficult. Not only did he have to deal with major sports, but federal officials from the Department of Health and Human Services pressured the athletic department to hire an assistant women’s volleyball coach and to increase recruiting funds for women’s athletics. This emanated from what has become known as Title IX, from federal legislation promoting equity for women’s sports. The university came up with a “Gender Equity Plan” to meet the requirements.63 In early 1989, Zacharias appointed a sixteen-member task force to look at MSU’s funding of athletics, with a special assignment to recommend new sources of revenue. State still had the lowest athletic budget in the Southeastern Conference, $6.7 million. Roy Ruby chaired the task force.64 Yet athletics did help in shortfall funding during difficult times, thanks to season ticket sales and trips to the Liberty Bowl and the University of Florida during the fall of 1991. Zacharias noted that the upswing in football fortunes had added close to a million dollars in scholarship and other funds. The university at the same time showed a cooperative spirit by sending nine hundred thousand dollars from increased spring enrollment at a higher tuition rate to Jackson to help the legislature fund the state’s deficit. In 1993, plans for building the John H. Bryan Athletic Administration Building west of Chadwick Lake on the north side of the campus near the coliseum and baseball stadium demonstrated an upswing in the athletic department.65 In the fall of 1992, Zacharias and other administration leaders had to suffer the embarrassment surrounding the castration of a bull during football practice. Prior to a game with Texas, Coach Jackie Sherrill orchestrated the strange event to fire up the football team, but it had not played well publicly.66 Zacharias, of course, like all State fans, was ecstatic when the basketball team beat Kentucky to win the SEC tournament and reached the Final Four in the 1996 basketball tournament. It was as close as any State team had come to a national championship in a major sport, and, despite the semifinal loss, the positive publicity was priceless. Instead of the 1962 “great escape” being a blot, it became a badge of honor since the integration of MSU sports had come so far. Zacharias reminded everyone willing to listen • 293 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

that he had broadcast basketball games in college and played the game in high school.67 Unfortunately, the football team in the fall of 1996 did not fare as well as the basketball team had the previous spring. Zacharias criticized fans for booing the players, asking how they would like to be booed. He understood the frustrations of losing, but true State fans, he said, cheered in the rough times, too.68 Though many positive strides were made in athletics in the area of race, one of Zacharias’s greatest challenges was rooted in an athletic event. He was sensitive to race relations, for though he had not grown up in the South, he knew all too well the stigma attached to Mississippi’s violent racial past. Early in his presidency, he welcomed a national civil rights leader, Shirley Chisholm, to campus, and he met with black student leaders to talk about concerns of African American students. He met with state civil rights leader Aaron Henry of Clarksdale and the board of directors of the Mississippi chapter of the NAACP. The Executive Council refused to approve Confederate Memorial Day as one of the recognized university holidays. The new president also had to live with the long-drawn-out Ayers case, a federal court case in which the state had been sued for not properly funding historically black universities. The core of the case was reparation-type funding, and it dragged on for many years before finally being settled to no one’s satisfaction in particular. Zacharias and presidents of other historically white schools knew it had the potential to affect negatively higher education funding across the board. Not only that, but alleged “experts” brought in by the U.S. Justice Department caused consternation when they made recommendations to take away MSU’s education programs, to transfer advanced degree programs from the College of Business and Industry, and also to remove graduate programs in public policy and administration. All of these would go to historically black state universities. The programs ultimately stayed put, but their possible loss kept MSU people on edge. Yet, no matter how hard Zacharias tried, racial issues persisted, as when an affirmative action report said the university must do more to reduce racial and sexual discrimination. That was nothing, however, compared to an incident at a baseball game. In the summer of 1987, Zacharias decried racial harassment against black baseball players from teams MSU played during the past season. The agitation did not come from Polk’s players, but • 294 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

from fans enjoying causing trouble. Local NAACP leader Morris Kinsey accused university officials of being responsible for racist fan behavior during NCAA playoffs held on campus. Kinsey was not just talking about 1987; other racist comments had been heard from time to time during other playoff games, but they were more minor occurrences. The 1987 situation got special notoriety because one visiting black player dropped his pants and “mooned” the crowd in retaliation, which increased the taunting. Zacharias strongly denied charges of university racism and pointed out there was no legal way to control people, other than by urging that they respect all players. Kinsey also accused Polk of racism because the MSU team was all white. Polk argued that the best black high school players signed professional contracts, and there was nothing he could do about that. Also, Polk demanded players who excelled academically, and, whatever the racial overtones, he insisted that it was difficult to find good black players who did not go professional and who measured up academically. In any event, Zacharias pointed out that the university and its team had done nothing wrong, and he apologized to the school whose player had mooned the crowd. Zacharias came to Polk’s defense, too, denying that Polk intentionally ignored recruiting of black players. Zacharias appealed to State fans to desist from racial comments, and he warned that failure to do so might result in more stringent crowd control. He asked the athletic department and Polk to come up with ideas and suggestions. The situation led to the establishment of Black Awareness Week. Zacharias also asked Executive Council members to help involve black students in all campus organizations to promote racial harmony.69 Later, Zacharias met with NAACP leaders and insisted again that the university did not condone racist acts. His administration did not practice racial discrimination and had shown interest in the welfare of black students. Kinsey nevertheless threatened to have the NAACP do all it could to prevent black athletes in all sports from attending MSU. Moreover, the NAACP would ask the college board to investigate State, and the NCAA would be asked to refuse State any tournaments. Kinsey insisted that Polk not having black players on his team encouraged racist acts, and that Polk showed racist tendencies by not hiring black assistant coaches. Further, the university had no black administrators. Kinsey charged that Zacharias must be held accountable. The president continued denials of racism and said that the athletic department was taking • 295 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

steps to see that nothing like the baseball incident happened again. Kinsey suggested greater efforts to keep alcoholic beverages out of the left-field lounge, the area beyond the left-field fence where fans traditionally partied during games. The racial slurs originated from this area, Kinsey claimed. Zacharias admitted this was a problem and promised to do what he could to stop it. He said he had done all he could to assure a healthy atmosphere for the thirteen hundred black students on campus and the black athletes. Kinsey still pointed to the absence of black athletic administrators, coaches, faculty, and staff. Though Kinsey’s figures about black employment were sometimes off, he had made a cogent point about the lack of blacks in administrative positions. There was a black female administrator, he admitted, but she reported to a white vice president, not to Zacharias, so she could hardly be considered a strong voice for blacks on campus. In response, the administration began pressuring departments to hire more black professors. Kinsey forced Zacharias to take a long look at the racial situation on campus. Certainly no predominantly white public southern university should be vulnerable to charges of discrimination, for negative publicity brought negative ramifications. Zacharias understood that, so he could not ignore Kinsey’s charges. He continued to reach out, and the university made positive moves like purchasing a table at the legislative black caucus dinner. In 1990 and again in 1994, the National Black Graduate Student Conference was held on campus, making MSU the first university to host the national gathering twice. In 1991, Zacharias met with Aaron Henry, Kinsey, and others of the Oktibbeha County NAACP. The Zacharias administration designated a minority business coordinator in the campus Office of Procurement and Contracts. Raygene Paige, African American assistant to the extension service director, prepared civil rights guidelines for extension. Zacharias encouraged meeting affirmative action goals and stressed cultural diversity in university curricula. The administration also sought to build racial sensitivity in each administration unit. Zacharias continued to meet with black student groups throughout his administration. In some ways, these actions were symbolic, but they were certainly important to promoting positive race relations.70 Zacharias understood, too, that he needed to cement good relations with the city of Starkville. He no doubt had been briefed upon his arrival that university relations with the political and social leadership of Starkville • 296 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

had been strained in past years. He spoke frequently to civic clubs and offered MSU’s cooperation with Leadership Starkville (later known as Oktibbeha Unlimited) to talk about the planned Mississippi Research and Technology Park on the north part of the campus. He kept local economic leaders informed about the impact of university budget cuts. An MSU representative was added to the Starkville Visitors and Convention Council to improve communications with the town. Zacharias did not, however, fail to point out local weaknesses, such as lack of entertainment, the prices of housing and gas (often complained about), and the need to improve the appearance of Main Street. Yet he stressed commonality, for both MSU and Starkville needed to care about each other, especially in tough economic times. Such close neighbors needed to be there for each other.71 Cordiality also needed to be extended to the university with which MSU had a historic and bitter rivalry, the University of Mississippi, or Ole Miss. Zacharias and Ole Miss Chancellor Gerald Turner seemed to like each other right away, and they communicated openly and often. The rivalry had at times been wasteful and destructive to the two universities, and both leaders understood that cooperation would be more beneficial. The state’s three largest collegiate institutions, State, Ole Miss, and Southern Mississippi, all had been continual targets of legislative budget cuts. Therefore, the three needed to work together. Zacharias said plainly, “Foolish rivalries really have no place in higher education. There is much more to be gained from working together than there is from fighting each other.” Turner agreed, and the two easily survived the humorous, minor flap over “flagship” versus “starship.” In fact, Turner and Zacharias both seemed to enjoy themselves at Commissioner Cleere’s expense. They continued to work together, and Zacharias, during his presidency of the SEC, appointed Turner to head a committee looking at expanding the conference. This ultimately led to the addition of the universities of Arkansas and South Carolina.72 During the Zacharias era, much progress was made in the renovation and construction of buildings and beautification of grounds, and programs were often moved to new locations. The creative arts complex was completed, Butler Hall became home to computer science, and an outdoor amphitheater went up between the football stadium and fraternity row. Roadrunner Park, a circular arrangement of benches around a globe lamp and enhanced by a flower bed, was completed at the west end of Lee Hall. The expansion of the baseball stadium became a reality, and a comparative • 297 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

biomedical research facility, partially financed by the Proctor and Gamble Corporation, was built near the south end of the veterinary medicine complex (Wise Center). Funds from an asbestos lawsuit helped the university attack that problem in older buildings. Federal legislation led to MSU being selected as the hazardous waste research center in Mississippi. Butler Hall and McCain Engineering Building were approved for capital improvements, and Hand Chemical Lab, McArthur Hall, and the McCain building received the green light for renovation. Montgomery Hall was renovated and restored, and the Dave Swalm Chemical Engineering Building, a mirror image of Lee Hall, was constructed on the south end of the parade ground. Library expansion would be one of Zacharias’s proudest achievements. By the fall of 1992, the construction was ready for bidding, and the end result was a most impressive, much-expanded version of Mitchell Memorial Library. Other activities included the expansion of the alumni center to include guest rooms in what became known as the Butler-Williams Alumni Center. A new School of Forest Resources building was constructed south of the current forestry structure, Dorman Hall. The “school” would eventually become “college” and the building was named in honor of long-time dean Warren Thompson. The Center for Advanced Scientific Computing, located in the research park, became a reality. A “free speech” stand was designated (a class of 1922 memorial fountain had been on that spot) between the YMCA building and George Hall for those who wished to expound on various topics. The Hitch Hiker Stand (a place where students could sit and wait for rides), donated by the classes of 1948 and 1949, was renovated. This seemed appropriate with the increased number of shuttle buses roaming the campus. An equine training facility, seating some twenty-five hundred, was erected on the south farm. Repairs had to be made on the western side of campus to the physical plant building and other areas hit by a tornado in 1988; fortunately, damage was relatively minor and there were no injuries. Occasionally, bitter winter weather, such as in 1989–1990, caused pipe damage, and an earthquake prediction in 1990 had people on edge. The predictor was wrong. Electronic classrooms were established during the computer boom, as was Channel 30, a university channel on the local cable network. A campus radio station, WMSV, went on the air in 1994, and in 1997, the university phone system went to a five-digit system. Few of these improvements produced headlines, but they did indicate progress of varying degrees.73 • 298 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

Aside from the structures mentioned above, the naming of facilities became a busy occupation for the president, Executive Council, and the Naming of Facilities Committee, which made recommendations to Zacharias. Most all the naming related to alumni or faculty/staff who had achieved in the subject area of the buildings or other facilities, or who had made significant donations to the university. The Dairy Research Center was named after Joe Bearden, and the tennis courts after Tom Sawyer. An observatory and telescope collection became the E. Irl Howell Observatory, a physical therapy suite at the health center was named after Celia Robson, and the international student facility became the Rafael L. Callejas Center. The creative arts complex officially became James D. McComas Hall, university village became D. W. Aiken University Village, and a street that ran behind the west side of the football stadium was named in honor of the longtime campus head of security, B. S. Hood. William Gearhiser, caretaker for many years of the Chapel of Memories carillon, had the room where the chimes are located named in his honor. The poultry science facility was named for James E. Hill, and an electronic classroom in the library became the William L. Giles classroom. The health center was named for longtime campus physician John Longest, and the impressively named Rehabilitation and Training Center on Blindness and Low Vision was renamed the T. K. Martin Center for Technology and Disability. Mr. and Mrs. George Perry had the cafeteria named in their honor after making significant monetary contributions to its renovation, and the aquaculture center at Stoneville was named in honor of U.S. Senator Thad Cochran, who, despite his Ole Miss ties, has been a true friend of MSU. A swine demonstration unit at Pontotoc was named for Wiley L. Bean; the Polk-DeMent Stadium was named for Coach Polk and Gordon DeMent. The Holmes Cultural Diversity Center was named for Dr. Richard Holmes, the university’s first African American student. A petroleum engineering lab in the Carpenter Engineering Building was named for Eldred Hough, and a food processing facility for Gale Ammerman and Jim Hearnsberger. A low vision center was named for George Stoner, and the dairy processing center for Edward Custer. A new tennis center was named for A. J. Pitts and two rooms in McCool Hall for Ben and Dorothy Puckett and Walt and Shirley Olsen, respectively. A Scales building room was named to honor H. Werner Essig, and a conference room in the Agricultural and Biological Engineering Building • 299 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

was named for Rex Colwick. Aside from all these, some memorial trees were planted for deceased students and alumni, and a plaque noted John Stennis’s contributions to the Engineering Research Center.74 For Donald Zacharias, the end of his presidency at MSU did not come as he would have chosen. Despite all the financial difficulties and battles, he had led the university forward, and he had been impressive enough to be approached by the universities of Kentucky and Wyoming to come to their schools as president. He also interviewed for the presidency of Texas Tech and was a finalist for the presidency of the University of Oklahoma. Rumors persisted that he had been approached by many other schools, but he had asked not to be considered. It was little wonder, for he had served on many boards and with many agencies in Mississippi; he had traveled the country and the world as he educated himself and spread the word about MSU. At one point he was named “Mississippian of the Year” by the Jackson chapter of the Data Processing Management Association. He in fact received many honors and was known for his broad vision of what land-grant universities such as MSU could mean to the state, nation, and world in a variety of areas. He had become well known for his leadership abilities, and his numerous activities made him a most desirable person to lead any university. Yet he remained faithful to MSU, and most people who truly understood what he had done for the university through some very difficult times were relieved that he remained committed to the people’s university.75 In the fall of 1990, Zacharias had suffered a series of spells in which he blacked out. Doctors concluded that scar tissue, possibly resulting from a past head injury and located on the left side of his brain, may have caused irritation and the blackouts. Surely one must wonder, given his diagnosis of multiple sclerosis a few years later, if these might have been the first signs of that dreaded disease. Yet he seemed to be healthy during the time in between these episodes and the later diagnosis.76 On March 24, 1997, Zacharias, with the multiple sclerosis diagnosis much on his mind, announced that he would retire at the end of the year. He said plainly that he had MS, “which as most of you know is a disease that affects the nerve fibers in the body. We have accepted that.” He said, with a touch of humor, that since this was a disease that usually hit young adults, maybe he was one, but he would rather have people say that because he owned a sports car or because he wore a toupee. He went on to say that he had concluded that the university should begin a methodical transition • 300 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

to a new president. He said he would resign by January 1, 1998, and during the next nine months would work on a transition. He said he was surrounded by enough love to sustain and enrich him and give him hope for his future and that of MSU. He asked for both prayers and patience. “I am resolute,” he said, “in the belief that this university serves a purpose that overshadows the contributions of any one man. This has long been a ‘People’s University.’ Now it stands as today’s university for tomorrow’s world. With its starship qualities for studying in disciplines ranging from art to animal science to engineering, it is poised to take us into the 21st century.”77 Tributes, success stories, and ramifications of what was to follow came after the announcement. A new, much-needed band hall had been one of Zacharias’s goals, but it had never come to fruition. In 1996, he approved a proposal for a new band building, but not until 2006 was the decision finally made to build the new hall. To be located several hundred yards south of the old building forced upon the band for too many long years, the new facility promises to be state of the art.78 A nearby newspaper in Columbus, the Commercial Dispatch, printed a litany of Zacharias’s accomplishments: enrollment had increased by 16 percent in the past ten years, MSU had been named one of the top research universities in the country, the computer science program had become one of twenty-two in the nation to be accredited, the university had received its largest grant in history ($24 million for waste reclamation research), more than sixteen gifts of $1 million or more had been received, Honda had donated $1 million for engineering research and the Joseph Henry Barrier estate donated $4.5 million to endow engineering scholarships, the drive for donations in 1993 had brought in $43 million, and a new North Mississippi Research and Extension Center had been built at Verona near Tupelo. A Central Mississippi Research and Extension Center was in the planning stage and would be located near Hinds Community College in Raymond. Since 1985 more than $50 million in private funds had helped with construction, the library had undergone a major expansion and special areas there would include the John Grisham Room and the James H. Carr Phi Delta Kappa reading room area, other construction work had totaled more than $160 million, the president had appointed the first female dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, Lida Barrett, and Steven Cooper had become the first black student body president. • 301 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

Zacharias himself spoke of proud moments after the retirement announcement, especially the $18.6 million Dave Swalm building, a mirror image of Lee Hall and dubbed locally “Lee Hall, Jr.” No one in the history of MSU had ever given so much for a building (and Swalm threw in $400,000 more to build a pro shop at the university golf course). And he continued to experience special moments, as when officials at his former school, Western Kentucky University, named a campus dormitory Zacharias Hall, and formally dedicated it on April 29, 1997.79 At the beginning of the fall semester 1997, Zacharias talked about what was and what he hoped to see as the time for his departure from the presidency grew closer. Enrollment would surpass the record set the fall of 1996. The current year would see the completion or continuation of more that $100 million in building and structural improvements. Incoming freshmen, on average, had the highest ACT scores in the state. Mitchell Memorial was now the largest research library in Mississippi. A new library dean, Frances Coleman, was chosen in 1997 to head the new facility. Soon it would contain the John Grisham Room, a renovated portion of the addition, funded by the famous fiction writer and MSU alumnus, and the room would offer space for many special occasions; there have been numerous events held there each year. Other developments included a Bell Island chapel bell memorial, commemorating the chapel assemblies held in the early years of the university, near the Chapel of Memories. The Crosby Arboretum on the Gulf Coast would be transferred to MSU in 1997. East of the College of Veterinary Medicine, plans called for a new lighted sports complex with four baseball fields. The Joe Frank Sanderson Recreational Center would be opening possibly in the spring, beating the July target date. Sanderson also had made other donations, including $1 million to assist the colleges of business and industry and arts and sciences. The union was due for a facelift, but that would have to wait until 2006–2007. The major gifts campaign had resulted in more than $140 million in donations, which would mean more scholarships, endowments, equipment, and capital improvements. Zacharias did not take personal credit for these accomplishments, for he knew that many had helped, and he said so. He said he planned to stay for a while, and he and Tommye would continue living in Starkville. He did not know until late in 1997 that he would be named to direct operations in the John Grisham Room in the main library and would be involved with university fund-raising. He has since • 302 •

zacharias: the starship years, 1985–1997

been forced by health conditions into a second retirement, but he and his wife still live in Starkville, and he is as active as his health allows. A new Zacharias portrait, painted by Thomas Neilsen, a nationally known portrait artist, would also be placed in the library. The new president, Malcolm Portera, would call on Zacharias for advice dealing with the legislature. So the Zacharias presidency was going out in style, while the soon-tobe former president was not going anywhere. As if to underscore that fact, he was invited by the new president to be commencement speaker at the December 1997 graduation ceremonies, and a campuswide reception was held for the retiring president on December 3, a day in which he was recognized statewide. An endowment set up in his name was funded by an initial $100,000 gift from the Phil Hardin Foundation; named the Zacharias Faculty Excellence Endowment, it would have the purpose of rewarding and supporting teaching at MSU. He received lifetime membership in the Starkville Chamber of Commerce and was honored with resolutions from Starkville and Oktibbeha County governments. In fact, he announced that he would like to be buried on the campus if the university’s proposed memorial gardens ever came into being (as of this writing, they have not). He and his wife planned to purchase plots.80 As Zacharias and his family prepared to move out of the president’s home and into a home in a Starkville residential area, the departing president remarked, “Maybe moving is not so bad after all. You have to review the highlights and memories of your family’s life and discard the unessential for you and future generations. Keep what will bring you pleasure and give your life deeper meaning.” He continued, “After all, moving is what forces you to dump the junk and keep what is really important to you. But don’t do it unless you have to.”81 As Zacharias entered a new phase of life, perhaps his most poignant tribute had come from columnist Sid Salter, an MSU alumnus, who recalled seeing the president at a basketball tournament in Kentucky. “What I saw,” wrote Salter, “was a man struggling with gnawing fatigue and waning balance who said quietly to me with a smile at the end of the first game: ‘If you don’t mind, I’m going to hold onto your shoulder while we get up these stairs. You just keep walking and we’ll get there together, okay?’ If there’s a line that sums up the Doc’s 12-year tenure of service to Mississippi higher education, I think that’s it—‘just keep walking and we’ll get there together.’”82 • 303 •

11 Portera and Lee: Big Business and Steady Hands, 1998–2003

M

alcolm Portera, a native of West Point, Mississippi, had, by the time he became Mississippi State University’s sixteenth president on January 1, 1998, made quite a name for himself in the neighboring state of Alabama. Born in January 1946, he received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees at MSU in 1969 and 1971 (his wife, Olivia, was also an MSU grad) before going to the University of Alabama to earn his doctoral degree in 1977, all his degrees being in political science. When he was selected MSU’s new president, he was fifty-one years old, and when he assumed the office he was nearly a month short of his fifty-second birthday. At the time of his selection, he was president of Portera and Associates, “a political consulting, economic development and strategic planning firm” in Tuscaloosa, and had been vice-chancellor emeritus at the University of Alabama since 1996. He had served as vice president for external affairs in the University of Alabama system from 1990 to 1996, and earlier in his career there, he had been executive assistant to the president of the university, assistant vice president for research and public service, director of extended instructional programs, and assistant to the vice president for academic affairs. Before his Alabama career began, he had, in the mid-seventies, worked for the Mississippi Research and Development Center of the institutions of higher learning board. Before returning to his native state to assume the MSU presidency, he had made quite a name in the world of big business, heading up heavily funded projects in industry, state and local • 304 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

governments, and federal programs. His successful fund-raising no doubt appealed to the presidential selection committee.1 At the time of the announcement that he was returning to Mississippi, Portera said that he had only actively sought two jobs in his career, his position at the Mississippi Research and Development Center and the State presidency. However, there were rumors that some arm-twisting went on by university supporters to get him to apply for the job. If so, he could hardly be blamed. The state’s economic woes with the concomitant negative impact on higher education were well known. Portera must have known of Zacharias’s constant budget struggles; they had been extensive enough to make anyone hesitate to want to be his successor. On the other hand, Portera’s credentials certainly made him appear to be one who could find outside funding to make up for the legislature’s usual insufficient funding.2 Portera quickly announced his immediate plans, general in nature, but with enough leverage to give him maneuvering room. The outline included: filling key leadership positions; building a solid team; generating additional resources for quality teaching, research, and service; identifying areas of the greatest need for more faculty; establishing fund-raising priorities and sources of private support; enhancing campus life for students; adopting a strategic plan to promote MSU; and improving the academic infrastructure with better facilities, improved library resources, and advanced computers.3 A few weeks later, he elaborated with the announcement that he wanted to set three long-term strategic objectives: creating a preeminent instructional program for undergraduates, getting MSU into the top seventy-five research universities and “substantially enhancing” graduate programs, and taking public service to national prominence among land-grant universities. He also wanted to raise faculty salaries and to replace scholarship funds, previously provided by state money, with private contributions.4 Portera’s additional goals for his presidency included finding remedies to faculty shortages, having a stronger MSU presence in Washington, D.C. (especially regarding consultations with funding sources and Mississippi congressional staffs), supporting student affairs projects, strengthening MSU’s presence among elementary and secondary school programs, finding more private support for athletics, and emphasizing women’s sports.5 To carry out his programs, Portera needed top administrators he could depend on. He counted heavily on an old friend, David Cole, formerly of • 305 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

the University of Alabama, whom he intitially hired to work on special projects at MSU. Robert Altenkirch was appointed vice president for research, and Melvin Ray became a special assistant to the president. At the Meridian campus, Bev Norment became dean, and Sara Freedman was named dean of the College of Business and Industry on the main campus. Provost Derek Hodgson resigned in June 1998 and was replaced by David Cole, initially on an interim basis and later full time. Warren Thompson became interim vice president for agriculture, forestry, and veterinary medicine during the second year of Portera’s presidency. That same year, future president J. Charles Lee succeeded Thompson. Lee would later assume an additional job as dean of the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences. In the spring of 1999, Dennis Prescott became vice president for external affairs, succeeding Billy Ward, a Zacharias carryover who left to become head of the David Swalm Foundation in Texas.6 While his team was gradually coming together, Portera began at once to look at the budgeting process and how he would deal with it. In the spring of 1998, he learned that the board’s Finance Committee had discussed a 10 percent tuition increase. Also, any mid-year salary increases would have to be justified. A survey of southern institutions of higher learning in 1998 indicated that MSU’s faculty salary increases for the 1998–1999 fiscal year were the highest in the region, averaging 9.7 percent. This was a positive way for a new president to start his tenure, but certainly he was not naïve enough to think financial problems would not rise to the surface eventually. Such had become a way of life for the state’s universities.7 On February 6, 1999, Portera was inaugurated as the sixteenth president of MSU, and in his speech on the occasion, he reviewed some of his goals under the heading “Leadership for the 21st Century Initiative.” That initiative covered several major points which would be constant themes for the Portera years. He wanted a strong undergraduate instruction program, students who had achieved high academic levels before coming to MSU, a continuation of the people’s university tradition that would ensure “access and support” for students from all economic levels of the state, and national prominence in research, including having MSU become a “top50 research university,” joining other major institutions as a Carnegie Foundation Research I university. He wanted to build the university libraries to the point of attaining membership in the elite Association of Research Libraries. He wanted to accelerate service to the state, in the tradition of a • 306 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

land-grant university. Another major goal would be to promote economic development and service partnerships with business and industry, communities, local governments, and public education, and “apply university expertise to issues affecting Mississippi’s citizens and to increase state revenues.” Other “leadership” goals included expansion of human resources to ensure quality, an appealing residential and campus life for students, effective management, excellent alumni relations, a high-quality physical infrastructure, and athletic competitiveness. As Portera incorporated the “leadership” particulars into his speech, he added that he believed the university offered to Mississippians “hope for a better life, a secure future and a key to unlock the potential that every parent sees in the eyes of their offspring.” He cited the university’s current rank, sixty-sixth in the National Science Foundation’s rankings of public research universities. He believed the university could always be better: “The flame of desire to tackle the challenges and pursue the opportunities in the new century is intense.”8 In September 1999, Portera announced a $5 million reallocation program that he claimed would strengthen the university budget management process. He said, by way of explanation, “The Leadership for the 21st Century agenda that we agreed on earlier this year as a university community can move Mississippi State to new levels of quality and competitiveness, but we have to make sure that we’re building on a solid foundation. This is the continuation of an ongoing reallocation process that was initiated with the reduction of university vehicles. We’ve made a good start on strengthening the academic side of the university with investments in the library, new faculty positions, and research support, and we have the plans in place to complete the physical infrastructure of the campus as well. We also want to ensure that our fiscal infrastructure is sound.” Portera wanted to get away from the practice of budgeting up to $5 million that was “not actually on hand at the start of the fiscal year” but was expected to be available as employee positions became vacant, freeing up lapsed salary money. The lapsed, or unused, money would be used “to fill in the revenue gap” that existed at the start of the budget year. If enough of this source of funds did not become available to fill the gap, then the university might be forced to dip into reserve funds to make up the difference. This practice of deficit budgeting could aggravate the budgeting process, if the reserve funds were not sufficient, for it would force cuts that • 307 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

had not been anticipated when the budget was set at the beginning of the fiscal year. Portera termed this gap, which, it was hoped, would be filled by lapsed salary funds, as a “rolling hole in the budget.” He planned to plug it in a different way. He wanted a $5 million reallocation process put into effect. The money would come from the E&G budget, the shorthand term for education and general budget, but would not include salaries, scholarships, and tuition fee waivers. The $5 million “would be prorated among university divisions.” These divisions, or most of them anyway, would make one-time, permanent budget reductions to meet their reallocation targets. In effect, divisions would cut their budgets one time, place the money together to make up the $5 million, and thus fill the “rolling hole.” Portera told each division that teaching and research, taking advantage of new opportunities such as matching grant funds, and improving the ratio of faculty to other staff would be protected. The amounts each division would have to cut were set in advance and included over $110,000 from the president’s office. Portera pointed out that this process was consistent with the long-range priorities and goals plan for the 2000–2004 period, one section of which stated plainly, “The university will eliminate reliance on lapsed salaries for recurring expenditures.” Obviously, this meant that Portera did not want to gamble on the availability of lapsed salary funds, but rather structure a budget based on an exact amount of available funds, even if short-term cutbacks on programs and not filling vacant positions were required. Fundraising priorities included plans and timetables that would be put into place with both “top-down” and “bottom-up” participation in goal setting by faculty and staff of each university division.9 As enrollment increased, putting more pressure on campus resources, Portera came up with what proved to be a controversial solution to relieving that pressure. He spoke out encouraging potential students whose high school grades were not high and who did not score at least 21 on the ACT to consider community colleges first. Portera had in mind going after students with high academic potential for the freshman classes, or, as he put it, “We must concentrate on raising the academic profile of our students and make sure we’re focused on quality in all that we do.” The community college option for those who were not in the elite group would ease pressure on MSU’s resources, and, in the long run, help those who spent two years at the community college level to increase their academic prepara• 308 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

tion. Portera expounded, “Building on that two-plus-two system may offer the best approach in the future for MSU, our community college partners, and some of the students currently enrolling here as freshman.” In 2000, parameters that emphasized Portera’s idea were set to clarify his emphases. A 2.5 grade-point average in high school and a 21 or higher score on the ACT would mean a better chance of success at MSU. Students who did not meet that threshold would not necessarily be denied admission but would be advised by the University Academic Advising Center for their first thirty hours of basic courses. They also could not take more than fifteen hours, which must include a course in basic study skills. Obviously these steps were meant to discourage the nonelite group. Portera commented in 2001, “We may enroll fewer freshmen in the process, but we will become a stronger and better university.” While such an approach had pragmatic elements, there were indications that it did not play too well with the public, for it sounded as if MSU only wanted smart freshmen, and others need not apply or should be satisfied applying at community colleges. The university would have some public relations fence-mending to do.10 Yet this is not to imply Portera had concern for only the very top few students, for his purpose was indeed to draw the best and the brightest. He spent many hours on the phone recruiting students who were not necessarily the most talented, but who, he believed, had a good chance of success as incoming freshmen. He, in effect, befriended and challenged those students who seemed capable of success. He started the Presidential Endowed Scholarships and formed the Distinguished Scholarship Program. And while he did not build a reputation as a proponent of the humanities for the students interested in those various fields, he did push for a superior library program, and his desire for university Phi Beta Kappa membership demonstrated that he had an appreciation of humanities programs. It is unfortunate that the public had a misconception that he did not care about modest, low-achieving students and had no concerns for humanities programs.11 Another cost-cutting measure that raised a few eyebrows was the elimination of some commencement activities. The Executive Council decided in 1998 that commencement speakers would no longer be scheduled for August and December ceremonies. The next year, the council went one step further and decided on only one commencement per year, to be held • 309 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

on the first Saturday after the end of the spring semester. A move that perhaps softened these decisions came when Portera appointed a committee to work on an honorary degree program, which the board in 1998 allowed for the first time.12 When budget cuts appeared likely for the 2000–2001 fiscal year, Portera reacted by saying that vacant nonfaculty positions would not be filled and no new positions created unless under special circumstances. He promised to continue his financial commitment to the library, but to go the reallocation route to keep things moving elsewhere. He made clear that when necessary “internal reallocation will occur annually in the future.” He also said, “We can keep on taking hits and let our situation erode, or we can take the initiative in reallocating funds to maintain progress; we are determined to not lose our momentum.”13 Other efforts to raise revenue on campus included reducing out-of-state tuition waivers for children of alumni from 90 to 50 percent; academic standards for waivers, including out-of-state, would be based on ACT scores. The president also set up a reduction in force task force to look at ways to reduce unessential expenses.14 An area looked at by all the state universities for cost cutting included replacing E&G scholarship funds with private funds, either wholly or in part. All the business officers of state universities discussed this issue, including a proposal that a limit of 3 percent be placed on scholarship money coming out of E&G budgets.15 One highlight of funding during the Portera years was that federal dollars poured into campus research coffers in record numbers. Grants and contracts for the 1998–1999 fiscal year totaled $51 million, up from $39 million the previous fiscal year, and the amount would increase every year while Portera was president. Alumni and other donors were also generous. In 2000–2001, donations to the university totaled $55.8 million in gifts and pledges, an all-time high in MSU history and a 37 percent increase over the previous year.16 Though Portera managed budget problems relatively well, by 2001, his last year as president, budget reductions continued to haunt the campus. Earlier budget cutbacks helped offset some losses, but Portera continued to be forced to issue guidelines that vacant staff positions would largely remain unfilled, and the only faculty positions that would be filled would be ones in which searches were already under way.17 • 310 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

Sometimes budget problems blindsided the administration. In late 1999, Portera announced to the Executive Council that the Carnegie Foundation was considering a change in its classification system that would exclude federal funding as a criterion for classifying research universities. The Experimental Program to Stimulate Competitive Research (EPSCoR) and the Southern Universities Research Association, two organizations in which MSU was a participating member, would ask the Carnegie people to reconsider this proposal, which could hurt the ability of funding agencies to “differentiate among institutions on the basis of their missions.” Obviously federal funding was a key to Portera’s plans for the university, and losses in that area would be extremely hurtful.18 Portera’s relationship with campus faculty seemed to be moderate in nature. Pay raises increased his popularity among many, but others, especially those in the arts and humanities, did not necessarily embrace his desires for economic development, which seemed to emphasize grant funding in the engineering, science, and agricultural fields. His presence on campus was possibly too brief for any obvious signs of polarization one way or the other. Certainly many applauded early decisions that led to new faculty positions being created for the 1998–1999 fiscal year due to a $2 million set-aside for that purpose. The criteria for these new positions were student demand regarding academic programs, accreditation requirements, and research.19 Faculty and staff were affected by state legislation in 1998 requiring that state employees, including those in universities, be paid monthly in two installments, beginning January 1, 1999. A project that never seemed to get off the ground, involving recognition of faculty and staff, was a plan to honor previous and current employees who had served at least ten years at the university. The information, gathered by a history graduate student, would be put on the university Web site. The project, however, never materialized for reasons that are not clear.20 In 1998, noted author and alumnus John Grisham set up master teacher awards for the recognition of outstanding teaching faculty. Sometimes Grisham himself showed up to present the awards. Grisham also agreed to serve as honorary chair of an endowed scholarship campaign, which meant that he would lend his name and, it was hoped, his checkbook to the campaign.21 A policy change affecting employees who wanted to take courses at the university came in August 2001. The change affected tuition remission, • 311 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

in that it excluded “correspondence or independent courses, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine degree programs, and distance learning fees.” Another revision affected exclusion of the same remission of fees for employees’ dependent children taking courses.22 The new president’s relationship with students apparently was good, though he did not seem to develop the widespread popularity of a Zacharias. This was probably due more to personality than policy differences. Certainly Portera cared about the well-being of students, though his desire to recruit top academically talented students at what has for many years been labeled the “people’s university” may have left a bad taste for those already on campus who did not fit that profile. Plans were made early in the Portera years to have MSU students involved in a statewide alcohol awareness program. The need for such a program, and more, was underscored by the arrest in April 1998 of several students on drug-related charges. Eventually university policy changed to include notification to parents of students under the age of twenty-one who were caught consuming alcoholic beverages on university property. In 2001, the university, with the aid of a U.S. Department of Education grant, started a program to demonstrate to students the risks of drinking and to spread word of nonalcoholic alternatives.23 During the spring of 1998, before the recruitment of top students policy was announced, MSU received ACT scores from around sixty-seven hundred students, with health-related majors being the most popular. Students already on campus continued to lobby for a fall break, and, as in the past, the idea was referred to several different groups for study.24 Vice President for Student Affairs Roy Ruby recommended and received approval in December 1998 for a policy to contain “Guidelines for Documentation of Students with a Specific Learning Disorder, Attention Deficit Disorder, or Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder, or a Psychiatric Psychological Disorder.” This policy would, in general, follow “federal requirements for providing assistance to students with special needs.”25 To assist students looking to the future, the Portera administration conveniently combined the Office of Career Services and the Cooperative Education Program. The joint program would be overseen by the provost and the vice president for academic affairs.26 Portera also addressed expanding efforts to protect students on campus. Surveillance cameras would be used only for crime prevention and would • 312 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

not be permitted to be intrusive in either the professional or personal activities of anyone on campus. The campus police also looked at possible use of voice stress analyzers. A Department of Justice grant allowed the department to put more officers on duty to patrol residence halls.27 In early 2001, the student association formed a freshman forum to give potential freshman leaders a chance to interact with upper-class mentors. Also in 2001, a freshman mentoring program was established to help encourage the new students in their first year of college life. Volunteer faculty monitored the progress of students and offered advice and consultations.28 Portera applauded students who excelled in technological and other academic areas, and there were many who did. The university’s student chapter of the Society of American Foresters was rated tops in the nation by their peer chapters in 2001. Students in the Society of Automotive Engineers won first place “for originality for the all-terrain vehicle they built for the 2001 Midwest Mini-Baja competition.” Civil engineering students won the Overall Design Award in the 2001 National Timber Bridge Design Competition.29 The presence of African American students on campus increased steadily during the Portera years. Reports early in his presidency indicated that statewide enrollment of African American freshmen declined slightly over 6 percent from 1996 to 1997, while white freshman enrollment rose a little over 4 percent. At MSU, however, black freshman enrollment rose during the same period by nearly 19 percent, while the white freshman increase was 4½ percent. The trend has continued, and, to date, MSU has maintained a higher number of African American students than other historically white universities in Mississippi.30 Foreign students continued to be a significant presence on campus, though as in the past some were hampered by events beyond their control. During the Portera years, students from Malaysia faced problems when an Asian financial crisis in early 1998 raised concerns about their ability to remain on campus. At the time, the Malaysians made up the largest contingent of international students at MSU. Financial problems were averted, and the university continued to reach out to international students with extended orientation programs and health and repatriation insurance. Programming fees were instituted to help the Office of International Services support the orientation programs.31 Training for international students in adapting to life on campus came about in 1998 when the Garan Company, working with the Division of • 313 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

Student Affairs, offered seminars on apparel manufactured by the company. The purpose was to give students personal contact with American businesses and business practices.32 In the fall of 2000, U.S. Congressman Roger Wicker brought a ten-member delegation of Russians to visit MSU. Their tour included the College of Veterinary Medicine and the Engineering Research Center. They consulted with university officials who explained the land-grant tradition of research and outreach.33 When the tragic day of September 11, 2001, came, there were some concerns about negative reactions against international students, especially those from the Middle East. But nothing of note happened, and the campus had a business-as-usual atmosphere in spite of what had happened in New York, the nation’s capital, and Pennsylvania. Among academic developments during the Portera years, the enhancement of the fifth-year architecture program in Jackson continued. It was called the Jackson Community Design Center, and there would be needs for student housing, more space for university use, and plans for property development at the proposed site on East Capitol Street. Private fund-raising goals to finance the building program ranged from a half million to a million dollars.34 Portera also looked at the possibility on campus of a new College of Education building, so all that college’s faculty could be brought together under one roof. As a part of this concept, he wanted to upgrade instructional technology and underscore the significance of teacher education. At about the same time the university requested and was granted a change of the bachelor of professional accountancy degree to a bachelor of science in accountancy.35 Other early developments in the Portera years included the filing of a notice of intent to ask for a new doctoral program in cognitive science (which examines how the mind works regarding decision making, problem solving, and remembrance), which would be approved, and a new master’s program in community college education, approval for which would take some time for reasons that are not clear. Emmett and Kathryn Kimbrough donated stock that made possible the establishment of a “precision agriculture laboratory” in the Department of Agricultural and Biological Engineering. The lab would be used for “teaching and research focused on spatial technology, including global positioning system technology, remote sensing, and sensor development.”36 • 314 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

The Kimbrough donation enhanced a federal grant of a half million dollars from NASA which helped establish the Southern Remote Sensing Research and Training Center at Mississippi State. Faculty from such diverse areas as forestry, wildlife and fisheries, plant and soil sciences, and engineering participated in remote sensing research to help a wide variety of economic activities, from forest management to farming. For example, remote sensing data from satellites helped produce maps that could pinpoint farming areas that needed fertilizer or weed control. In January 1999 came the announcement that NASA was giving the university $10 million to establish a national center for remote sensing research at MSU, to be called the Applied Remote Sensing Center of Excellence. The additional funding allowed expansion of research begun with the earlier grant. By the end of 1999, NASA increased its commitment to $25 million for establishing the Remote Sensing Technologies Center. The Center’s focus would be on agriculture, transportation, forestry, and wildlife.37 The College of Engineering established a new bachelor’s degree in computer software engineering. The program was only one of seven in the U.S. and combined training from professors in computer science and industrial engineering, as well as the College of Business and Industry’s business information systems department.38 In the fall of 2001, MSU began offering a master’s degree in applied anthropology. The new program provided training in anthropological analysis to prepare students for varied fields such as medical anthropology and public archaeology.39 The administration also considered a proposal by the air force ROTC to construct a “jump pit” (related to parachuting) as part of the program’s physical training. The pit would be located near the Middleton ROTC building. The Executive Council approved the concept and sent the proposal to the Campus Planning and Development Committee, which made recommendations involving physical alterations on the campus.40 In 2001, the university added two new degree programs, a master’s and doctoral degree in biological engineering in the Department of Agricultural and Biological Engineering. The new programs were intended to complement and support the Life Sciences and Biotechnology Institute. Majors in the College of Forest Resources had the option in 2001 of specializing in urban forestry, the caretaking of trees along streets, in parks, and in other urban areas.41 • 315 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

Technological advances affected many phases of campus operations under Portera. His administration developed plans early “to create a quasipublic Mississippi Technology Institute.” Meanwhile the continued existence of the Science and Technology Commission would be extended for a year while the MTI situation underwent more study. An electronic classroom was completed in Allen Hall in the summer of 1998; it became the sixth interactive video classroom on the MSU campus.42 The university also moved toward a card system to coordinate functions of the “electronically programmable university identification card, including debit card functions, residence hall access, and meal plans.” A proposed central card office would handle all these functions, which, at the time, were spread over several locations.43 The Banner system, instituted in 1994, was expanded to include finance, human resources, student accounts receivable, student financial aid, and student information. More enhancements were anticipated, though problems with the system continued to challenge technology specialists on campus, who often had to alter the system to make it work.44 The university also got caught up in the Y2K scare, when computer experts around the world predicted chaos in computing systems on January 1, 2000. Campus administrators consulted on plans to meet potential problems, especially regarding contingencies that might be necessary to overcome such problems. Of course, Y2K turned out to be much ado about nothing, but MSU was ready just in case.45 The ever-widening use of computers also led the Office of Student Affairs to propose a policy that “Student Use of Computing Resources” be modified with the addition of a provision “against displaying pornographic or sexually explicit images on a computer in view of others in a public facility or location.” The Executive Council adopted the additional language.46 MSU’s computing technology continued to increase, and in the summer of 1999, the university was ranked thirteenth among national academic institutions in supercomputing abilities. The university ranked second in the Southeast and first in the Southeastern Conference. In late 2001, the university’s supercomputing cluster in an academic setting earned a ranking of number thirteen in the nation. One outgrowth of the university’s computing technology was the assigning of an e-mail address to every student by the Information Technology Services in the fall of 2001. The most notable prize during the Portera administration was a 2001 eight-year con• 316 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

tract from the Department of Defense in the amount of $108 million to work with DOD’s “High Performance Computing Modernization Program.” The widespread project involves a team of university and industry partners across the country.47 A summary of current instructional technology and institutional information management projects in the summer of 2001 included development of “fully supported and fully integrated version of WebCT, support of Blackboard, improved course content support from the Information Media Center in the library,” better support for course management systems and related instructional technologies from User Services in Information Technology Services, and a proposed advisory committee. Other proposals included a center for instructional technology to help faculty and information about university participation in a project called Campus Pipeline, Inc., which would, it was hoped, develop a digital campus operation to provide increased technology services. Other technology initiatives included Digital Campus, Instructional Technology, Institutional Information Management, and the Communication Infrastructure Update.48 Other significant research at MSU during Portera’s tenure included the effectiveness of measures taken to prevent DUIs (driving under the influence of alcohol); bridge/roadway construction, including materials testing and traffic planning; and time reduction for making fuselage molds for single-engine airplanes. The John C. Stennis Institute of Government joined with the Mississippi Municipal Association to help with the “Building SelfReliance” program that helped small towns examine future infrastructure needs. MSU also joined with about one hundred other universities to establish South East Partnership to Share Computational Resources Network, an outgrowth of setting up Internet2, designed to speed up Internet access and use. The university ultimately became the first in the state to connect to Internet2, which greatly increased speed, enhancing research on and off campus. The Northrop Grumman manufacturers of California gave funds to the MSU/National Science Foundation Engineering Research Center for Computational Field Simulation. The Diagnostic Instrumentation and Analysis Laboratory (DIAL), established in 1980, had its new $8.8 million facility, located in the Mississippi Research and Technology Park, dedicated in April 1998. The ERC’s computing expertise earned the state a top-three ranking among the country’s supercomputing powers. In 2001, the National Security Agency invited MSU to join twenty-two other universities in the • 317 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

Center of Academic Excellence in Information Assurance Education program. The program had been set up “to encourage American higher education’s help in overcoming a national shortage of computer specialists trained in information systems security.” The university’s engineering research was among exhibitions showcased in the nation’s capital and included designs that could improve the maneuverability of navy surface vessels, advancement of propulsion forces, improvement of shallow-water maneuverability of submarines, identification of geologic regions on the ocean floor, and the nation’s defense computing capabilities. In 1999, the Office of Naval Research gave the Computational Fluid Dynamics Lab at the ERC an award of $3 million to research the design of a new class of destroyers, study submarine maneuvering, and continue computational design programs. In 2000, the navy funded a multi-institutional project that included MSU to develop more efficiency for construction of a ship’s rear hull. In late 1999, the College of Engineering entered the nation’s top fifty engineering research schools, based on research spending. In early 2001 came news that MSU had moved to the fifty-eighth spot among public university rankings in total research and development expenditures as determined by the National Science Foundation. Portera’s goal of entering the top fifty seemed in sight. The university continued at number eight in agricultural expenditures and thirty-seventh in engineering.49 Working with fellow researchers at Carnegie Mellon and the University of California (Berkeley), in 2001 MSU engineering faculty developed software to “model the impact of major earthquakes on urban areas,” focusing on the Los Angeles basin on the edge of the famous San Andreas Fault. Supported by a $1.6 million grant from the National Science Foundation, the research produced software that would be “the most physically correct model ever developed for earthquake analysis.” In another project MSU civil engineering professors and students worked on computer simulation software to model the impact of various explosives on varying types of blast-resistant embassy building walls. The technology was not new, but improved software would speed tests at less cost for hypothetical situations.50 Other research in 2001 included studies by the College of Veterinary Medicine’s Center for Environmental Health Sciences on how agricultural chemicals affected the human nervous system. The research, supported by • 318 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

a $1.26 million grant from the National Institutes of Health, would, it was hoped, lead to a better understanding of the impact of insecticides on humans. Chemical engineers, with a $1.2 million grant from the Department of Energy, studied how power-generating plants could be fueled by “cleanburning natural gas,” which might help solve energy problems in the country. The Rehabilitation Research and Training Center on Blindness and Low Vision, established at MSU in 1981 and “the only one of its kind,” received support from a $3 million grant by the National Institute on Disability and Rehabilitation Research to train managers of state business enterprise programs. The hope was to increase the number of counselors and to deal effectively with workplace problems.51 Another joint university and industry cooperative operation, in which MSU’s College of Engineering worked as part of a five-university cooperative effort, was the evaluation of the use of composite materials for building helicopter hangars for the U.S. Navy. The composites, made up of plastics and other nonmetallic matter, were both lightweight and difficult for enemy radars to detect. The ongoing research focused in part on making such material safe from lightning strikes.52 One of MSU’s electrical engineers, Stephen Saddow, director of the Emerging Materials Research Laboratory, received the university’s first research award regarding nanotechnology, which is a technology used to create materials on the scale of nanometers, or one-billionth of a meter. In collaboration with researchers at Carnegie Mellon University, Saddow worked with a Department of Defense grant to apply nanotechnology to the manufacture of compound semiconductors.53 One of President Portera’s early and consistent commitments was to provide financial support for the improvement of the library program, the ultimate goal being membership for the library in the Association of Research Libraries. No other president in MSU’s long history made such a determined effort to raise the level of the program, though the Zacharias presidency had produced the magnificent expansion of the building. The library’s fortunes had indeed taken a turn for the better with the back-toback presidencies of two men who made such a positive impact on the library program. None of the university libraries in Mississippi held membership in ARL, so Portera worked closely with the library’s Dean Frances Coleman to investigate what would be needed for the MSU Libraries to become the first. • 319 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

Portera’s commitment of an extra $1 million per year for three years certainly improved the library’s chances. Increased commitment of dollars led in the latter part of 1999 to a two-phased plan to raise the number of journals in the library to ten thousand. An important step came when the executive director of ARL visited the campus to consult with Dean Coleman and the library staff. Unfortunately, the prodigious efforts did not produce positive results, but efforts to achieve ARL status have continued.54 Also during the Portera years, the library’s congressional collection, which already contained the papers of Senator John Stennis and congressmen Sonny Montgomery, David Bowen, and Charles Griffin, was further enhanced by the donation of papers in 1999 by congressmen Chip Pickering and Mike Espy. As previously noted, the library also established the John Grisham Room, a facility funded by Grisham that would be used for programs and exhibits, and which would, it was hoped, in Grisham’s words, “inspire students to read, perhaps to write and, most importantly, to dream.”55 The acquisition of a major collection of late nineteenth and early twentieth century sheet music, collected by Starkville businessman Charles Templeton, led to a digitization project that placed the sheet music on the library Web site. The site has drawn much acclaim and was enhanced in 2006 by the opening of the Templeton Museum in the library, which also features antique instruments and record players, among other musical treasures. Another impressive gift included several first-edition copies of novels by William Faulkner, donated by alumnus John P. Elliott of Tupelo. Media scholar John Calhoun Merrill of Missouri, a Mississippi native, donated his papers to the library’s impressive journalism collections.56 In 2000, the library joined with several other southern university libraries to form the “region’s largest virtual electronic library.” A total of twelve libraries, all members of the Association of Southeastern Research Libraries, joined to allow access to their total holdings by students and faculty, holdings that totaled 23.6 million volumes.57 In 2001, library staff began putting MSU theses and dissertations online. The conversion involved the library with a consortium called the Networked Digital Library of Theses and Dissertations, which had originated in 1997 at Virginia Tech University. The project increased the Internet availability of subject matter produced by student researchers.58 Quality outreach programs, long a staple of MSU’s land-grant tradition, continued to produce impressive results during Portera’s administration. • 320 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

Plans for the Central Mississippi Research and Extension Center near Hinds Community College in Raymond, Mississippi, continued. The university offered assistance to Holly Springs in north Mississippi in putting together a strategic plan for economic expansion. MSU also joined with Hinds Community College to teach courses at marine bases in the U.S. and Asia via video technology. MSU courses in the package included a bachelor’s degree in business and a master’s in business administration. Other outreach/cooperative efforts included a planning grant to work in the area of jet propulsion with the John C. Stennis Space Center in south Mississippi. The MSU Engineering Research Center and the Diagnostic Instrumentation and Analysis Laboratory (DIAL) would be involved. The university had already been working with NASA on remote sensing. The College of Engineering in 1998 established distance learning for students working on master’s and doctoral degrees in chemical, civil, electrical and computer, industrial, and mechanical engineering. Also in 1998 MSU became the first Mississippi university to be invited to join the International Engineering Consortium and later joined the Southeastern University and College Coalition for Engineering Education (SUCCEED). Outreach efforts spread to several additional areas. A faculty group on campus began in April 1998 developing a proposal in biotechnology that could have an economic impact on the state. Some major biotechnology companies had met with representatives of MSU, LSU, and the University of Arkansas to become involved in plant genetics, studying transgenic crops being developed for use in the Mississippi Delta. The university also offered distance learning leading to a master of science degree in physical education, with an emphasis in health education and health promotion. The university became involved in ergonomic research with other universities and industries; the research fell under the umbrella “The Industry/University Cooperative Research Center for Ergonomics.” It was hoped that the results would reduce injuries to workers in a variety of industries and businesses. MSU’s Engineering Research Center, as well as most of the engineering departments, became involved with projects with CMC industries operations in Corinth, Mississippi. CMC, based in Santa Clara, California, produced electronic products, and the Corinth plant sought MSU’s engineering expertise in production of circuit boards used in telephones, computers, and other similar equipment.59 • 321 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

The T. K. Martin Center and the College of Education reached out to area public schools with a program entitled Steppingstones from Technology to Action and Results (STAR). The STAR program allowed university representatives to demonstrate to secondary school students technology-based approaches and especially targeted students with expressive communication disorders.60 The MSU on-campus School of Architecture helped develop a project that gave northeast Mississippi a “centralized information resource for community planning and design.” The architecture school’s Small Town Center set up the “Mississippi Electronic Almanac, a Web-based reference for 23 counties.” The counties, served by the Appalachian Regional Commission, provided funding for economic and social development programs. The Web site included information on field analyses and case studies, maps, surveys, aerial photographs, zoning ordinances, and threedimensional modeling and visualization. A later visualization program included a partnership with a software maker to give art students access to animation technology.61 In agriculture, MSU contributed valuable information to soybean farmers through the Soybean Management by Application of Research (SMART) program. Specialists in extension teamed with county agents to help farmers manage soybean crops for increased profits. The process included an examination of past production problems, history of production, and field analysis. In the university’s other area of historic expertise, engineering, COVE, or computerized virtual environment, used artificially created sights and sounds in the National Science Foundation/Engineering Research Center to improve methods regarding industrial designs and tests for heavy equipment. The ERC extended university involvement at the Stennis Space Center in 1999 by establishing an ERC branch to work with center agencies on systems regarding ocean and environmental issues. The ERC-Stennis facility would also have researchers working on rocket testing and remote sensing. Meanwhile, university electrical engineers worked on turning sand into semiconductors, an idea based on “silicon carbide technology for use in semiconductors” used in making computer chips. One possible ramification of this research was in making flameout detectors in jet engines. In industrial engineering, research focused on improving robot performance • 322 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

from a distance, the goal being “to improve the flow of information between human operators and the remote machines they control.” The research led to the setting up of the Mississippi Center for Advanced Semiconductor Prototyping, which moved “research toward commercial application.”62 In a related move, Robert Altenkirch and Charles Lee led the establishment of the Mississippi State University Research and Technology Corporation. The purpose of the corporation was to “promote development of new businesses and industries formed to bring technology developed by MSU to the marketplace.”63 MSU historians collaborated with campus social scientists and archaeologists to examine the Great River Road, the name of a historic roadway that parallels the Mississippi River from near the headwaters in Minnesota down to where it empties into the Gulf of Mexico. Tourist centers, historic markers, and other elements were researched and discussed to make the Mississippi segment of the road more appealing as a historic site. Remote sensing technology and traditional research helped identify key spots along the roadway.64 In 1999, DIAL researchers developed a bridge monitor called a HollowDeck, a mechanism that could find structural damage in bridges. The computerized instrument, built for the Mississippi Department of Transportation, proved to be an economical and effective method of not only finding bridge problems, but also diagnosing them.65 MSU microbiologists developed a system for extracting oil from wells thought to be too old to produce. The process was based on a theory that “feeding” microbes in oil reservoirs might revive dead wells. The MSU researchers injected nutrients to “feed” microbes and received a halfmillion-dollar grant from the U.S. Department of Energy.66 The Early Childhood Institute, a part of the College of Education, developed programs in partnership with families and schools to identify ways to improve care and education of children in the preschool through third grade age group. One institute project included assessing the learning environments of some one hundred day care centers within Mississippi.67 MSU and Alcorn State University joined forces to lead an $8.5 million teacher education reform project. The ACHIEVE Mississippi Partnership was set up to train college students preparing for careers as elementary and secondary school teachers. These students were exposed to “problem-based and studio-based learning techniques that rely heavily on technology.”68 • 323 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

The university relations department, which is MSU’s public relations center, began distributing e-mail newsletters to alumni and friends of the university in the fall of 1999. This outreach, along with the long-time publication Alumnus magazine and numerous press releases, keeps the university’s friends and graduates up to date on the many academic and other activities in progress on campus and beyond.69 In the year 2000, the university administration announced the construction of a new facility on the Gulf Coast. The Coastal Research and Extension Center would house staff of MSU and Alcorn State University and would be built on land which had been leased long-term by the Biloxi school district to Mississippi State.70 MSU joined with Delta State University in 2000 to research African American towns in the Mississippi Delta. The program included “workshops, field trips and case studies that examined the culture, history and future” of these towns.71 Administrators and faculty from MSU played a key role in Nissan’s decision to locate a plant in Mississippi. President Portera noted, “The university’s research and development capabilities with applications to manufacturing and the automobile industry formed a critical part of the state’s proposal.” Outgrowths of the Nissan effort have included the establishment of a Center for Advanced Vehicular Systems (CAVS), which had a projected cost of $9 million. The center works closely with the Engineering Research Center. Another related plan called for the building of a $6 million Engineering Extension Center near the plant site, located near Canton along Interstate 55.72 President Portera also understood the importance of local outreach to the Starkville area. In the first month of his presidency, Portera met with Mayor Mack Rutledge to talk about university-Starkville community relations, and he attended numerous discussion “roundtables” with city officials. He discussed with a group of these officials the possibilities of the city and the university working together to establish a much-needed conference and convention center. The city and university also cooperated in the placing of banners promoting both and put on utility poles along University Drive, the main street connecting MSU with the downtown area. The banners were also placed on Lee Boulevard through the center of the campus from the Bost extension building to the YMCA building.73 The president further understood that good relations with the Meridian campus and the city of Meridian were essential. Portera consulted with offi• 324 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

cials in Meridian in 1999 regarding a plan to “renovate and restore historic downtown buildings for use as an education and performing arts center to help revitalize the downtown area.” Of course, the city wanted assistance from pertinent faculty on the main campus. The Portera administration agreed to coordinate the project. In the year 2000, the Riley Foundation donated $10 million toward an education and conference center that would occupy historic buildings in downtown.74 Portera worked to expand ties between the Meridian branch and main campuses. One example included consultations with representatives from the College of Education, the Meridian campus leadership, academic affairs, the College of Engineering, and others regarding a bachelor of science program in manufacturing technology that could be offered at the Meridian facility.75 While he worked to build good relations within the Bulldog community, Portera pushed for publicizing all the positives that could be shared about the university. News came in 1998 that U.S. News & World Report magazine ranked the university in the third tier of nationwide universities “Best Colleges” edition, and, further, MSU ranked among the one hundred best values among state universities in Kiplinger’s Personal Finance magazine. In 2000, Kiplinger’s had MSU ranked fifty-seventh on its best one hundred list. In 1999, “America’s 100 Best College Buys” also listed MSU, and the university was listed among 110 colleges and universities in “America’s Best College Scholarships—2000.” In 1998, the Raspet Flight Research Laboratory received the William T. Piper Sr. General Aviation Award presented by the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics. The award recognized the flight lab’s fifty years of aviation research. The flight lab is still most active, and in 2001 researchers there were working with DuPont Aerospace on the development of a vertical take-off jet.76 In 1999, the university offered its first honorary degrees in the history of the institution. Recipients included Leo Seal, a Gulfport banker, John H. Bryan, Jr., chairman of the board and CEO of the Sara Lee Corporation, and Harry Simrall, longtime dean of engineering at MSU until his retirement in 1978. Other later recipients included Congressman G. V. “Sonny” Montgomery and Hunter Henry, one of MSU’s most generous alumni contributors.77 In early 2000, MSU reached the $100 million a year milestone in science and engineering research funding and ranked fifty-ninth among U.S. • 325 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

public universities, according to National Science Foundation statistics. This marked an increase of $16 million and a jump from sixty-sixth place from the previous year. Also, Jack Hatcher, former chairman and CEO of Robertson-Ceco Corporation, donated $1.2 million for a chair in engineering entrepreneurship, which would help establish a program to train engineering students to prepare for setting up their own businesses after graduation.78 In May 1998 the university administration learned that State was one of six institutions nationwide to receive the 1998 Truman Foundation Honor Institution Award for successful participation in the Truman Scholarship Program. The veterinary medicine school established the Hugh Ward Chair with a $1.25 million gift from Ward’s widow; the chair focuses on small animal medicine. Another gift, $1.2 million from the Hearin Foundation, established the Life Sciences and Biotechnology Institute at Mississippi State to focus on “improving agriculture, forestry, animal health, and environmental quality.” A $2.2 million grant from the federal Office of Rural Health Policy allowed MSU to establish in 2000 the Rural Health, Safety and Security Institute as part of the Social Science Research Center. The institute would “conduct basic and applied research on rural American populations,” with an emphasis on Mississippi.79 In the fall of 2000, the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching ranked MSU as being among the “nation’s 148” doctoral “universities in a revised classification of nearly 4,000 American higher education institutions designated” by the foundation. The rankings were based on institutions that awarded at least fifty doctorates per year in a minimum of fifteen disciplines. MSU exceeded both those totals for the years 1997–1999.80 A gift from a private donor in 2000 led to the establishment of the Mississippi Entomological Museum on campus. Bryant Mather, a resident of Clinton, Mississippi, and an MSU supporter, donated a collection that included more than 190,000 specimens. His collection was so large that he also donated portions to the American Museum of Natural History, the Smithsonian Institution, and others.81 The Center for Educational and Training Technology at MSU reaches out to the state’s public classrooms with such programs as Challenging Regional Educators to Advance Technology, or CREATE. In 2001 the U.S. Department of Education funded the program to help expand learning opportunities through technology.82 • 326 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

In 2001, a $1.25 million gift from Eastman Chemical Company funded an endowed chair in the Swalm School of Chemical Engineering. Given in honor of alumnus Earnest W. Deavenport, the gift had the potential to draw to the university an outstanding researcher in the field of chemical engineering.83 Many buildings on campus underwent a facelift or changes in occupants, and several new structures appeared during the Portera years. Portera met with members of the council to discuss future uses of Montgomery Hall and the possible relocation of service departments currently using the building. Portera wanted the building to be more of a home to academic programs, but this did not happen. Further discussions revealed that renovations in the aged building could not accommodate both landscape architecture and the Division of Student Affairs. One argument was that student affairs would benefit by having all its operations concentrated in one place like Montgomery Hall, and that is what occurred. Since landscape architecture professors had been lobbying for a new building, plans moved forward along those lines. Eventually, a decision would be made to locate a new landscape architecture facility north of the Thompson forestry building. A temporary home for the department was located near the site where the new structure would be built.84 Other building projects, funded by a bond issue, included renovation of the McCain Engineering Building, construction of apartment-style student housing near the Sanderson Center, renovation of existing dorms to the apartment-style concept, repairs and renovations of current dorms, renovations of the Jackson architecture facilities, an addition to McArthur Hall, additional construction at the Wise Center (veterinary medicine complex), start-up funds for the proposed memorial gardens, a roof for the amphitheater near the football stadium, and additions to the Polk-DeMent Stadium. After the renovation of Garner Hall, the former dormitory was home to student financial aid and scholarships, and eventually the registrar’s office was also located in the building.85 Additional construction included an expansion of the forest products lab area. Also, plans continued as a carryover from the Zacharias administration to develop a main entrance to the campus from Highway 82, across from the Mississippi Research and Technology Park. The cost of the new entrance would run into the millions.86 As the fiscal year 1998–1999 began, Portera announced renovation plans for the YMCA plaza to include new paving, lighting, and landscaping. • 327 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

Hilbun Hall, farther down the street to the east, was also renovated. Bond funds would be allocated to cover the Hilbun costs, plus Lee Hall renovation, remodeling of several classrooms, and work on Blackjack Road, on the southern part of the campus. The central cooling plant on campus would also undergo improvements, and it was hoped that additional state funds would be provided for the north entrance project.87 Repairs to brick on the Chapel of Memories had to be made, and interior improvements would be made at the Butler guesthouse, which adjoined the old alumni center. Space in front of McCarthy Gym would be given to the Department of Health, Physical Education, Recreation and Sport for an electronic classroom, and the pool house nearby would be given to the same department for use as graduate assistant offices.88 In October 1998, some forty-one construction projects totaling $103 million in cost were either under way or being planned on campus. Among these were dormitory renovations of Hamlin, McKee, and Sessums halls, and the planning of Montgomery renovations to handle student affairs continued. Renovation of the Colvard Union Building was also discussed, though a real overhaul would not come for several years. In 2001, the Executive Council learned that the total renovation cost would be $15 million. The renovation would include new entries, an atrium visually connecting three floors, an expanded food court, more office space and meeting rooms, and modification of the exterior appearance of the building. Minutes of the 2001 council meeting note that “construction funding is not available at this time.” At this writing, the union renovation is under way with completion anticipated by the beginning of fall semester in 2007.89 Occasional searches for temporary facilities continued as construction increased. A temporary facility was found to house information technology services staff while the new ITS space in the McArthur Hall Annex was being completed. Relocations portended additional temporary moves by many departments as older buildings underwent renovation well beyond the Portera administration.90 One of the key building programs of the Portera era was a new facility for alumni administration and the Development Foundation (the latter now called simply the MSU Foundation). There would a very successful private fund-raising campaign, thanks in part to a large commitment from an alumnus, Hunter Henry, after whom the building is named. The forty• 328 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

thousand-square-feet structure had a total cost of some $8.5 million and is located just west of the Bost extension building.91 The new Swalm Chemical Engineering Building was completed in 2000. In November of 1999, Charles Lee asked for a modular building addition to the Comparative Biomedical Research Facility and for the renovation of the CBRF. Funding would be provided from Educational Building Corporation bonds.92 The Campus Planning and Development Committee recommended near the end of 1999 that a wooden pedestrian bridge over a low area near the Longest Student Health Center be constructed to improve pedestrian access to and from the building from the parking lots east and north of the building. The Executive Council approved the project.93 At the beginning of the year 2000, the Portera administration continued moving forward with several building projects, including “student organization lodges” in Sheeley Circle among sorority and fraternity houses, an expansion of the Longest Student Health Center, the renovations of McCain and Montgomery halls, and final completion of the Swalm building. Renovated Hilbun Hall would be ready for occupation in the summer, the design of the new landscape architecture facility would soon be completed, the bicycle path awaited federal approval which finally came in the early 2000s, architects had been selected to design the alumni/ foundation building which has been completed, and Chapel of Memories tower repairs began during the coming summer months. The Herzer Dairy Science Building and the Hand Chemical Lab were both expanded. The latter expansion would be home to a magnetic resonance lab. Also a furniture research laboratory would be built as part of the forest products lab complex. The furniture lab would consist of two stories and have an academic and administrative wing and a laboratory wing. It has been completed and is located west of the Wise Center (College of Veterinary Medicine).94 Announcements of construction indeed became almost a weekly routine during the Portera years. The administration announced renovations of the aging Critz Hall, Hathorn and Creswell dormitories, and new signage for the DIAL building. A sudden violent storm hit the campus in early 2001, inflicting some $6 million in damage on campus. The straight-line winds, which probably contained a few tornados, forced Portera to seek recovery help from the state and from the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Starkville residential and business areas also suffered extensive damage.95 • 329 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

Traffic control and landscaping became an integral part of overall campus development. The Portera administration looked at the possible renovation of the YMCA building plaza area to make the area more accessible, upgrade pedestrian traffic, and improve the overall appearance with better landscaping. The university continued moving forward with plans for the bicycle path from Starkville city limits on University Drive to the center campus. The project was under the auspices of the Intermodal Surface Transporation Efficiency Act (ISTEA). The Portera administration hoped that this project would lead to others under ISTEA, including a laminated wood bridge across the Highway 12 bypass, plus more lighting, landscaping, and parking. The project would later be expanded beyond the original concept.96 In 2001, plans were announced for a “roundabout” intersection, the first on campus, at the intersection of Blackjack and Oktoc roads on the south campus. The purpose was to slow traffic and to reduce the risks at what had become a dangerous intersection.97 As during previous administrations, campus and noncampus construction resulted not only in access issues but also in many new names, most of them alumni and former faculty, plus some generous donors, being attached to university structures in the Portera era. The leadership of the Thad Cochran Warmwater Aquaculture Center in the Delta asked for and received permission to name a conference room in honor of Tom L. Reed III. The College of Engineering leadership named its scholarship office for John P. Hosmer. Two streets on Fraternity-Sorority Row were to be named in honor of Clyde Q. Sheeley (legendary chemistry professor) and Robert Jones (a long-time professor and administrator). An electronic classroom in the old McCarthy Gym was named in honor of Michelle D. Walker. The first-floor conference room in McArthur Hall was named for Milburn “Skip” Gardner. The student information center in Garner Hall was named in honor of Kelly Gene Cook, Sr., whose charitable foundation had provided some of the funding for construction. The student media center became the Henry Meyer Center in honor of the advisor of many years to numerous staff of the Reflector. The new furniture research facility would be named for Hassell H. Franklin, whose $1 million donation helped make the structure possible. A library in the Cobb Institute of Archaeology was named in honor of the institute’s first director, Jerry Vardaman. An MSUMeridian branch auditorium was named for Maurice F. “Buddy” Kahlmus, an active fund-raiser.98 • 330 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

Athletics, as always, continued to be a major campus and alumni issue. Under Portera, the football stadium was expanded, and the university took partial occupancy in 2000 of the baseball stadium, which was expanded to a capacity of sixty-two hundred, not including the left-field lounge and other outfield areas.99 The Athletic Council established a gender equity plan, which called for increased financial support for women’s athletic programs. The Portera administration dealt with issues and budgeting regarding women’s and minority equity plans for several months. An NCAA Certification Selfstudy had been prepared by the athletics department as a guide, and an implementation plan was presented to the NCAA for approval.100 Meanwhile, MSU computer specialists designed a Web site for the 1999 U.S. Women’s Open Championship golf tournament to be played at the Old Waverly golf course near West Point, Mississippi. The site contained links to golf programs available at the university, which contributed in several ways to the success of the tournament. These included supplementing merchandising efforts, creating maps, treating the course’s lakes to prevent fish kills, and developing an activity plan.101 The MSU golf course in 1998 ranked among the top ten university and college courses in the eastern United States, according to Golfweek magazine. In 1999, the NCAA fully certified MSU’s athletic program, this resulting from gender-equity and minority-opportunities plans that were begun in 1998.102 During the four Portera years, the football team went 8–5 in 1998, 10–2 in 1999, winning the Peach Bowl over Clemson, 8–4 in 2000, ending with a defeat of Texas A&M in a snowy Independence Bowl, and then nosediving to 3–8 in 2001. The men’s basketball team had 15–15, 20–13, 14–16, and 18–13 records from 1997–1998 through 2000–2001, but in the fall of 2001 began a wonderful 27–8 year, though the team did not do as well as hoped in the NCAA tournament. The baseball team had 42–23, 42–21, 41–20 and 39–24 records in the Portera era (1998–2001), advancing to the College World Series in 1999. In the so-called minor men’s sports, the tennis team went 21–5 in 1998, but the following three seasons were not as productive. In women’s sports the basketball team had decent records, especially in the 1999–2000 season, going 24–8, but did not advance far in the NCAA women’s tournament. Otherwise the team was 14–15 (1997–1998), 17–11 (1998–1999), 17–14 (2000–2001) and 19–12 (2001–2002). The women’s softball team had a combined record of 154–103 from 1998 to 2001.103 • 331 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

In late 2001, President Portera decided to return to Alabama, accepting the position of chancellor of the University of Alabama system. Portera said he thought it “appropriate for me to move on to new challenges at this point, because Mississippi State University is well-positioned for the future and has great momentum. Thanks to a highly capable and committed faculty and staff, this institution understands its role and its mission.” He believed the university would “continue to make outstanding contributions to the future of Mississippi.” He mentioned, too, that the Alabama system had a budget of nearly $2 billion, much more to work with than the ever-struggling budgets of Mississippi institutions of higher learning.104 Mississippians watched him go with regret. College board vice president Bryce Griffis said that Portera was the first president at State who “was big in economic development.” He had managed to reinforce greatly the university’s infrastructure, and he had been instrumental in drawing record grants and contracts. Lieutenant Governor Amy Tuck, a State alumnae, praised Portera’s leadership and promotional skills, and the way he had helped move the university and the state forward. Yet Portera saw more budget cuts coming, and perhaps he had had enough of that problem. He had effectively run the university based on big-business principles he understood, but the clouds of budget cuts always loomed. In the end, he chose to vacate the battlefield of funding Mississippi higher education and return to a state where funding was more plentiful and flexible. Who could blame him?105 With the departure of Malcolm Portera, the board named J. Charles Lee as interim president of the university. Lee, having familiarity with the administrative factors involved in running MSU, would not need on-thejob training. For two years prior to his interim appointment, he had been vice president for agriculture, forestry and veterinary medicine, and prior to that, he had been dean of forestry and associate director of MAFES. He also had much previous administrative experience from his years at Texas A&M University, where his last position, before he came to MSU, was vice-chancellor of the A&M system for research, planning, and continuing education. As the board pointed out in its press release, “In a career that spans 35 years, Dr. Lee has been a professor, a department head, and a dean, and he brings to this position a deep commitment to academic quality throughout the university and at all levels of instruction. He is thoroughly familiar • 332 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

with the legislative budget process. He understands the history and traditions of Mississippi State and the role it plays in developing and sustaining the economy of the state. He is an advocate for educational opportunity and diversity. He is, in summary, the right man for this job at this time in the life of Mississippi State University.”106 In his written response to the appointment, Lee sent a message to the university’s faculty and staff which outlined some of his thoughts on administrative priorities. He believed that MSU, despite financial problems and the loss of some key personnel, was moving in the right direction. He stated that he was “particularly concerned about competitive compensation for our faculty and staff,” and he believed that “the sons and daughters of Mississippi should not have to leave the state to fulfill their career ambitions.” Progress had been continual in teaching, research, and extension, and in the stimulation of community economic development. Lee mentioned that National Science Foundation rankings had MSU at fifty-seventh among public research universities, that scientists at the Delta extension center had produced a strain of catfish that grew 20 percent faster, and that the university was still attracting National Merit Scholars and students with high ACT scores. By 2003, the university would climb in rankings of American universities in total research and development expenditures, rise in engineering research expenditures, and be ranked number five for agricultural sciences research. In 2003, Lee’s first year as official president after being appointed to the job in late 2002, the MSU Raspet Flight Research Laboratory was designated a National Landmark of Soaring, one of only thirteen in the United States and the first in the Southeast. Kiplinger’s Personal Finance magazine again ranked MSU as among the best values in higher education in the U.S. Regarding the areas of cost and quality, the university was ranked twenty-ninth best for out-of-state students and fiftyfifth best for in-state students. Among public universities, MSU retained its fifty-seventh place based on expenditures of $146.9 million in 2001, an increase of over $14 million from the previous year. Donations continued to set records, reaching $123 million in the fiscal year 2001–2002, and he believed that everyone at the university should be devoted to maintaining momentum. The major funding agencies included an impressive list: U.S. Department of Agriculture, NASA, the National Science Foundation, and the U.S. Department of Energy. • 333 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

Lee thought more could be done, for the university “could not afford to be timid” about moving into the future. Certainly, he, like all presidents, wanted to raise faculty and staff salaries. The statement was general and positive, but also a bit cautious regarding particulars, for, as an interim president, which he was from Portera’s departure in 2001 through 2002, Lee could not be expected to roll out a precise map of the university’s course. Lee obviously believed he must maintain, and would hope to improve, the progress of the university in all its many areas of operation.107 In January 2003, after the board could not come up with another acceptable candidate, Charles Lee officially became MSU’s seventeenth president. He had not sought the position beyond his interim time, but the board had not been able to agree on Portera’s successor, and Lee received and accepted an offer to stay on the job. While he would never be accused of being flashy, he had demonstrated steady hands in keeping the university on a straightforward course. Upon accepting the presidency, he outlined four priorities: (1) access and excellence in the academic program; (2) expansion of outreach and community development; (3) leadership in research and economic development; (4) improving the stature of the university. He remarked that he was “truly honored to serve as president” of the university, and he promised to keep it the “people’s university.” He would commit “to our mission of providing access and opportunity to students from all sectors of our population and every part of the state. This is our most sacred mission and the most critical contribution that we can make to the future of our state.” He elaborated further, in a manner that seemed to distance him somewhat from the Portera academically proficient student recruiting plan: “We will spare no effort to secure the resources that are necessary to make sure that there is a place at the university for every student who has shown the determination and ability to take advantage of what this university offers.” He promised greater efforts with mentoring programs, maintaining that learning, “life-long learning,” was the “heart and soul” of the university. He said that while access and support were key, the university would continue to go after the state’s best and brightest students. What he did not say was that this group would be the only target. By the fall of 2003, he promised that the university was on the verge of reversing a two-year decline in enrollment. Lee also promised a continuation of the land-grant tradition, broadening the university’s outreach to the entire state. He wanted to build part• 334 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

nerships with K-12 schools and community colleges. Outreach would be extended to young people through 4-H and other programs, and technology would be used to reach nontraditional students. He promised, too, to “embrace and enhance our role as a major contributor to the economic development of the state” and to build on the university’s noted strengths in engineering and agriculture sciences, as well as opportunities in other fields. He believed, and said he had been told, “There is no reason to believe . . . that we cannot become a major center for automotive research and development for the entire country.” He mentioned other programs such as computational sciences, biotechnology, early childhood learning, biological engineering, remote sensing, and alternative energy sources that had “unlimited potential to stimulate our economy and improve the quality of life.” Noticeably absent was any mention of the humanities, which can always do just as much, if not more, than technology to improve the quality of life. Lee went on to promise a major capital campaign, for private sector support, he knew, was essential to the university’s success. He promised, too, a safe, nurturing environment for students, and a working environment allowing men and women to pursue their potential at every level. He underscored the necessity of running the university as a business, for “the magnitude of resources entrusted to us” required a businesslike approach to planning, budgeting, and assessment of outcomes. “Those who provide our support expect nothing less.”108 In a later statement, Lee bluntly assessed the state of education in Mississippi. In a discussion of the vital importance of retention of students, Lee noted that to bring the state to “the national average of 24.4 percent of adults with a bachelor’s degree, Mississippi would need almost 132,000 more college-educated Mississippians.” He asserted it would take the efforts of all Mississippians in education, including those at the elementary, secondary, community college, and university levels, as well as parental support, policy-maker cooperation, and help from business and industry leaders, “to overcome our education deficit and improve the quality of life for all of our citizens.”109 Charles Lee was officially inaugurated the university’s new president on September 5, 2003. In his speech, he repeated many of the themes he had already stated as primary objectives of his administration. He pledged that MSU would “become even more student-friendly” as a provider of • 335 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

education. He reiterated that the university would be “committed to both access and academic excellence.” Further, he said, “We want to ensure the relevance of our curriculum to how we live our lives.” He believed students should exit college with a more cultivated character, more self-discipline, and more empathy for others. He pled, as had Zacharias over and over, for the legislature to understand higher education expenditures as an investment, not an expense. He pointed out that since 1999, more than four hundred positions at the university had been eliminated. He pledged a continuation of outreach programs, and as one example he announced that the Division of Continuing Education would join with the MSU Extension Service to increase distance-learning opportunities. He promised, too, that research would continue to be a university cornerstone.110 Lee’s administrative team provided stability, for they were experienced and able. Vice President for Student Affairs Roy Ruby, Interim Provost George Verrall, and Interim Vice President for Agriculture, Forestry and Veterinary Medicine Vance Watson had been with the university for many collective years, and Lee could rely on them, especially in meeting challenges. Vice President for Research Robert Altenkirch and Vice President for External Affairs Dennis Prescott were younger but very skilled. Dan Bryant, chief budget and financial officer, had proved capable, and Gaddis Hunt, chief administrative officer, had been with the university going on four decades. Lee had a most impressive group to work with. One of Lee’s early actions was to appoint a committee of Executive Council members, as well as representatives from the faculty senate, student association, and staff council, to give him recommendations for “restructuring” the Executive Council to “provide a campus-wide forum for discussion of issues facing the university.” In May 2003, Lee presented to the Executive Council a “Mission Statement Review Policy” to establish procedures for “periodic review and revision” of the university’s mission policy as needed. At the same time, the Executive Council approved a slight change in the university’s equal opportunity policy that would “prohibit discrimination on the basis of race, color, religion, sex, national origin, age, disability, veteran’s status, or sexual orientation or group affiliation.” The change no doubt reflected administration reaction to the ever-increasing national debate over homosexuality.111 In 2003, President Lee added to his administrative team Peter Rabideau, named provost and vice president for academic affairs. Rabideau came to • 336 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

MSU from Iowa State University, where he had been dean of the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences.112 The university had to reduce its current expenditures in the waning months of fiscal year 2001–2002 by an additional $1.45 million to balance the 2002–2003 budget. The possibility of an additional 5 percent rescission in budgets already appropriated for 2002–2003 was announced in October 2002. In February 2003, the legislative funding bill gave MSU some $300,000 more in general support than the current fiscal year level, a much improved amount over the earlier Legislative Budget Committee’s recommended cuts. The Executive Council approved the continuation of replacing E&G funded scholarships with private donations as a major university goal. One example during Lee’s interim time came from the Asbury Foundation of Hattiesburg, Mississippi, which donated $1 million to help students from seven south Mississippi counties attend MSU. The National Science Foundation also contributed $1 million to promote student studies of computer security and information assurance. Fred E. Carl, Jr., of Greenwood, donated $2.5 million in support of small town design research in the architecture college.113 As the fiscal year 2002–2003 began, Lee announced a “voluntary retirement incentive program” being initiated at the end of the previous fiscal year, which was intended to “significantly reduce personnel costs.” The purpose of this plan was to encourage early retirement with financial incentives so that replacements could be hired at lower salaries. The Lee administration hoped this would ease dealing with reduced state funding. Also, expenses had been further reduced on campus by the elimination of over 250 positions during the past two years and by cutting equipment costs, travel funds, and in other areas. One hundred eighty-six employees took advantage of the retirement incentives, and allowed the university to cut costs by eliminating about one-third of the vacated positions and putting entry-level salaries below what was being paid formerly. These developments did, however, force the Lee administration to cut the number of classes by 8 percent. Attempts had been made to protect “core functions of the university.” Despite the cuts, major increases in tuition had been avoided, and Lee quickly pointed out that MSU had cheaper admission costs than such schools as Clemson, Tennessee, Auburn, Alabama, LSU, and Georgia. While budgeting was an ongoing challenge, he promised to continue • 337 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

making progress toward goals that had been established as priorities. A master plan being drawn up by an architecture firm would guide future campus development and, it was hoped, cut costs by eliminating willy-nilly construction. Increases in salaries also remained a top priority.114 The T. K. Martin Center for Technology and Disability designed and developed an “intelligent” wheelchair-type commuter cart to assist those who could not operate traditional wheelchairs. The new cart would be designed for short commutes and incorporate developments in several areas of technology to make it work. Some of these included controlled cruise control, lane sensing, and automated braking.115 The Center for Advanced Energy Conversion began early in 2002 a $4.6 million project to build a prototype of a light, high-output power supply for aircraft armaments. MSU was part of a national team put together by the U.S. Air Force’s Hypersonic Vehicle Electric Power System operation. State engineers also participated in a national team effort to develop “intelligent” computer software that could adapt to changing conditions. The “Adaptive Software Project” research focused on “complex systems like those found in NASA launch vehicles, where changes might occur either in the computer’s numerical program—its algorithms—or in the computer hardware.”116 Through the John K. Bettersworth Leadership Lecture series, the university has provided around one hundred faculty members to Mississippi high schools and community colleges in speaking roles on a variety of subjects, including agriculture, animals and environmental issues, architecture, arts and culture, business, careers, communication, education, engineering, history, mathematics and science, personal development, society and politics, and technology. Another significant outreach effort came from the John C. Stennis Institute of Government, which put together a series of Internet-based video presentations on Mississippi’s troubled economy, entitled “Mississippi Economic Report.”117 The Biotechnology Institute received $2 million from the Hearin Support Foundation to research human and animal health, “disease- and insectresistant crops,” natural resource protection, and computational biology. Proteomics, the “study of proteins as related to commercial applications,” covering topics from plant breeding to medicine, was a new focus of the institute.118 The Center for Advanced Vehicular Systems continued to make important contributions to the state regarding the new Nissan plant near Canton. • 338 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

The company funded a “virtual wind tunnel project,” and looked into “crashworthiness optimization,” for which CAVS would provide design technology. CAVS researchers at MSU also began development of a computer simulation of “hydrogen-burning fuel cells and systems for an alternative powered vehicle,” as well as a “capability for improved ergonomic design and worker safety.” The CAVS extension laboratory established at the Canton Nissan complex in 2003 facilitated research projects.119 Kudzu research, based on the use of remote sensing, highlighted an effort by MSU researchers to identify more effectively the locations of the fast-growing plant. Kudzu had caused major damage in a number of ways across the South, and the research would help detect infested areas, which would aid in eliminating ground surveys.120 The Ralph Powe Center for Innovative Technology, named after the deceased vice president for research, was planned for location in the Mississippi Research and Technology Park. Research here would point toward assisting new technology businesses. TVA, the Economic Development Foundation, the Appalachian Regional Commission, and the MSU Research and Technology Corporation (which would own the facility) provided funds for construction and equipment.121 Researchers in the Small Town Center, a part of the School of Architecture, joined with the John C. Stennis Institute of Government and the city of Meridian to construct homes in an all-SIPs Habitat for Humanity home. SIPs were “structural insulating panels made of engineered wood with a layer of foam between them.” The panels reduced construction time, had excellent energy efficiency built in, and required lower-skilled labor than traditionally built homes. The center also worked toward building a “nextgeneration” mobile home, which would have more solid building materials, be more stabilized, and have better designs. The homes would actually be well built enough to build equity and reduce insurance and energy costs.122 Physics research led to a process that allowed multiple personal computers to be linked to handle large “amounts of data simulating rapidly changing, random events, such as the contacts that spread” the West Nile virus. “Parallel discrete event simulation applies physics to create and control an evolving and fluctuating ‘virtual’ time that can simulate real events on more than 100 linked processors.” The National Science Foundation provided support. One application of the research was to facilitate first-response • 339 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

operations, such as ambulance and rescue destinations in significant emergencies.123 The U.S. Department of Education awarded MSU and the Starkville school district, plus a few other collaborating secondary schools, $1 million in early 2003 to provide secondary teachers opportunities to earn master’s degree credit through time-intensive classes. The Project Impact, as it was called, had the mission to “develop a cadre of history scholars among seasoned secondary teachers.”124 MSU scientists and engineers had a unique opportunity in 2003 to help the government of India save the world-known landmark the Taj Mahal. Researchers in DIAL joined with others hired by the U.S. Agency for International Development to work toward stopping the deterioration of the white marble mausoleum, which had been victimized by industrial pollution.125 DIAL also worked through the U.S. Department of Energy to find additional energy sources on Choctaw Indian land in Mississippi. The key to the research was testing whether “poultry litter and wood waste” could become “a source of electricity or commercial chemicals. Many ideas emerged which are being tested for feasibility.”126 The MSU Libraries became a depository for United Nations documents and data in the summer of 2003. Housed in the Government Documents area of the main library, the collection included paper and electronic information. The depository is only one of four hundred located in more than one hundred and forty countries, and is the only one in Mississippi.127 Forestry specialists in the MSU Forest and Wildlife Research Center designed a “vegetation management method that improves forests and benefits wildlife.” The method was called Quality Vegetation Management. The idea was to retake the pine groves from worthless hardwood underbrush, which would allow “native broad-leaved plants and grasses” to grow and benefit wildlife.128 The National Institutes of Health gave the Social Science Research Center a $1.6 million grant to study programs to reduce sexually transmitted diseases and related issues that contributed to health problems in Mississippi. The case study, conducted cooperatively with the University of Southern Mississippi, would focus on four hundred high-risk young people at a state reform school. The study would target “females, because girls, especially African-Americans, are disproportionately at risk.”129 • 340 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

The Phil Hardin Foundation gave the largest grant in its history to provide support for the Riley Education and Performing Arts Center in downtown Meridian. MSU played a key role in helping with the restoration of the old Grand Opera House and the historic Marks-Rothenberg Building, which is adjacent. Meridian branch history professor Dennis Mitchell has recently published a history of the opera house.130 In Lee’s first two years, outreach, technology, and collaborative efforts were a beehive of activity. The MSU GeoResources Institute received a proposal from Aerotec LLC (Limited Liability Company) to make a digital camera and LIDAR (Light Detection and Ranging) calibration range on the campus, “consisting of painted or fabric targets placed on rooftops or parking lots.” This would be the only “range” in the southern United States and would be available for the university’s remote sensing researchers and, to a lesser extent, to other, nonuniversity, remote sensing operations. Necessary flyovers would be limited to about two a year, which would be at times of low campus activity. The Executive Council approved the flyovers on the condition that no historic building would be used in the research operation.131 MSU researchers in the Engineering Research Center worked toward developing technologies “that provide near real-time information for emergency personnel responding to chemical spills and the release of toxic contaminants.” With funding support from NASA and the Mississippi Space Commerce Initiative, the simulations testing the research took into account many variables such as fluctuating wind, building locations, and escape routes. Researchers could use “disaster-mitigation models . . . to deal with chemical terrorism or natural disasters such as hurricanes and tornadoes.” It was ironic that some research took place in New Orleans, which would be devastated by hurricanes in 2005.132 An MSU research program launched a Starkville-based technology company called SemiSouth Laboratories, Inc., located in the Research and Technology Park. The Small Business Innovation Research provided a grant to SemiSouth from the federal agency’s Ballistic Missile Defense Organization. Primarily the research is in silicon carbide, used to make computer circuit chips. The semiconductors made from silicon carbide are very effective in high-temperature, high-power, and high-frequency circuits. The campus had the only university-based silicon carbide electronics prototyping facility to facilitate the research.133 • 341 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

The College of Veterinary Medicine set up the “nation’s first specificpathogen-free fish hatchery” adjacent to the Wise Center complex in 2003. The purpose of the hatchery was to raise fish in a “disease-free environment.” Such fish could be used in research on fish diseases. The long-range purpose was to benefit Mississippi’s large-scale catfish industry.134 Research at the DIAL laboratory produced a “thermal imaging system for closed circuit television” that was licensed to “a supplier of industrial process heating products, systems and services worldwide.” The computer software developed allowed for the monitoring and regulation of production of industrial glass.135 The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers employed MSU researchers to put together a “computer-friendly” guide to protect military installations from terrorists. The university’s Center for Educational and Training Technology worked with the Joint Anti-Terrorism/Force Protection group to find a program feasible for all military branches. The U.S. Defense Department funded the program with a $10 million grant.136 The university’s Center for Computer Security Research, one of twentytwo established by the National Security Agency, received some $3.5 million to research the exposure of “computer-related crimes and tracking down perpetrators through analysis of electronic evidence.” Students involved in the research came from several major fields, including criminal justice, computer science, and accounting.137 MSU joined with Alcorn State University in offering a collaborative master’s degree in workforce education leadership. The program included academic training in agriculture, arts and sciences, business and industry, and education. Courses would mostly be offered on the Internet, with some on-campus meetings and classes included. Mississippi’s two landgrant universities, one historically white and the other historically black, had already cooperated on a doctoral degree in community college leadership and shared library resources, faculty, and distance learning technology and techniques. In 2003, the two institutions came together again to operate the Mid-South Partnership for Rural Community Colleges, a program established with federal funding and support from the Ford Foundation to increase support of service and research at community colleges.138 The Pace Seed Laboratory was renovated, mainly “to accommodate the Life Sciences and Biotechnology Institute.” The new landscape architecture building had a solar array system installed to provide a demonstration of • 342 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

“green” power generation. The new building and the renovated McCain Engineering Building were occupied in January 2003. Electronic communications infrastructure became part of the approval process for all new construction on campus and for renovations of current buildings. This was a move toward complete communications wiring of the campus. The administration also approved renovation of the Butler-Williams Alumni Center to house university police and facilities use (a department that coordinates use of various facilities that accommodate special events) departments. Alumni operations had been transferred to the new Hunter Henry Center. The Butler Guest House, an extension of Butler-Williams, would continue as a guesthouse and be operated by facilities use. Meanwhile, Montgomery Hall renovations reportedly had been delayed so that completion would not come until the summer of 2003, though that estimate proved slightly optimistic. Landscape plans for the historic structure went forward.139 In fact, several landscaping projects went on in 2003. The flagpole at the center of the historic parade ground was replaced by a seventy-foot anodized (protective coating applied) bronze pole, a twenty-by-thirty-foot American flag, lighting, a flagpole base that would include a bronze donor plaque, and equipped with electrical and water outlets, a twenty-two-footdiameter seating wall, and a planter area. Two octagonal picnic tables would be placed near the Japanese pavilion on Barr Avenue, and white English garden benches were placed outside Perry Cafeteria. Landscaping also would be a part of the area around the statue of Sonny Montgomery near Montgomery Hall.140 Other building developments in 2003 included the Sigma Chi fraternity house, the organization having been given permission to expand its facilities to include “a 48-bedroom dormitory type building.” The Herzer Dairy Science Building also would have an addition to accommodate a new location for the MAFES cheese sales store. The Executive Council approved a site for the new, three-story, agricultural and biological engineering building at the location of the old, so-called “Tin Gym,” which would be torn down. A bond bill going through the legislature eventually provided major funding for the new building and for construction of a wing at the North Mississippi Research and Extension Center at Verona, Mississippi, near Tupelo.141 Plans for the dedication of the new Center for Advanced Vehicular Systems (CAVS) went forward in the fall of 2003. Also in 2003, the landscape • 343 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

architecture complex, consisting of three buildings, had room for classrooms, studios, and offices for some 250 faculty and students. The complex had energy-reducing features, including a “bank of photovoltaic solar panels” built by TVA that provided power beyond the campus.142 A $10 million gift in 2003 made possible an addition to the College of Business and Industry’s McCool Hall home. The forty-five-thousandsquare-foot wing would house a new auditorium and more classrooms, and part of the funds would be expended on renovations of the original McCool Hall. An atrium would connect the two structures.143 Buildings changed the landscape, as did landscaping itself. Landscaping for the new north entrance would include such shade trees as willow oak, bald cypress, Chinese elm, and southern magnolia, plus smaller plants. Some of this would be funded by a federal grant for a new bike path parallel to the road. The path would be slightly over a mile long on the eastern side of and about ten feet from the road, with appropriate landscaping and lighting. The target date for completion was by the end of 2003.144 Not only were several buildings constructed and renovated, but the process of naming structures or parts of them continued. Retired professors’ names were dominant. The aerospace engineering departmental office was named in honor of Charlie Cliett; the Department of Electrical and Computer Engineering office became the Billie Ball office. The High Voltage Laboratory in the Simrall building was named after Paul Jacob, and the Simrall auditorium in honor of Chester Mckee. The Carpenter Hall automation and dynamics laboratory was named for A. G. Holmes and room 301 in Carpenter for C. T. Carley. The council approved naming the North Mississippi Research and Extension Center in honor of Hiram Palmertree. The new Mississippi Horse Park and Agricenter located in the extreme southern area of campus was named in honor of Jim Buck Ross, who for many years had been the Mississippi Commissioner of Agriculture. The sensory evaluation laboratory was named for James E. Garrison, a strong benefactor for the Department of Food Science and Technology. A new entrance to the Forest Products Laboratory, providing access to the TimTek pilot plant and the Franklin Furniture Research and Managements Center, was named TimTek Road. Two rooms in the international services office were named in honor of the late Joe Presley Montgomery, who was a foreign student advisor for many years. In recognition of a significant donation, the College of Architecture named its Small Town Design Center in honor of Fred Carl, Jr.145 • 344 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

The possibility of a fall break to balance the spring break for students continued to be discussed by the Executive Council. One recommendation was that the fall break be scheduled during the Thanksgiving week, when there were already two days of vacation time, rather than having it during Dead Days, the end of the semester class days when no testing was allowed. The council approved the idea, pending action by the Deans Council. The university also moved toward a plan that allowed students to use their university debit cards at “selected” noncampus locations, beginning with the fall semester of 2003.146 Continued academic support programs on campus led to increases in class attendance and student retention. Numbers of freshman with class attendance problems dropped nearly 19 percent during a four-year period from 1997 to 2000. Overall retention among freshmen rose to 80 percent by 2000. These improvements were attributable in part to the Pathfinder program, which placed students and faculty in personal contact. These figures continued to improve as some 230 faculty volunteered in the fall of 2002 to serve as mentors.147 MSU students continued to win many regional and national honors. An MSU team won first place in a regional math competition with twenty other southern institutions of higher learning in early 2003. Eight art student entries were selected for the 2002 Best of College Photography Annual.148 The university’s student Mini Baja off-road vehicle managed a tie for first place in the category of design and placed number eight overall in competing against 120 institutions of higher learning throughout the United States and several foreign countries. Some student horticulture majors won top honors in the American Institute of Floral Designers Southern Chapter. Four students won first place in the 2002 national collegiate poultry-judging contest.149 Engineering students created an “unmanned, radio-controlled aircraft” to enter in international competition, and finished in the top ten. They finished first in “timed assembly category,” with a nine-second preparation time. Engineering students also won a regional competition in building robots. The entries had to be capable of “maneuvering and performing specific tasks in a maze.” The team won over twenty-five other entrants.150 New software developed for vision-impaired students allowed those with such handicaps to participate in online courses. The process would enable “students to hear their instructors and classroom peers via online • 345 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

chat rooms.” Called “iVocalize,” the software program was purchased by the continuing education division in concert with the Rehabilitation Research and Training Center on Blindness and Low Vision.151 Scholarships for engineering students received a boost in 2003. James Forbes, an MSU alumnus and longtime employee of General Electric, donated some $2.3 million in company stock to the university.152 Another issue facing students, and faculty, was threats to privacy, caused by increased opportunities for thieves to steal social security numbers. The administration studied the continuation of using the numbers for student/ faculty identification purposes. About half of SEC sister institutions still used the numbers, but the rest had begun moving toward other formulations. Within a few years, MSU discontinued the practice and issued new identification numbers.153 The massive use of cell phones by students, and to a lesser degree by faculty, led the Executive Council to approve cell phone antennas for placement on the roofs of Lee and Allen halls and Colvard Union to improve coverage within the buildings. The antennas were placed so that they would not be visible from the ground.154 Among minority students, a memorable event was the return of Richard Holmes, the university’s first African American student, to a position as a physician in the campus health center. The appointment was an indication of how far the university had come since the mid-1960s. In May 2003, Dr. Holmes delivered the university commencement address and looked back on his student years at MSU. With a blend of serious commentary and humor, Dr. Holmes said, “I quickly learned that MSU was and is a university that promoted excellence, and that it was and is a university committed to progress and fairness.” Yet, he continued, “I learned, too, that I could study at any table in the library, or eat at any table in the cafeteria, without having to share my notes, or my food.” He remembered that, as a whole, he was treated with respect and dignity. He concluded, “Only a university dedicated to fairness and excellence could have carried out such an orderly transition and such a quiet burial of past practices.” This most poignant statement was indeed one that true university supporters could be proud of.155 Pride came, too, in 2003 when national figures showed that MSU ranked sixty-first among institutions of higher learning around the country in the number of bachelor’s degrees awarded to African American students. • 346 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

Among historically white universities, State ranked thirty-seventh in the same category. A breakdown in various disciplines showed MSU ranked seventh in education degrees, thirty-sixth in business, and thirty-seventh in engineering.156 Academically, the university faced a challenge during the early part of the Lee tenure. MSU launched a self-study “leading to the reaffirmation of accreditation by the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools.” In November 2002, the self-study draft became available online for review by faculty, who were free to make suggestions and comments. The report was printed in February 2003, and the self-study committee sought documents cited to be made available in electronic format for online use.157 In the area of degree programs, there was a positive note for the humanities when the Department of Philosophy and Religion proposed a new bachelor of arts degree in religion. This degree would take the place of its current offering of a concentration and a minor in religion in the philosophy major.158 John Grisham donated $1.5 million to fund equal endowments supporting faculty awards for undergraduate teaching and scholarships for academic achievers. The Rural Medical Scholars Program at MSU, started in 1998, continued to give hope that Mississippi some day could overcome its shortage of physicians in certain counties.159 Among athletic developments during the first two Lee years, the SEC, perhaps with MSU’s cowbells in mind, passed a rule that penalties would be assessed against teams if their fans used artificial noisemakers at conference athletic contests. Lee appointed a task force to look into university procedures regarding obedience of this rule.160 As for competitive athletics in 2002–2003, the football team continued its downward spiral with 3–9 and 2–10 seasons. Yet Lee would bring hope and make history with the hiring of Sylvester Croom, the first African American head football coach ever in the Southeastern Conference. Croom had a monumental job ahead of him to build talent and confidence into the program, but he also had widespread support among students and alumni. The baseball team had records of 34–24–1 and 42–20–1 in those two years, respectable, but less than Bulldog fans anticipated from their Diamond Dogs. The basketball records here include the overlap from Portera’s last year into Lee’s first, and from Lee’s second (with which this • 347 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

volume concludes) into his third. The men’s basketball team had outstanding years; in 2001–2002, the team went 27–8 and was SEC tournament champ, in 2002–2003, 21–10 and first in the SEC Western Division, and in 2003–2004, 26–4 and SEC Western and overall SEC champion. The team went to the NCAA tournament after those three seasons but did not advance as far as hoped. The women’s team for that same time frame had two excellent years, with 27–8, 21–10, then slipped to 14–15 after losing much talent to graduation from the previous year. The first two years, the team went to the NCAA tournament, but, like the men’s team, did not advance far. The women’s softball team continued their winning ways with 36–31 and 34–30 records.161 The most monumental event of Lee’s presidency was the 125th anniversary of MSU, which fell in the year 2003. As that year began, the Executive Council began discussions of possible speakers for the occasion during the year. Early plans called for two speakers, one in a science-related field and the other in a nonscience field. Plans for a year-long observance of the anniversary also began to take shape.162 Charles Lee prepared comments on the 125th anniversary by reviewing highlights of MSU’s history. He reminded Bulldog faithful that some “100,000 men and women have been equipped for more productive and meaningful lives by studying at Mississippi State, and their contributions in turn have permeated every aspect of life in our state and nation for more than a century.” With a presence in all the state’s counties, the university had become a force for prosperity and hope. When the college became a university in 1958, and eventually became the state’s largest institution of higher learning, it continued its mission of reaching out and excelling in research that mattered beyond the campus borders. He concluded by saying, “Thanks to the continuing vision and support of students, faculty, staff, administrators, alumni, friends, and policymakers, we have no doubt that the university’s future will be even brighter than its past, and that its contributions to the people of the state and nation will continue to grow.”163 So Charles Lee had the university on track, and, since this is the 125th anniversary history of Mississippi State University, 1878–2003, the final two years and a total assessment of his presidency must wait for the historian of the 150th anniversary. It is certain, however, that Lee will be remembered as a leader with a steady hand, who stayed the course and embraced the concept of the people’s university as it was, and is, meant to be. • 348 •

portera, lee: big business and steady hands, 1998–2003

Throughout its first 125 years, Mississippi State University has remained remarkably faithful to its founding tenets. The university remains a people’s university, as it was intended to be and always has been. There is a family atmosphere that remains alive, even as the university has grown larger than many Mississippi towns. Outreach remains constant, and research in the founding areas of agriculture and engineering is impressive within and without Mississippi and indeed has touched places around the world. Humanities influences have been up and down, and one can only hope that the university will once again return to the balance that the late President James McComas envisioned. Life can be sustained and even overwhelmed by technological advances and still be very worthwhile, just as McComas envisioned. Other land-grant universities have achieved that balance, and surely it can become so at MSU. The people’s university has experienced the ebbs and flows of emphases in curriculum, budget situations that have caused retrenchment, reform, and consolidation, and loss of faculty and students to other, more prosperous, states; yet it has endured. Charles Lee served two more years through 2005 and into 2006, and he was replaced by an energetic, retired air force general, Dr. Robert “Doc” Foglesong, who will allow no grass to grow under his or anyone else’s feet. The able leadership keeps on coming, whether it is a steady Charles Lee or an adventurous Doc Foglesong. That diversity and the faith of devoted faculty, staff, alumni, and friends of the university will continue to assure that the people’s university will not only survive; it will ever prevail.

• 349 •

Notes

A b b rev iat ion s ACCM ADCM BM

BR CA ECM FM MCA MSUAWS MSUB PAR REF REV SM VF

Academic Council Minutes Administrative Council Minutes Board Minutes, Mississippi Institutions of Higher Learning. During its early years, the university had its own board, before a statewide board was established. The abbreviation refers to that board also. Biennial Reports Catalogs Executive Council Minutes Faculty Council Minutes Memphis Commercial Appeal MSU Athletic Web site, http://www.msstate.athletics.com. Pull down the teams screen and choose the sport you want. Each team site has historical data. Bulletins President’s Annual Report Reflector (MSU’s campus newspaper) Reveille (MSU’s yearbook) Serving Mississippi (reports from the president) Vertical Files (files on various people and topics, including presidents, kept in University Archives, MSU Libraries)

C ha p t e r O n e





1. William B. Parker, The Life and Public Services of Justin Smith Morrill (repr., New York, 1971), 82, 95–96, 262–71; United States Statutes at Large (Washington, D. C., 1862), 12: 503. 2. James G. Revels, “Redeemers, Rednecks, and Racial Integrity,” in Richard Aubrey McLemore, ed., A History of Mississippi, 2 vols. (Hattiesburg, MS, 1973), 2: 592, 594–95. 3. John K. Bettersworth, People’s University: The Centennial History of Mississippi State (Jackson, MS, 1980), 4. Hereinafter designated as Bettersworth. 4. Revels, “Redeemers,” 595, 597, 601, 602, 604. 5. Ibid., 608. 6. Ibid., 609–10. 7. General Laws of Mississippi 1878 (Jackson, MS, 1878) 119; Journal of the Senate of the State of Mississippi 1878 (Jackson, MS, 1878) 420, 491–92; Journal of the House of Representatives of the State of Mississippi 1878 (Jackson, MS, 1878), 504. 8. Laws 1878, 121–22.

• 351 •

notes

9. CA, 1880–81, 2. 10. Bettersworth, 7–9. 11. Bettersworth, 9–10; D. Alexander Brown, Grierson’s Raid (Urbana, IL, 1962), 75– 76; James M. White, “Origin and Location of the Mississippi A. & M. College,” Publications of the Mississippi Historical Society (Jackson, MS, 1900), 3: 351. 12. BM, July 24, 1878, April 3, 1879. 13. CA, 1883–84, 33. 14. Macon Beacon, Sept. 27, 1879. 15. Bettersworth, 12–13; BM, January 23, 24, 1880; Journal of Senate, 1880, 27–28; Journal of House, 1880, 408–409. 16. Laws of Mississippi, 1880, 198–99; Journal of House, 1880, 333. 17. BM, March 27, 1881; Bettersworth, 14. C ha p t e r Two

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.



7. 8. 9.

10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19.

20.

Herman Hattaway, General Stephen D. Lee (Jackson, MS, 1976) 3, 10, 150, 157–77. BM, April 1–2, 1880. CA, 1880–81, 3, 11. BR, 1883, 5. Ibid. BM, April 2, May 7, 1880; Bettersworth, 26; Jackson Weekly Clarion, Dec. 2, 1880; Southern Livestock Journal, Oct. 7, 1880. Bettersworth, 27–28; CA, 1880–81, 11. Bettersworth, 31–32; Laws of Mississippi, 1878, 121–22; CA, 1880–81, 16, 24. FM, December 30, 1880, April 1, 1881; BM, July 2, 1881; Jackson Weekly Clarion, August 25, 1881. BR, 1886–87, 59, 1888–89, 29–32. BM, June 19, 1883, June 18, 1884; CA, 1883–84, 3; Bettersworth, 38. Bettersworth, 231–32; CA, 1880–81, 30; BM, June 16, 1890, February 14, June 15, 1891. FM, February 17, 1882, November 22, 1888; REV, 1898; BR, 1894–96, 8; MCA, May 11, 1901. BM, June 18,1884, September 28, 1895, June 7, 1897. Bettersworth, 234. Ibid., 237, 238: BR, 1888–89, 15, 1883, 11, 1884–85, 12, 1886–87, 15, 1904–1905, 6, 1896– 98, 11. CA, 1880–81, 30–31; Bettersworth, 234; BM, March 28, 1882, March 18, 1884. FM, April 28, May 5, 1884, October 26, 1900, June 8, 1885, December 5, 1887, February 11, 1889. Bettersworth, 234; BM, July 4, 1882; Southern Livestock Journal, September 25, 1884; FM, September 26, November 21, 1892, May 10, 1901; MCA, April 5, 1904; BM, March 28, 1882, March 18, 1884. FM, November 28, 1881, January 29, March 20, 1883, May 29, 1896, March 22, 1897, March 29, 1897, January 23, 30, 1903; CA, 1880–81, 29, 1882–83, 33, 1884–85, 37, 1887– 88, 25; BM, September 18, 1882, April 12–13, June 7, 1897; REV, 1898.

• 352 •

notes

21. BM, January 19, 1891; FM, January 24, 1898; REV, 1898. 22. REF, November, 1903, 16; REV, 1898; Regulations Governing the Student Body, 1887, 21–22, 5; S. D. Lee letter, March 1, 1892, Lee Files; FM, October 31, 1892; Jackson Weekly Clarion, December 1, 1892; BM, June 20, 1893. 23. J. Wendell Bailey, A History of the Alumni Association with a Complete Register of the Graduates (Starkville, MS, 1921), 6–10; REV, 1898, 46–47; BM, June 15, 1892; FM, May 29, 1896. 24. Jackson Weekly Clarion, July 12, 1882, June 25, 1884, June 24, 1885, June 16, 1886, Jackson Weekly Clarion-Ledger, June 28, 1888; FM, April 15, 1884; Bettersworth, 360– 61; FM, October 12, 1881; BM, June 16, 1885. 25. BR, 1883, 9. 26. Bettersworth, 259–60; BM, October 6, 1880; FM, February 3, 1881; Regulations, 1887, 21. 27. Regulations, 1881, 8–14. 28. Ibid., 1887, 14–15. 29. Ibid., 1887, 19–20. 30. Laws of Mississippi, 1880, 637–39; Regulations, 1887, 18–19. 31. Regulations, 1881, 19. 32. Lee to C. I. Getmany, July 9, 1883, Lee to A. H. Brantly, June 14, 1887, Lee to L. W. Shields, February 11, 1889, Lee to L. B. McGehee, February 16, 1892; BM, July 5, 1887. 33. Lee to E. Houston, November 10, 1885, Lee to W. B. Nelson, March 10, 1892, Lee Papers; BM, June 13, 14, 1892. 34. Lee to W. A. Dromgoole, November 18, 1885, Lee to W. L. Buck, February 20, 1886, Lee Papers; FM, February 27, 1888. 35. BM, May 7, 1884, June 14, 1886, July 5, 1887, June 14, 1892; FM, February 28, March 16, 1887; Lee to John M. Stone, March 12, 1892, Lee Papers; Bettersworth, 391–392. 36. Bettersworth, 73–74. 37. FM, January 23, 1882, November 28, 1898, February 14, 1889, September 15, 1885, Lee to C. H. Campbell, January 20, 1883, Lee Papers; BM, February 7, 1899; Bettersworth, 270. 38. Regulations, 1887, 20–21; REF, December, 1907, 199–200, January 13, November 14, 1882, January 15, 1883, March 19, June 9, 1884, March 2, 1908, March, 7–8, December 5, 18, 1905, February 29, 1892; Okolona Chickasaw Messenger, December 23, 1880; Discipline Committee Minutes, 1913; FM, April 29, 1889, December 15, 1899. 39. Lee to Robert Lowry, May 5, 1882, Lee to O. H. McGinty, September 19, 1885, Lee to W. L. Jackson, December 8, 1885, Lee to Fred Wright, November 22, 1888, to Lee W. A. Dromgoole, November 22, 1888, Lee Papers; FM, March 20, 1892. 40. Bettersworth, 57, 171–72; FM, December 28, 1880; BM, June 12, 1881, January 13, 1882; BR, 1884–85, 64, 1888–89, 20–21; CA,1887–88, 20. 41. FM, February 27, 1892; CA, 1891–92, 43, 1894–95, 42–43. 42. Jackson Weekly Clarion, June 16, July 21, 1881; Bettersworth, 57–58; Annie M. Hammonds, “A History of Dairying in Oktibbeha County,” M.S. thesis, Mississippi

• 353 •

notes

43.

44. 45. 46.

47. 48.

49.

50. 51. 52.

53.

54. 55.

56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62.

State College, 1948, 21–22; BM, October 5, 1880; BR, 1884–85, 340, 1896–97, 13; Southern Livestock Journal, July 15, 1886. BR, 1883, 28–29, 37–38, 1884–85, 10; Jackson Weekly Clarion, June 16, 1881, December 2, 1880, November 15, 1882; BM, October 5, 1880; Southern Livestock Journal, July 21, 1881. BM, March 16, 1888, March 22, June 16, 1886; BR, 1888–89, 15, 1892–93, 6, 1896–97, 13, Southern Livestock Journal, October 12, 1882. BR, 1884–85, 11–12, 1890–91, 12; BM, July 4, 1887, January 19, June 15, 1891, June 7, 1897. BM, January 3, March 29, July 3–5, 1882, June 20, 1883, September 17, 1884, June 17, 1890, January 19, 1891; FM, January 29, 1883; CA, 1881–82, 4, 1882–83, 4; BR, 1886–87, 13–14, 1888–89, 9, 1890–91, 14, 1884–91, passim, Jackson Weekly Clarion, November 15, 1882, January 31, 1883, Southern Livestock Journal, May 13, 1886. Southern Livestock Journal, June 16, 29, July 2, 1881; CA, 1881–82, 42; BR, 1882–83, 13, 1884–85, 13–14. CA, 1880–81, 17–18; Southern Livestock Journal, October 12, 1882, January 11, 1883; BM, June 18, 1894, April 8, 1896, June 20, 1883, June 18, 1886, September 17, 1888, June 19, 1893. Bettersworth, 67; Jackson Weekly Clarion, March 8, 1882; Southern Livestock Journal, August 4, 1881; Lee to Darden, November 10, 1883, to T. J. Aby, April 22,1892, Lee Papers; BR, 1892–93, 11. BM, March 18, 1884; FM, March 3, May 7, 19, June 2, 1884, March 27, 1887. Jackson Weekly Clarion, October 30, 1885; Bettersworth, 70–71; FM, May 2, 16, 1887; BM, July 4, 1887, March 15, 16, 1888; Lee to Tracy, October 25, 1887, Lee Papers. BR, 1888–89, 10, 1890–91, 14, 1892–93, 8; BM, June 18, 1884, November 30, 1885, March 22, 1886, June 19, 1894; Jackson Weekly Clarion, June 27, 1895; Bettersworth, 74–75. CA, 1890–91, 56, 1892–93, 59; BM, June 17, 1890, September 24, 1894, July 16, 1896; Michael B. Ballard, “‘A benchmark in the history of agricultural research,’” Mississippi State University Alumnus (fall 1993): 36–38; Bettersworth, 74. BM, April 13, 1897. FM, March 28, 1887, October 12, 1881, October 6, 20, December 1, 1884, March 2, May 2, 1891, November 7, 1892, January 2, 1893; BM, October 16, 1882, March 13, 1885, June 15, 1891; Bettersworth, 76–77. BR, 1883, 8; CA, 1882–83, 31. BR, 1888–89, 12–13; CA,1889–90, 49. BM, January 19, February 14, 1891; BR, 1890–91, 2, 8, 9, 15; Lee to Gwinner, May 30, June 15, July 6, 1891, Lee Papers. Laws of Mississippi, 1892, 11–12; BM, April 20, 1892; BR, 1890–91, 8, 9; FM, April 4, 1892. Bettersworth, 86; BR, 1892–93, 10, 1896–98, 12. BR, 1894–96, 37, 1898–99, 31; CA, 1896–97, 37; BM, June 7, 1897. BR, 1894–96, 31, 8–9, 1896–98, 13.

• 354 •

notes

63. CA, 1893–94, 3, 1895–96, 8, 1897–98, 8–9; FM, March 3, 1897. 64. CA, 1880–81, 11, 16, 24; BM, June 19, 1883 65. The specifics are discussed at length in Bettersworth, 42–48; CA, 1880s–1890s also track curriculum changes. 66. BM, January 24, 1880, June 19, 1883, March 18, 1884; FM, May 7, 1884; BR, 1886–87, 16, 1884–85, 14, 1886–87, 17. 67. BR, 1894–96, 11, 1896–98, 11, 1898–99, 13, 1884–85, 14; FM, May 16, 1881, January 29, February 12, March 5, 1883. 68. CA, 1880–81, 30–31; BM, March 28, 1882, March 22, 1886. 69. BR, 1883, 10, 1892–93, 4; Jackson Weekly Clarion, December 23, 1880, June 16, 1881, December 2, 1880. 70. J. Wendell Bailey, The M Book of Athletics: Mississippi A. and M., 2 vols. (Richmond, VA, 1930, 1947), 1:107, 115–28. 71. Ibid., 1: 27–28, 37–38. 72. Bettersworth, 92. 73. Lilibel Hurshel Henry Broadway, “Frank Burkitt: The Man in the Wool Hat,” M.S. thesis, Mississippi State College, 1948, 18. 74. Journal of House, 1882, 233; Southern Livestock Journal, February 9, 1882; Laws of Mississippi, 1882, 74–76; BR, 1883–85, 11–12, 1894–96, 10, 1886–87, 6–7; Mississippi Code, 1892, 122; Bettersworth, 94–95. 75. BR, 1883, 12–13; Jackson Weekly Clarion, February 24, 1886, June 29, 1893; Bettersworth, 96. 76. Broadway, Burkitt, 18–19; BR, 1886–87, 5, 1888–89, 4–6; Jackson Weekly Clarion, February 17, 1886; BM, March 15, 16, 1888; Laws of Mississippi 1888, 5–6; Bettersworth, 97. 77. Okolona Chickasaw Messenger, March 24, September 1, 1887. 78. Ibid., September 6, October 13, December 23, 1887. 79. Lee to T. B. Carroll, September 12, 1886, Lee Papers; Bettersworth, 101. 80. Bettersworth, 101–102. 81. Bettersworth, 103–106, quote, 106. C ha p t e r Th re e

1. FM, March 26, 30, 1900; MCA, March 23, 27, 1900; BM, March 22, 1899, April 6, 1900; Okolona People’s Messenger, March 15, 1899. 2. Dunbar Rowland, Encyclopedia of Mississippi History, 4 vols. (Atlanta, GA, 1907) 3: 401–404; MCA, March 20, April 12, 1900; BM, June 19, July 6, 1900. 3. Bettersworth, 117. 4. MCA, April 9, 1900; Laws of Mississippi, 1900, 18–20, 50–51, 244–45; BM, May 23, December 15, 1900; BR, 1900–1901, 4–11, 55–56. 5. FM, December 21, 1900, January 1, March 15, 1901; BR, 1901–1903, 89–90; Bettersworth, 119; CA, 1903–1904, 58. 6. Bettersworth,119–21. 7. BR, 1904–1905, 167, 1906–1907, 113, 1910–11, 17, 122, 1911–13, 192–93; CA, 1911–12, 139. 8. Bailey, Athletics, 1: 39–51.

• 355 •

notes

9. Bettersworth, 114. 10. Bailey, Athletics, 1: 75–81. 11. Ibid., 1:129–39. 12. Ibid., 1:178–86. 13. BM, September 21, October 14, 1901; BR, 1900–1901, 14, 1902–1903, 5, 1906–1907, 5, 1908–1909, 5, 1912–13, 6. 14. BM, June 18, August 13, 14, October 19–20, December 15, 1900, January 14, April 13, August 29, 1903, June 1, 1904, March 28, 1907, April 10, 21, May 4, 1910; MCA, May 11, 1901; Starkville East Mississippi Times, March 26, 1909, August 5, 1910; REF, October, 1901. 14. Bettersworth, 116. 15. Ibid. 16. BR, 1908–1909, 59. 17. BM, June 3, 1907; CA, 1910–11, 33, 1908–199, 30, 1912–13, 37; BR, 1908–1909, 57. 18. CA, 1899–1900, 30–31. 19. CA, 1902–1903, 32, 1903–1904, 4; BR, 1902–1903, 24. 20. BR, 1902–1903, 79–80, 1904–1905, 152, 1908–1909, 174, 1906–1907, 160–62, 1908– 1909, 107, 170–72. 21. Ibid., 1902–1903, 82–85, 1904–1905, 53, 158, 1906–1907, 170–71, 1910–11, 230. 22. Ibid., 1890–91, 38–39, 1908–1909, 192, 1904–1905, 166, 1906–1907, 179, 181. 23. Ibid., 1900–1901, 29, 1902–1903, 25, 87–88, 1904–1905, 161–62, 1910–11, 222, 1911–13, 146, 1906–1907, 176–78, 1908–1909, 182–85; FM, January 3, 1902; BM, April 23, June 3, 1902, October 20, 1903; Southern Livestock Journal, January 11, 1888; Starkville East Mississippi Times, July 29, 1910. 24. BR, 1904–1905, 47, 147–48, 1906–1907, 46. 25. Ibid., 1911–13, 144. 26. Ibid., 1902–1903, 37–39; FM, November 27, 1903, May 25, 1904. 27. BR, 1904–1905, 24–25, 105–107, 1906–1907, 23; BM, June 16, 1885, June 18, 1901; FM, February 28, 1902. 28. BR, 1906–1907, 110–11, 1908–1909, 51–54, 1910–11, 57; CA, 1909–10, 56–57. 29. Jackson Weekly Clarion, August 25, 1881, March 1, 1882, August 13, 1884; BR, 1884–85, 8; BM, June 15, 1886; FM, June 11, 1899, September, 1885, May 22, 1899. 30. Bettersworth, 133; BR, 1900–1901, 15, 1902–1903, 5–6, 1906–1907, 14–15. 31. Bettersworth, 133–34; FM, November 4, 8, 1907; BR, 1906–1907, 16–18. 32. BR, 1908–1909, 54–55. 33. Ibid., 1900–1901, 24, 1902–1903, 7–8; BM, June 3, 1902. 34. Bettersworth, 135; BR, 1904–1905, 9, 1906–1907, 8, 1908–1909, 6–7, 54–55, 1910–11, 6, 1911–13, 7. 35. BM, June 18, 1901, June 1, 1908; CA, 1904–1905, 39; BR, 1900–1901, 18. 36. BM, June 26, 27, October 3, 1899, June 19, 1900; MCA, July 1, 1900; BR, 1904–1905, 125. 37. BM, June 1, 11,1905; BR, 1904–1905, 26–32, 34, 1906–1907, 36, 136; CA, 1907–1908, 37, 1908–1909, 38–39, 1909–10, 132; Starkville East Mississippi Times, March 27, 1908; MCA, January 11, 1909.

• 356 •

notes

38. BR, 1906–1907, 27; Starkville East Mississippi Times, February 14, March 27, 1908. 39. BR, 1904–1905, 30, 1906–1907, 32–34, 118, 1908–1909, 126–27, 157, 1910–11, 149; Helen Harned Downer to Michael Ballard, April 20, 2004, Harned VF. 40. BR, 1900–1901, 16, 1902–1903, 32, 1910–11, 21, 1911–13, 14, 1904–1905, 31, 1908–1909, 22; BM, November 26, 1907. 41. BM, June 19, September 14, October 29, 1901, January 16, 1903; BR, 1900–1901, 20, 1904–1905, 37. 42. BR, 1902–1903, 30–31, 1904–1905, 30, 1910–11, 28–29. 43. CA, 1904–1905, 3; BR, 1906–1907, 37, 1910–11, 158. 44. BM, September 14, 1901, June 3, 1902; BR, 1902–1903, 10–11, 1904–1905, 11, 12–13, 1906–1907, 64; CA, 1906–1907, 64. 45. Bettersworth, 140–41; BR, 1907–1908, 9, 28, 1908–1909, 9–10. 46. CA, 1903–1904, 84; BM, June 28, July 27, December 2, 1904; BR, 1902–1903, 20, 1906– 1907, 42, 46, 1908–1909, 35, 1910–11, 30–31, 180. 47. BR, 1904–1905, 60, 1906–1907, 60. 48. BM, November 26, 1907; BR, 1906–1907, 27–28, 1908–1909, 17–18, 1910–11, 18–19. 49. FM, May 20, 1904; BM, August 31, 1904; BR, 1908–1909, 168, 205–206, 1904–1905, 25, 108–109, 1906–1907, 25, 143–44, 1910–11, 122; CA, 1904–1905, 58, 66, 88–9, 1911–12, 137–40. 50. CA, 1911–12, 68–73. 51. BR, 1900–1901, 18, 1902–1903, 119–20, 1904–1905, 20, 1906–1907, 19, 1908–1909, 14– 16, 1910–11, 17. 52. Ibid., 1900–1901, 74, 1904–1905, 130, 1910–11, 112. 53. Ibid., 1908–1909, 15, 1910–11, 16; CA, 1911–12, 64–65; FM, May 29, 1911; see catalogs printed during Hardy’s presidency, 1899–1912, for the academic nuances in business. 54. REV, 1898; BR, 1894–96, 8, 1902–1903, 41, 1896–98, 11; MCA, May 11, 1901; BM, October 19–20, 1900, April 10, 1910; FM, April 8, 1904, December 3, 1906; REF, October 1901. 55. REF, October 18, 1913, October 31, 1914, October 9, 1915, January 29, 1916, April 5, 1921, October 17, 1923, October 8, 1924. 56. REF, March, 1902, 24, April, 1904, 21, March, 21–22, November, 17–18, December, 29–32, 1906, January, 1908, 182–83, September, 1910, 35–36, March, 1911, 303, 306, March, 1912, 326–27, January, 1902, 4–5, 17, January, 1905, 15, November, 1908, 73–74, January, 1912, 197; Bettersworth, 243–44; MCA, November 2, 1913. 57. FM, October 6, 13, 1884, November 7, 14, 1887, January 27, 1896; James D. May to Michael B. Ballard, September 24, 2004 in Maroon Band VF; REF, November, 1905, 5–6, March, 1907, 24, October, 1908, 75, November, 1909, 27, January, 1910, 32, March, 1910, 23, December, 1910, 170, January, 1912, 196–97; REV, 1898, 1906, 135, 140, 1909, 278–79; BM, December 2, 1904; FM, October 2, 4, 21, 1912. 58. REV, 1906, 122–23, 1909, 254; BR, 1904–1905, 61, 1910–11, 14, 1911–13, 24–35, 1913– 15, 11; Bettersworth, 239, 247; BM, June 16, 1913; REF, January 10, February 7, 1914, January 30, 1915.

• 357 •

notes

59. REF, October 19, 1918, February 8, 1921, May 23, September 22, 1922; see also Roy V. Scott and Charles D. Lowery, Old Main: Images of a Legend (Mississippi State, MS, 1995), a study that evaluates the dormitory and contains many photographs and written memoirs by Old Main dwellers. 60. MCA, November 22, 1900; FM, January 12, 1901, November 27, 1911. 61. FM, September 19, 21, 1900; MCA, January 12, 29, 1901; Bettersworth, 267–68. 62. Bettersworth, 254; FM, January 22, 1906, March 22, 27, May 15, 1911; REV, 1912, 206, REF, April, 1911, 363, January, 1912, 207–208; FM, October 7, 1912. 63. FM, May 13, 1907; Bettersworth, 270. 64. REF, December, 1903, 5–6, 8, October, 1904, 22–23; FM, February 1, November 13, 1911; MCA, February 14, 1918. 65. BR, 1886–87, 19, 1904–1905, 15, 1908–1909, 12, 1910–11, 12; MCA, June 14, 1911; Bettersworth, 279; REF, January, 1908, 179. 66. BR, 1906–1907, 13. 67. BM, March 31, 1904, June 3, 1907; FM, May 31, 1905. 68. Bettersworth, 153–54. 69. FM, January 8, 1908; BM, June 3, 1907; David G. Sansing, Making Haste Slowly: The Troubled History of Higher Education in Mississippi (Jackson, MS, 1990), 81; Starkville East Mississippi Times, January 10, 1908; MSUAWS. 70. Starkville East Mississippi Times, Jan 10, 1908; BM, January 14, 1908; FM, January 10, 1908. 71. REF, February, 1908, 205, March, 1908, 253–54; Bettersworth, 238; REV, 1906, 83–84; BM, March 30, October 29, 1904. 72. BM, January 14, 1908. 73. Starkville East Mississippi Times, January 24, 31, February 21, 1908; BM, June 1–2, 1908. 74. BM, July 18, 1908. 75. BM, July 18, August 20, 1908; Starkville East Mississippi Times, July 15, 24, 31, August 7, 14, September 25, 1908, 157–58; FM, January 29, 1912; Starkville News, February 2, March 1, 1912; MCA, March 26, 1912. 76. Bettersworth, 147–48, 152. C ha p t e r Fou r

1. Charles S. Barrett, The Mission, History, and Times of the Farmers’ Union (Nashville, 1909), 162. 2. Ibid., 229–30; Southern Farm Gazette, March 21, 1908, December 11, 1909. 3. REF, May, 1912; MCA, April 7, 1912. 4. FM, February 24, 1915; BR, 1911–13, 6; MCA, May 13, 1912. 5. BR, 1911–13, 7–8. 6. FM, November 18, 1912; MCA, November 10, 1912. 7. MCA, November 12, 1912; FM, November 9, 10, 11, 1912. 8. BM, November 11, 1912; MCA, November 11, 12, 1912. 9. MCA, November 10, 13, 14, 1912.

• 358 •

notes

10. Ibid., November 16, 1912; FM, November 16, 1912; BM, May 16, 1912. 11. FM, May 1, 1913; REV, Private ’13, 82–84; BM, June 10, 1913. 12. BM, July 4, 1882, November 11, 1912, November 29, 1930. 13. BM, April 14, 1917; MCA, February 23, July 6, 1917; BM, September 11, 1917. 14. BM, June 4, 1914, January 18, 1916; FM, December 15, 1915, October 13, December 8, 15, 1913; MCA, January 8, 18, 22, February 9, 1914; Starkville East Mississippi Times, January 16, 1914; REF, January 17, 1914; FM, September 21, 1914, February 10, 17, May 19, 1913. 15. FM, February 17, May 15, 1913; FM, June 10, 1913. 16. Bailey, Athletics, 1: 50–53. 17. Ibid., 1: 77–80, 139–42, 185–94. 18. BR, 1911–13, 16, 88, 90; FM, March 31, 1913; CA, 1912–13, 52, 54; BM, February 10, 1913, June 4, 1914. 19. BR, 1911–13, 14, 124; CA, 1914–15, 156–60; Bettersworth, 168. 20. BR 1911–13, 26, 27; Okolona Messenger, November 20, 27, 1913; Bettersworth, 169. 21. Alfred C. True, History of Agricultural Education in the United States (Washington, D. C., 1929), 272, 288; BM, November 20, 1914; CA, 1915–16, 181–85 ; BR, 1916–17, 190; REF, December 11, 1915; MCA, September 6, 1913, January 8, 1916, Mississippi Cooperative Extension Service Annual Report, May 1, 1916. 22. BM, June 10, 1913, June 3, 1914; CA, 1915–16, 65–66. 23. BR, 1911–13, 218, 1914–15, 4, ii: 49; REF, February 14, 1915. 24. CA, 1914–15, 4, 73–76; FM, February 24, 1915; MSUB, XII, January, 1915, 2. 25. CA, 1916–17, 27, 60, 1917–18, 38–42, 1918–1919, 5; BR, 1916–17, 139–40; FM, December 4, 1918. 26. BR, 1914–15, 11–12, 1912–13, 24, 1911–13, 30–31; BM, June 13, 1913, June 4, 1914, September 16, 1912, September 16, November 14, 1912, January 13, February 10, 1913; MCA, October 11, 1914, October 1, 1912; REF, February 5, 1916. 27. Starkville East Mississippi Times, February 7, March 28, September 12, 1913; MCA, March 15, 1913. 28. Jackson Daily News, July 1, 2, 1916; BM, July 1, 1916; BR, 1915–16; Edith Wyatt Moore, Sketch of George Robert Hightower and His Forbears (Stanton, MS, 1953), 5, 7. 29. Dunbar Rowland, History of Mississippi, Heart of the South, 4 vols. (Jackson, MS, 1925), 3: 664–68. 30. Ibid., 3: 667, Jackson Daily News, July 2, 1916. 31. BM, July 1, 1916; MCA, July 14, 1916, August 13, 1916; FM, December 5, 1916. 32. BR, 1915–17, 4–5. 33. Ibid., 1915–17, 4; REF, February 3, 17, 1917, October 11, November 15, 1919; BM, March 24, April 14, 17, December 15, 1917, August 29, 1919; MCA, February 10, December 19, 1917, January 3, 1918; Starkville East Mississippi Times, June 15, 1917. 34. True, Agricultural Education, 365–70, 373–75; MCA, May 3, 1917; CA, 1916–17, 63–64, 1917–18, 39–40; BM, September 11, 1917, June 7, 1918. 35. FM, December 2, 9, 1914, July 9, 1915, January 28, February 25, September 20, November 24, 1920; MCA, January 17, February 28, 1915, February 23, 1917, April 24,

• 359 •

notes

36. 37. 38. 39.

40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45.

46. 47. 48. 49.

June 9, 1918; REF, April 1, 1916, January 18, 1921; BM, April 14, 1917, September 11, 1917. BM, March 24, 1917; CA, 1916–17, 127–35; BR, 1915–17, 133, MCA, March 29, 1917. BM, September 11, 1917; BR, 1915–17, 77; CA, 1918–19, 64; Bettersworth, 188. FM, October 17, 24, 1910, February 17, May 19, 1913, December 19, 1917, December 4, 1918; February 26, 1919. Bettersworth, 264, 279; BM, April 13, July 23, September 18, November 2, 1920, June 20, 1922, April 14, 1917; REF, March 23, 1918; Columbus Commercial Dispatch, December 15, 1986, Meridian Star, December 15, 1986, Starkville Daily News, November 15, 1986; George Barnes file in private files, University Archivist. BM, November 2, 1929, June 18, 1931; FM, June 6, 1930; CA, 1933–34, 11; Bettersworth, 256. FM, March 30–31, 1917. Bailey, Athletics, 55–57, 82–83, 144–46, 197–201. FM, April 27, 1917; Starkville East Mississippi Times, May 4, 1917; REF, May 5, 1917; MCA, May 6, July 9, 1917; BR, 1917–19, 3; BM, April 14, 1917; Bettersworth, 189. MCA, July 25, August, 17, 1917, January 4, 1918; REF, September 29, 1917; BR, 1917–19, 3; Bettersworth 189–90. FM, April 24, May 29, 1918; BR, 1917–19, 4; REF, October 26, November 2, 1918, January 11, 1919; BR, 1917–19, 3; MCA, February 22, 1920; J. Wendell Bailey, The Mississippi A. and M. College and the War (Starkville-Agricultural College, 1920), World War I section, passim. BR, 1917–19, 4, 10, 1919–21, 7–8; Bettersworth, 191. BR, 1917–19, 30, 1919–21, 7; FM, October 24, 1919. BR, 1919–21, 12–13; Board Report, 1921, 18; BM, July 7, September 18, 1920; Jackson Daily News, September 26, 1920. BM, May 24, June 2, 23, August 18, July 23, 1920; Journal of House, 1922, 53; Rowland, History of Mississippi, Heart of the South, 3: 668.

C ha p t e r Fi v e



1. Who’s Who in America (New York, NY, 1899–1979), 1922–23, 1611; BM, January 21, 1925; Starkville East Mississippi Times, January 23, April 24, 1925; MCA, June 6, 1925. 2. FM, November 30, December 22, 1921, September 20, 29, October 27, 1920, January 25, 1922, November 28, 1923. 3. Ibid., December 15, 1920, November 30, 1921, April 23, October 3, November 28, 1923, February 6, 1924; Bettersworth, 197. 4. REF, February 28, 1920. 5. BM, July 7, 1920; BR, 1921–23, 11–12; FM, December 15, 1920; CA, 1920–21, 63, 73–74. 6. Board report, 1921, 21; BR, 1921–23, 20–21; Starkville East Mississippi Times, March 7, 14, 21, April 11, 1924. 7. BR, 1921–23, 3; BM, April 19, 1924; REF, April 23, 1924; CA, 1923–24, 47.

• 360 •

notes













8. BR, 1919–21, 20, 23; BM, April 16, September 18, 1920, June 7, 29, 1928; MCA, October 11, 1923, December 12, 1925; REF, April 9, 1924; Annie Ray Hammonds, “A History of Dairying in Oktibbeha County,” M.S. thesis, Mississippi State College, 1948, 33, 47. 9. Starkville East Mississippi Times, September 8, 1922, April 13, 1923. 10. Susie Powell to board, July 12, 1924; BM, July 14, 1924; BM, July 14, 15, August 11, 1924. 11. Laws of Mississippi 1920, 152; BR, 1919–21, 6, 1921–23, 5; REF, September 26, 1923; Bettersworth, 206. 12. BR, 1921–23, 3, 19; FM, February 6, 1924, Janary 24, 1925, November 6, 1929, February 12, June 6, 1930; REF, February 27, 1924, November 22, 1921, October 4, December 13, 1922; BM, November 2, 1929; MCA, November 3, 1929; Bettersworth, 272, 279, 280. 13. Rowland, History of Mississippi, Heart of the South, 3: 118–22; Mississippi State University First Ladies (Mississippi State, MS, 1976), 25–26. 14. BM, June 12, 1925; FM, November 25, 1925; BR, 1925–27, 7. 15. REF, April 7, 1926; MCA, July 11, 1926, December 18, 19, 1927; Bettersworth, 270–71; BR, 1929–31, 6; FM, February 24, 1926. 16. BM, April 19, 1924, June 12, 1925; CA, 1924–25, 62, 1925–26, 3; Bettersworth, 200. 17. BM, March 24, 1926. 18. FM, October 26, 1927; BR, 1927–29, 8, 23–24. 19. Starkville East Mississippi Times, May 8, October 2, 1925; MCA, May 13, 27; October 8, 1925; BM, December 5, 1927. 20. BM, January 5, 1928, September 15, 1930; MCA, May 9, June 22, July 28, 1928; ECM, April 16, 1973. 21. State Building Commission, Physical Facilities of Mississippi Colleges (Mississippi State, MS, 1977) 14; Schedule of Building Inventory for the Year Ending June 30, 1977, campus, 75–76; Bettersworth, 204, n51; William W. Sorrels, The Maroon Bulldogs (Huntsville, AL, 1975), 95–99. 22. Bailey, Athletics, 1: 58–67, 84–93, 147–56, 201–50. 23. BM, June 13, 1930; Progressive Farmer, July 17, 1920; Jackson Daily News, January 30, 1928; David G. Sansing, Making Haste Slowly: The Troubled History of Higher Education in Mississippi (Jackson, MS, 1990), 103 24. Jackson Daily News, January 30, 1928; BM, June 13, 1930. See Sansing, Making Haste, chapter 6, 91–110. 25. Progressive Farmer, July 17, 1920; Jackson Daily News, March 28, 1935. 26. John B. Hudson, “The Spoils System Enters College: Governor Bilbo and Higher Education in Mississippi,” New Republic 64 (1930), 123; MCA, June 22, July 5, 6, 1930; Sansing, Making Haste, 107–108; Chester M. Morgan, Redneck Liberal: Theodore G. Bilbo and the New Deal (Baton Rouge, 1985), 44–46. 27. MCA, August 16, 20, 25, 1930. 28. Ibid., July 12, August 5, 20, 1930. 29. Proceedings of the 35th Annual Meeting of the Association of Colleges and Secondary Schools of the Southern States (n.p., December 4–5, 1930), 35–37, 54–55; BM, November 27, 29, 30, MCA, November 28, December 7, 1930.

• 361 •

notes

30. Sorrels, Maroon Bulldogs, 100–107, 111; MSUAWS. 31. MCA, April 10, 1930, October 8, 1931; BM, June 29, 1934, November 27, 1930; BR, 1929–31, 6. 32. MCA, January 4, September 3, October 28, 1931, December 13, 17, 1930; BR,1929–31, 11. 33. MCA, January 16, 1931; BM, January 15, 1931, Hudson, “Spoils System,” 123–25. 34. BM, March 21, June 18, 1931. 35. Ibid., November 26, 1931; Bettersworth, 211. 36. Laws of Mississippi 1932, 383–88; BM, July 21–22, 1932; MCA, February 23, July 29, 1932. 37. BM, November 7, 1932, January 23, 16, 1933, January 29, 1934, January 25, 1935; BR, 1932–33, 7. 38. MCA, January 1, 1931. 39. BR, 1929–31, 82, 11. 40. CA, 1930–31, 191, 1931–32, 54, 1932–33, 140. 41. BM, June 10–11, 1932, January 16, 1933. 42. Ibid., November 7, 1932, June 23–25, July 21–22, November 7, 1932, January 10, 1933. 43. MCA, May 23, 1931, July 14, 1932; BM, June 10–11, 23–25, 1932, January 23, 1933, ACM, January 9, 1933; BM, June 8, 1933. 44. BM, January 29, April 17, 1934. 45. Ibid., June 28, 1932. 46. Bettersworth, 219. 47. BM, November 27, 1930; CA, 1931–32, 34. 48. BM, November 27, 1930, January 29, 1934; Bettersworth, 227, fn3; MCA, November 29, 1930. 49. Bettersworth, 227, fn6; Laws of Mississippi 1932, 452. 50. George Peabody College, Division of Surveys and Field Studies, Report on Functions of State Institutions of Higher Learning in Mississippi (Nashville, TN, 1933), 1 (hereinafter cited as Peabody Report). 51. Peabody Report, 5–6, 8. 52. Ibid., 14–16, 21–23, 40, 35–36, 16–20, 37–43, 46; BM, April 27, 1933. 53. BM, January 24, 1933, April 4, 5, 1933. 54. Mississippi State College, Report to the Council of Presidents, State Institutions of Higher Learning (Mississippi State, MS), April 20, 1933; BM, April 27, June 8, 1933. 55. BR, 1932–33, 51, 11; BM, June 9, 1933, January 29, June 29, 1934, January 25, 1935. 56. BR, 1932–3, 9; BM, April 17, 1934; BR, 1934–35, 7. 57. BM, April 17, 1934. 58. Ibid., April 17, January 29, May 3, June 29, 1934; Jackson Daily News, July 9, 1934; MCA, March 28, 1935. C ha p t e r Si x

1. BM, June 23, May 18, 1944; Laws of Mississippi 1942, 438–39, 1944, 464–69. When Senator Stennis donated his papers to the MSU Libraries in 1969, he mentioned how

• 362 •

notes



2.



3.



4. 5. 6. 7.



8.

9. 10. 11. 12.

13.

14. 15. 16. 17.

18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 24. 25. 26.

overhearing a Butts lecture, and later taking a Butts class, had gotten him interested in a career in government. REF, March 15, 1933; Humphrey Scrapbook, June 1934–June 1935; BM, January 25, June 19, 1935, June 29, 1936, June 6, 1939; MCA, September 5, 1935. BM, June 29, 1934, January 25, 1935, January 29, October 25, May 4, 1938; ADCM, September 29, October 20, 1938. BM, March 16, June 6, 1939, June 5, 1941, June 14–15, 1944; BR, 1939–41, 36. BM, June 19, 1935, April 27, June 9, December 14, 1933, June 29, 1936. Ibid., January 25, June 18, 19, 1935; MCA, April 15, 1935. FM, April 26, November 9, 1929; BM, June 8, 9, 1933, June 14–15, 1944; August 24, 1934; January 25, 1935; ADCM, June 17, 1942. FM, February 29, December 5, 1928; BM, June 19, 1935, May 28, 1942; Jackson Daily News, March 25, 1938; MCA, May 23, 1931, February 4, May 22, June 12. BM, January 25, 1935; Bettersworth, 291. BM, August 24, 1934, January 25, June 19, 1935. Humphrey Scrapbook, June 1934–June 1935; BM, January 25, 1935, June 29, 1934, June 29, 1936, May 24, June 4, 1940. BM, January 29, October 4, 1937, April 17, June 29, 1934, January 25, 1935, June 14–15, 1944, August 7, 1945, President’s Report, June 6, 1939 BM; MCA, June 16, 1929. BM, June 14–15, July 12, 1944, June 29, 1934, May 24, 1940, June 19, 1935, January 26, 1938, President’s Report, June 6, 1939. FM, September 6, 1939, February 2, 1937; BM, January 29, 1937, June 29, 1936, June 14–15, 1944, January 31, 1941, January 28, 1943, President’s Report, June 14, 1944. BM, January 31, 1941, April 26, 1946; CA, 1948–49, 289. BM, January 25, 1935, August 24, 1934, January 25, 1935, June 6, 1939, June 14–15, 1945. FM, March 25, 1912, November 10, 1913, October 10, 1914, Novermber 3, February 24, 1915, February 23, June 6, 1931, December 15, 1938, October 11, 1939, October 11, 1939; Graduate School Bulletin, 1936, 3; BM, December 17, 1935, January 9, June 29, 1936, May 4, 1938. ADCM, July 18, 1940, September 12, 1942, December 27, 1941, January 9, 1942, October 16, 1942, February 20, 1943; BM, January 28, 1943. ADCM, December 27, 1941, February 17, January 9, 1942, April 6, November 23, 1943, March 11, May 25, June 26, 1944; BM, April 28, 1942, June 14–15, 1944. Sorrels, Maroon Bulldogs, 100–108, 124, 132, 140; Starkville Daily News, February 24, 1978, MSUAWS. ADMC, July 22, September 22, 1944; BM, June 13–14, June 14–15,1945. Bettersworth, 301–302, Who’s Who, 1948–49, 1932; “Dr. Fred T. Mitchell,” The Spartan, Michigan State College, 5 (May 1941), 4. Mitchell, Spartan, 5 (May 1941, 4. BM, June 14–15, September 14, 1945; Joseph E. Gibson and others, Mississippi Study of Higher Education, Jackson, MS, 1945. BM, August 23, September 28, October 27, December 28, 1944; Gibson, Mississippi, 10, 131–49, 195–201; Bettersworth, 306.

• 363 •

notes













27. 28. 29. 30.

Bettersworth, 306. PAR, 1946–47, 40–41, 1948–49, 58, 1950–51, 2. Ibid., 1950–51, 2–3, 1948–49, 59, 1949–50, 64. BM, December 20, 1946, May 17, 1945; PAR 1945–46, 30–31; Bettersworth, 307; Dean of College Report, 1950–51, 1. 31. PAR, 1947–48, 1948–49; Bettersworth, 308; Report to Board on Mississippi Higher Education, February 27, 1954. 32. BM, May 23, 1947, May 22, 1952; PAR, 1947–48, 5, 7, 1948–49, 7, 1950–51, 2–3, 18; Dean of College Report, 1950–51, 2; Report to Board on Mississippi Higher Education, February 27, 1954. 33. Mitchell letter to administrative council members, March 10, 1953, Mitchell Presidential Papers; PAR, 1946–47, 4–5; BM, September 12, March 1, April 26, May 17, 1951. 34. Bettersworth, 310–11; Mississippi State College, 1945–1952, 27. 35. Bettersworth, 312; ADCM, November 11, 1949, September 8, 1952; Bettersworth conversation with T. K. Martin, December 14, 1977. 36. ADCM, November 21, December 12, 19, 1949, November 3, 27, 1950; Bettersworth conversation with D. W. Aiken, December 1, 1977. 37. Progressive Farmer, January, 1953; REF, Janury 13, 1953; Mississippi State, 1945–52, 46–60. 38. CA, 1945–46, 45–60, 1951–52, 31–50; ADCM, January 8, 1947, Mississippi State, 1945– 52, 5. 39. Mississippi State, 1945–1952, 1, 6, 13, 19, 23. 40. BM, January 18, March 1, 1951, Mississippi State, 1945–52, 51–55; Dean of College Report, 1951–52, 51–55. 41. Dean of College Report, 1951–52, 6–12; PAR, 1947–48, 36, 1949–50, 33; BM, May 22, 1952, School of Business and Industry Annual Report, 1951–52. 42. PAR, 1950–51, 23; ASCM, November 27, 1950; PAR, 1950–51, 25–26; ADCM, December 15, 1949; BM, December 20, 1946, December 10, 1948; ADMC, September 21, 1953, Report of the Committee on the Integration of the Social Sciences, May, 1949; Annual Report of the Social Science Research Center, 1951–52, 3, 6. 43. PAR, 1946–47, 141; Mississippi State, 1945–52, 19–23. 44. Mississippi State, 1945–52, 12–19. 45. Ibid., 1945–52, 23–27. 46. Ibid., 1945–52, 28; A College Looks at Its Graduate Program (Mississippi State College, 1953); Bettersworth, 316–17; ADCM, April 23, 1951; Mississippi State, 1945–52, 29: Dean of College Report, 1954–55, 1; ADCM, May 14, 1951. 47. FM, October 27, 1926; BM, June 8, 1933, April 17, June 29, 1934, June 19, 1935, June 29, 1936, January 5, 31, 1941; Laws of Mississippi, 1948, 116–18; PAR, 1948–49, 26, Mississippi State, 1945–52, 31; Annual Report of the Librarian, 1951–52. 48. MSUWS; REF, November 6, 1946. 49. Bettersworth, 319–21.

• 364 •

notes

C ha p t e r Sev e n





1. Personal Data Sheet, Hilbun Presidential Papers; Laurel Leader-Call, August 5, 1953; Diamond Jubilee Banquet program, October 30, 1953; Hilbun Scrapbook; Dean of College Report, 1952–53, 1; Bettersworth, 324, 325. 2. Bettersworth, 326; Lin H. Wright et al., Mississippi State University: The First One Hundred Years (Mississippi State, 1978), 127. 3. John E. Brewton, Higher Education in Mississippi, passim. 4. BM, April 21, 1955, September 22, 1955, June 19, 1956, June 17, August 25, 1955, July 19, 1956; REF, September 10, 1956; Liberal Arts Division, School of Arts and Sciences, Annual Report, 1956–57, 3, 4; 1960–61, 3. 5. Liberal Arts Division, School of Arts and Sciences, Annual Report, 1957–58, 4, 1958– 59, 4–6, 1960–61, 5, 1959–1960, 5; BM, June 16, 1960, September 18, 1958. 6. Walter Pittman, “Chemical Regulation in Mississippi: The State Laboratory,” Journal of Mississippi History 12 (1979), 144–53; Dean of College Report, 1955–56, 6, 1957–58, 5. 7. Raspet, VF. 8. ADCM, November 23, 1959. 9. Herbert Drennon to Ben Hilbun, July 12, 1957, Hilbun to Harry Simrall, January 22, 1957, Hilbun Presidential Papers; BM, August 23, 1956. 10. Bettersworth, 330; Digital Computer Planning Committee Minutes, April 8, 1957; BM, September 12, 1957. 11. Dean of College Report, 1959–60, 8; ADCM, November 2, 1959; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1964–65, 18; BM, May 21, 1959. 12. Dean of College Report, 1955–56, 6, 1957–58, 2, 1958–59, 2, 1959–60, 2. 13. ADCM, May 2, 1960; Dean of College Report, 1958–59, 5. 14. Dean of College Report, 1956–57, 2; BM, April 19, 1956. 15. ADCM, April 19, 1960. 16. BM, September 19, December 13, 1956; ADCM, October 19, 1959, January 26, 1960. 17. BM, July 18, September 12, 1957; ADCM, August 12, 1959, February 1, 8, 1960. 18. Dean of College Report, 1952–53, 3; BM, February 7, 1955. 19. Dean of College Report, 1956–57, 1, 1955–56, 2, 1956–57, 1, 1959–60, 2; ADCM, January 23, 1959; REF, February 3, 1959. 20. Dean of College Report, 1954–55, 2, 1956–57, 1, 1959–60, 2–3; BM, December 12, 1957; ADCM, October 17, 1960. 21. Bettersworth, 333–34. 22. Dean of College Report, 1953–54, 3; ADCM, September 23, November 2, 1953, April 12, 1954, BM, June 21, 1956. 23. ADCM, March 19, 1951, April 30, 1956, March 2, 1954. 24. Ibid., August 3, September 23, November 2, 1953, May 9, 1955, March 21, 1955; BM, June 16, 1958. 25. Ibid., June 5, 1954, February 23, June 11, 1959; BM, October 18, 1956, September 18, 1958. 26. Sorrels, Maroon Bulldogs, 185, 192, 198–203, 281–82, 98, 207; BM, October 23, 1958, March 19, 1959.

• 365 •

notes

27. MSU press release, November 8, 1957; Wright, Mississippi State University, 126. 28. ADCM, April 13, 1959; BM, January 16, 1964. 29. Bettersworth, 341; BM, March 17, 1960; Colvard Diary, made available to Bettersworth, including July 1961 entry, passim. The diary hereinafter cited is still in the possession of Dean Colvard. However, Colvard’s book Mixed Emotions: As Racial Barriers Fell—A University President Remembers (Danville, IL, 1985), which is based in large part on the diary, contains much of the same information. 30. Colvard Diary, July–August, 1960, October, 1960, March, 1961. 31. Sorrels, Maroon Bulldogs, 282, 209–10, 216; Colvard Diary, October, December, 1960, December, 1961. 32. ADCM, basketball media guide. 33. Colvard Diary, April–May, 1961. 34. BM, October 19, August 24, 1961; Colvard Diary, June–July, 1961, July–August, 1961; Bettersworth, 344; Herbert Drennon, “Autobiographical,” Vice President for Academic Affairs Papers; ECM, January 12, 1976; Herbert Drennon, Sunset at Laguna Beach (Mississippi State, MS, 1975), 35. 35. BM, August 21, 1961 (including agenda), August 19, 1965, June 29, 1961, March 19, 1964, October 17, 1963; Colvard Diary, July–August, 1961; ADCM, June 30, 1961; Bettersworth conversation with William Giles, February 21, 1978. 36. Board BR, 1959–61, 42; Colvard Diary, October, 1960; ADCM, February 14, 1961; ECM, February 3, 1964. 37. ADCM, February 12, Decenber 17, 1962, April 8, September 10, 1963; Executive Staff Minutes, November 4, 1963; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1964–65, 24, 25. 38. BM, May 18, 1961, March 8, 1962; ECM, January 6, 1961; Colvard Diary, April, October 1961, September, 1962. 39. Colvard, Mixed Emotions, 23–39. 40. Ibid., 41–44. 41. Ibid., 57–58. 42. Ibid., 58–94. 43. Colvard Diary, June, 1963, August, September–October, November, December, 1963, December, 1963–January, 1964; Sorrels, Maroon Bulldogs, 282. 44. Colvard Diary, November, 1964, June–July, 1965; Bettersworth 349–50. 45. ADCM, August 8, October, 1960; Colvard campus letter, September 28, 1960; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1961–62, 13, 1962–63, 16, 1963–64, 33; Faculty Handbook, MSU, 1963. 46. Herbert Drennon to Robert B. Holland, February 4, 1964; Holland to Colvard, February 16, 1961, June 1, 1961, Faculty Council correspondence; Faculty Council Report, May 30, 1961, October 19, 1961; Report to General Faculty, November 13, 1964, October 8, May 7, September 7, 1965; Bruce Glick to Colvard, April 22, 1965, Colvard Presidential Papers; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1962–63, p. 17. 47. President’s Bulletin, vol. 4, no. 3, May, 1964; Faculty Awards Committee, April 21, 1965; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1964–65, 4.

• 366 •

notes

48. Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1962–63, 16. 49. ADCM, August 1, September 19, 1960, March 13, July 10, August 1, 1961; BM, March 16, 1961, agenda, February 16, 1961. 50. ADCM, April 24, 1961. 51. Ibid., August 15, 1960, February 13, October 2, 1961; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1961–62, 11; BM, April 21, 1966. 52. Sam Dudley, “History of Department of Communications,” unpublished paper, February 22, 1978, 1–3. 53. Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1961–62, 16; ADCM, June 18, December 10, 1962; BM, September 19, October 21, December 19, 1963, February 18, June 24, July 6, August 19, 1965. 54. BM, June 18, 1964, ECM, June 22, 1964. 55. Public Education in Mississippi, Report of the Advisory Study Group, 2 vols. (Jackson, MS, 1961), 2: 64–65, 96–102, 159–62; ECM, October 19, 1964, June 6, September 20, 1965; Board of Trustees, Institutions of Higher Learning, Strengthening Mississippi’s Higher Education Through Diversification, Cooperation and Coordination (Jackson, MS, 1966), 80; BM, January 20, 1966; Booz-Allen-Hamilton, Inc., Summary of State Wide Education Study, Phase 1 (Jackson, MS, 1967), published by the Mississippi Research and Development Council. 56. Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1961–62, 36–37; ACCM, April 13, November 30, 1964, November 8, 1965, January 3, 1966, September 29, 1969; James Tennyson to John Bettersworth, February 14, 1978, Bettersworth correspondence. 57. Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1961–62, 36–37; ACCM, April 13, November 30, 1964, November 8, 1965, January 3, 1966; September 29, 1969; James Tennyson to John Bettersworth, February 14, 1978. 58. Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1961–62, 16, 23, 1965–66, 10; Bettersworth, 359; ECM, March 4, 1964, December 6, 1965; ACCM, August 6, 1962, January 28, 1963; ECM, March 4, 1964; BM, September 18, 1958, March 16, 1964; ADCM, Februry 9, 1959, August 24, 1961; BM, June 11, 1959, November 17, 1960, March 16, 1961, agenda, March 16, 1961, May 17, August 15, 1962, agenda, August 15, 1962, March 29, 1964; Colvard Diary, January 1962; Colvard to Bettersworth, February 10, 1961, Bettersworth correspondence. 59. ADCM, April 10, 1961, September 21, 28, November 2, 1964, May 31, 1965; BM, May 21, November 19, 1964, January 20, 1966, Executive Staff Minutes, April 10, 1965; ECM, January 10, 1962, July 8, 1963, August 9, 1965; Educational Televison for Mississippians (Mississippi State, 1961) 2. 60. ECM, January 20, 1964, January 4, February 22, 1965. 61. BM, November 19, 1964; ECM, December 13, 1965. 62. Press Release, MSU, May 20, 1960; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1961–62, 18, 1964–65, 7, 1962–63, 21, 1963–64, 36, 1964–65, 7; Biennial Report of Board, 1959–61, 41, 1963–65, 53, 1966–67, 9; President’s Annual Report, 1965–66; ECM, June 7, August 9, 1965.

• 367 •

notes

63. ADCM, November 20, 1961, February 7, 1962, February 10, August 17, 1964, January 18, July 6, November 22, 1965; Executive Staff Minutes, January 15, 1962; ECM, September 17, 1962, February 1, May 20, 1963, October 26, 1964; BM, March 25, 1965, April 18, 1963; ECM, March 8, 1965; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1964–65, 21–22; press releases, MSU, June 21, 1958, May 20, 1960. 64. Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1964–65, 1; Colvard Diary, 1963–65, November 26, 1965, January, January 3, February, 1966; REF, February 15, 18, 1966; BM, February 17, 1966; ECM, March 7, 1966. C ha p t e r E ig h t







1. See further comments on Giles’s style in Bettersworth, 375. 2. ADCM, March 16, 1970; Hunter Brumfield letter, Jackson Clarion-Ledger, March 28, 1978; BM, October 18, 1973. 3. ADCM, May 11, 1970; Bettersworth, 377. 4. Bettersworth, 377. 5. ADCM, March 13, April 17, May 11, 1970, December 18, 1972; ECM, July 25, August 8, 1966, January 16, 1967, June 8, 1970, March 17, 1975; Jackson Daily News, May 12, 1968; BM, March 18, 1976, March 24, 1966, agenda, March 18, 1971, April 15, 1976, November 15, 1962; Bylaws and Policies Compiled by the Staff of the Board of Trustees of State Institutions of Higher Learning, 1970, October 17, 1974, revision, 27. 6. Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1970–71, 3, 13; BM, April 20, 1967, February 20, 1969; Executive Staff Minutes, October 7, 1968. 7. BM, March 16, 1967, agenda, March 21, 1968, April 19, May 17, June 21, 1973, February 21; ECM, February 5, August 12, 1968, March 3, 1975; ADCM, November 25, 1974. 8. ECM, January 6, 1975; BM, April 17, 1975, April 15, 1982; Bettersworth, 381. 9. ECM, January 6, 1975; BM, April 17, 1975; Bettersworth, 382. 10. ECM, April 16, October 14, November 25, 1968, November 17, 1967, December 12, 1966; ADCM, January 31, October 23, 1967, October 11, 1972; BM, May 15, 1975. 11. ACM, October 23, 1967, February 19, 1968, August 16, 1971, September 14, 1970, February 21, 1972, January 7, 1974, April 28, September 1, 1975 ; ADCM, December 12, 1966, January 22, 1973, September 16, 1968; BM, April 22, 1968, June 21, 1973. 12. Bettersworth, 416; ADCM 16, 1980; Jackson Clarion-Ledger, March 28, 1978. 13. BM, October 18, 1973; ADCM, May 11, 1970. 14. ECM, March 17, 1975; BM, March 18, 1976; ADCM, December 18, 1972. 15. BM, March 24, 1966, agenda, March 18, 1971; ECM, July 25, 1966, May 1, 1972. 16. Bettersworth, 419, ECM, July 25, 1966. 17. ECM, August 8, 1966. 18. Ibid., January 16, 1967; Bettersworth, 419, 420; BM, April 15, 1976. 19. BM, November 15, 1962, April 15, 1976, Bylaws and Policies, Board of Trustees, 1970, October 17, 1974 revision, 27; ECM, June 8, 1970, November 15, 1971, February 16, 1976; ADCM, March 13, 1972, April 17, 1972. 20. Ibid.

• 368 •

notes

21. Board Biennial Report, 1967–69, 71; Board Annual Report, 1970–71, 5; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1968–69; Bettersworth, 424; BM, February 18, November 18, 1971, September 21, October 19, November 16, 1972, September 18, 1975. 22. Bettersworth, 425; ECM, December 12, 1966, February 27, 1967; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1966–67; BM, June 20, 1968, May 16, 1974, agenda. 23. ADCM, January 31, 1967, February 25, 1973; ECM, October 16, 1967, November 18, 1970; Faculty Council Vice Chairwoman’s Report, October, 1981. 24. ECM, January 6, 1969, January 4, November 6, 1971, December 18, 1972; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1968–69, 8, 9; ADCM, August 14, 1972; FCM, October 9, 1981. 25. ADCM, September 19, November 7, 21, 1966; ECM, October 10, November 21, 1966; BM, November 17, 1966. 26. BM, November 21, 1968, January 16, 1969, October 18, 1973; ADCM, February 24, 1969, March 9, 1970; Bettersworth, 426–27, 440, fn 71; ECM, April 6, 1970. 27. ADCM, August 8, 1966; ECM, August 7, 1967, January 12, August 17, October 12, 1970, February 27, March 1, 1971; BM, March 19, November 19, 23, December 7, 1970, February 18, 1971; REF, November 17, 24, 1970; Vice President for Student Affairs Records, February–March, 1971; Jackson Clarion-Ledger, March 17, 1971. 28. ECM, September 6, 18, 1972, November 26, 1973, February 4, 1974, February 23, November 8, 1976, April 25, 1977. 29. ECM, February 19, 1968, May 22, 1972, January 13, May 19, 1969. 30. ECM, November 6, 1967, September 18, 1972, April 14, 1975; ADCM, September 16, 1974, December 16, 1968. 31. BM, January 28, September 19, 1974, March 20, 1975; ADCM, June 17, October 14, 28, November 3, December 3, 1974, January 12, 1976; ECM, September 9, 1974, March 3, 17, April 14, May 5, September 22, October 13, December 11, 1975. 32. Bettersworth, 431. 33. BM, May 19, 1966, March 16, June 29, 1967; ECM, December 12, 1966; ADCM, June 12, 1967; ACCM, January 22, 1968. 34. ACCM, January 8, 22, 1968; BM, January 18, 1968, June 19, 1969; Bobby R. Ratliff, “Radio at Mississippi State, 1918–1974,” Mississippi State University, 1977, unpublished manuscript; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1973–74, 5. 35. BM, January 18, 1968, May 15, 1975, December 19, 1974, December 19, 1975, July 25, 1976; ACCM, January 8, 22, 1968, March 31, 1969, June 21, 1971; ECM, August 12, 1968; Bettersworth, 386. 36. BM, May 18, October 19, 1967, January 18, 27, 1968, August 19, 1971, August 16, 1973; Board Biennial Report, 1967–69, 73. 37. BM, December 20, 1973. 38. ACCM, August 1, 1966, April 17, 1967, May 3, 1971; BM, September 15, November 17, 1966, January 19, April 20, August 17, 1967, July 27, March 21, April 18, 1968, June 19, December 18, 1969, May 20, September 16, November 18, 1971, March 21, 1974, April 17,

• 369 •

notes

39. 40. 41. 42. 43.

44. 45. 46. 47.

48. 49. 50.



51.

52.

53.

54.

55.

August 21, 1975, January 15, 1976, June 17, 1982, April 19, 1984; ADCM, November 21, 1966, board minutes, May 20, 1971; ECM, February 17, 1975. ADCM, January 26, February 16, April 19, 1976; ECM, March 1, April 5, 1976; BM, April 15, 1976. BM, August 20, 1975; CA, 1975–76, 78; Bettersworth, 389. ADCM, November 17, 1969. ACCM, February 3, 1969; ADCM, July 14, 1969; BM, August 21, 1969, June 18, 1970, June 16, 1983; ECM, February 21, 1972; September 4, 1972. Bettersworth, 390; Communication Department Annual Report, 1967–68, 1968–69; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1974–75, 2; ECM, July 26, 1971; ACCM, April 22, May 6, 1964. BM, June 20, August 15, 1974; Bettersworth, 391. ADCM, September 16, 1964, August 7, 1967, December 9, 1969, April 6, 1970; BM, June 18, 1970, October 20, 1969; Bettersworth, 392; ECM, June 4, 1973. BM, April 21, 1966; ADCM, May 29, 1967, March 24, 1969, July 27, 1970, November 22, 1971, January 22, 1974; ECM, November 15, 1971. ECM, April 21, 1975, September 6, December 12, 1966; Barbara Teters to McComas, November 1, 1976, McComas Presidential Papers; BM, September 15, 1966; ADCM, February 23, 1970, March 21, 1966; A. P. Posey, Registrar Information provided to Bettersworth, March 28, 1978; ACCM, June 16, 1969. ECM, March 20, 1972, May 12, August 27, 1973, January 7, 1974; ADCM, November 26, 1973; BM, special meeting, January 27, 1974; MSU Budget, 1977–78, 167–68. ECM, September 15, 1969, June 11, 1973, March 23, 1970, January 6, 1969, May 4, 1970; BM, August 21, 1969, November 15, 1984; ADCM, March 13, 26, 1972. ECM, January 11, September 13, 1971; The John C. Stennis Chair, Memo of Purpose and Understanding, November 4, 1970, Bettersworth Papers; ADCM, October 26, 1970; REF, February 13, 1976. BM, July 15, 1971, February 21, 1980; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1974–75; Bettersworth, 394. BM, February 20, 1975, and agenda, August 18, 1966; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1974–75, 6; ECM, June 25, 1973, February 4, 1974; ACCM, March 1, 1973; ADCM, September 6, 1966. BR, Board, 1965–67, 70–71; Annual Report, Board, 1969–70, 67, 1970–71, 70; ECM, August 16, 1971; ECM, September 6, 1963, November 7, 1966, March 4, 1968, September 12, 1967, July 28, 1969, January 3, April 8, 1968, May 23, 1969, November 3, 1975; January BM, June 29, 1967, agenda, June 19, 1969, April 19, 1973, April 18, 1968, agenda, December 19, 1968, February 15, 1973, April 17, 1975; ADCM, April 10, 1967, November 15, 1975, April 5, 22, 1974; ACCM, April 1, 1968. MSU Annual Report, 1965–66; BM September 18, 1969, agenda; Annual Report, Board, 1973, 71, 1974, 93; ECM, January 3, February 19, 1968. Annual Report, Board, 1972, 5, 1973, 69; BM, November 17, 1966, February 20, 1969, April 17, August 21, September 18, 1969, February 19, July 16, 1970; ECM, November 18, 1968; ADCM, May 5, 1969; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1969–70, 10.

• 370 •

notes

56. BM, January 21, 1966, April 8, July 27, 1968; ACCM, July 31, 1972; ECM, September 2, 1974. 57. ECM, May 24, 1971, June 14, 1971; BM, October 22, 1971, February 17, 1972. 58. ECM, May 3, 1971; ADCM, December 12, 1966; BM, December 14, 1967, May 21, June 18, 1970. 59. ECM, November 6, 1967, May 17, 24, 1971, January 22, June 25, 1973, August 26, 1974; ACCM, May 11, 1970, May 24, 1971; ADCM, November 7, 1966, June 25, 1973; BM, September 21, 1972, April 18, 1974. 60. BM, August 16, 1973, January 31, February 5, 1974, agenda, May 15, June 20, 1974; ADCM, August 5, 1974; ECM, September 22, 1975. 61. ECM, August 17, 1970; ADCM, November 4, 1974. 62. BM, October 23, 1958; Vice President for Academic Affairs Annual Report, 1963–64, 59, Board of Directors, University Press of Mississippi, Minutes, March 31, 1976. 63. ECM, February 20, 1967; BM, December 14, 1967, July 16, 1970. 64. BM, April 15, 1971; Annual Report, Board, 1973, 69; MSU Continuing Education Annual Report, 1972–73, 54. 65. ACM, October 31, 1966; BM, November 17, 1966, April 20, 1967, May 18, 1972, August 15, 1975; ECM, February 12, 1967; Annual Report, Board, 1973, 69; MSU Continuing Education Annual Report, 1972–73, 1, 54, 1975–76, 2, 43–44, 1976–77, 39; Jackson Clarion-Ledger, November 15, 1978. 66. Continuing Education Annual Report, 1975–76, 4–14; BM, December 20, 1973; Mississippi Code, 1977 supplement, vol. 10, 199–200; ADCM, June 25, 1973. 67. ADCM, August 8, 1966, January 15, July 29, 1968, October 12, 1970, January 16, May 8, 1967, January 15, 1968, April 5, November 4, December 16, 1974, February 10, September 15, 1975; BM, August 18, 1966, agenda, October 22, 1966, August 15, 1968, May 15, June 19, 1969, February 20, October 22, 23, 1971, August 17, October 19, 1972, April 19, 1973, May 20, July 18, 1974, April 17, May 15, August 21, November 3, 1975, May 21, 1981, June 16, 1983; ECM, October 16, 1967, August 17, 1970, June 17, 1971, April 17, 28, May 19, 1975, April 5, July 19, 1976, March 19, July 14, September 6, 1972, September 10, November 15, 1973, July 12, September 13, 1971, January 6, September 1, 1975, February 2, 1976; Mississippi State Building Commission, Physical Facilities in Mississippi Colleges, Academic Buildings (n. p., 1967–68), 34; MSU Buildings Department Information, August, 1978. 68. ECM, January 22, 1968, July 26, 1971, January 13, 1975; BR, Board, 1965–67, 72; ADCM, October 14, 1974, November 3, 1975. 69. ECM, June 23, 1975; ADCM, January 6, 1969. 70. Bettersworth, 432; ECM, November 21, 1966; Sorrels, Maroon Bulldogs, 211, 212, 214– 15, 282, 283; BM, January 19, 1967, June 18, 1970; ECM, August 21, 1967. 71. ECM, December 6, 1971, November 11, 1974, September 22, 1975; Sorrels, Maroon Bulldogs, 215, 234–36, 282; BM, March 16, 1972, January 16, April 17, 1975, February 16, 1984; ADCM, September 1, 1975; Bettersworth, 434. 72. Annual Report, Board, 1973–74, 91; ADCM, November 3, 1975; ECM, March 3, 10, September 4, October 15, 1975, Starkville Daily News, February 24, 1978.

• 371 •

notes

73. BM, November 20, 1975. 74. ADCM, February 4, 1974; Bettersworth, 435; ECM, December 12, 1966, October 14, 1968, November 17, 1969, May 22, September 11, 1972, May 5, 1975, February 23, 1976; BM, June 17, 1976, February 15, 1968, February 19, 1976, April 17, 1969; ADCM, July 31,October 23, 1967, January 6, 1969; MSU President, Annual Report, June 30, 1976; MSU Alumni Foundation Records. 75. ECM, February 6, 1967, May 23, 1969, December 2, 1975; ADCM, September 4, 1973, April 22, May 20, 1974; BM, July 18, 1974, May 20, July 15, 1976; Giles to Administrative Council, January 28, 1975. C ha p t e r Ni n e





1. Alumnus, Summer, 1976, 1; Bettersworth personal collection of McComas biographical items and personal conversations, some of which is in the Centennial Proclamation Day, a copy of which is in the McComas VF, University Archives, Special Collections Department, Mississippi State University Libraries; BM, February 19, 1976. 2. James D. McComas, “Scholarship: Some Possible Implications for Higher Education,” April 8, 1976, 1, 12; adapted from “The Impossible Job?,” Ohio State Monthly, February, 1976, 3. 3. ECM, July 19, 26, August 2, 30, September 20, October 11, 1976, February 21, March 7, 1977, February 6, 1978, February 23, 1981. 4. ECM, January 5, 1978. 5. Ibid., September 6, October 11, 18, 1976. 6. Ibid., August 30, 1976, February 28, 1977. 7. Ibid., January 9, August 7, 1978. 8. Bettersworth, 447. 9. J. C. Redd, “Information on V. G. Martin,” unpublished manuscript, January 31, 1978, in Development Foundation Records. 10. ECM, January 25, December 6, 1977; BM, February 17, August 18, 1977, January 20, 1978. 11. ECM, August 8, 1977; REF, November 15, 1933; BM, March 16, May 18, 1978, February 17, 1977; October 21, 1976, July 17, 1980. 12. Ibid., August 14, 28, 1978. 13. BM, October 21, 1976, agenda. 14. FM, September 10, November 12, 1976; Bettersworth, 451; ECM, March 16, 1981. 15. ECM, January 3, April 25, 1977, January 5, 9, 1978. 16. McComas to Committee of 85, August 31, 1979, McComas VF. 17. FM, April 16, September 10, 1982. 18. Ibid., October 4, 12, November 9, December 14, 1984. 19. Ibid., September 10, November 12, December 10, 1976, November 12, 1976; Bettersworth, 451; ECM, October 18, November 1, 1976, January 5, 1978. 20. McComas Report to General Faculty, January 14, November 11, December 9, 1977, January 13, 1978; Brenda Stockwell to McComas, February 13, 1978, McComas Papers.

• 372 •

notes



21. 22. 23. 24.

25. 26. 27. 28. 29.

30. 31. 32.



33. 34. 35. 36.



37.

38. 39.

40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

FM, February 28, 1978, March 10, April 14, 1978. Ibid., March 20, 1981. Ibid., April 10, 1981. Ibid., December 1978 (the preceding is the date of the paper; no specific day is cited in the date). Ibid., October 8, 1976. FM, addendum, April 14, 1978; Bettersworth, 455. McComas Report to General Faculty, April 14, 1978; President’s Bulletin, 19, August, 1978, 8. BM, December 16, 1976, March 23, 1981. McComas Report to General Faculty, December 9, 1977, January 13, 1978; Robert Wolverton to Brenda Stockwell, February 15, 1978, McComas Papers; ACCM, February 20, 1978. William Bonney, Department of English, to Faculty Council, January 29, 1979, Faculty Council Papers. McComas speech, August 23, 1980, McComas VF. FM, J. Larry Haggler to Earl Stennis, November 2, 1982, March 11, 1983, [April 8, 1983], September 9, 1983, November 7, 1983, November 11, December 9, 1983, January 13, March 9, April 13, October 9, 1984, Wolverton to Bev Norment, September 18, 1984, November 9, 1984; Sexual Harassment Policy, July, 1982, McComas VF. FM, October 4, 1984, October 12, November 9, December 14, 1984. Ibid., January 11, 1985; Starkville Daily News, December 13, 1984; BM, April 19, 1984. Secretary of Defense to McComas, April 16, 1984, McComas VF. McComas Report to General Faculty, December 10, 1976, McComas Papers; Bettersworth, 451; Starkville Daily News, June 14, 1977. ECM, October 17, 1977; McComas Report to General Faculty, December 9, 1977, January 13, 1978, McComas Papers. ECM, February 20, 27, February 22 memo, Wolverton to McComas, July 24, September 18, 1978; April 16, 1979; FM, November 12, 1976. ECM, January 3, April 18, 1977, February 27, 1978, February 19, 1979; President’s Bulletin, 18, 1977, 2; Sansing, Making Haste Slowly, 123; Jackson Clarion-Ledger, April 21, 1988. ECM, August 6, 27, 1979. ACCM, August 9, 1976, February 21, 1977. Ibid., October 20, 1975, April 26, 1976, November 6, 1978; BM, June 19, 1980, July 19, 1984. Bettersworth conversation with McComas, September 4, 1978; BM, September 18, 1980. ACCM, September 20, 1976; ECM, July 25, 1977; Bettersworth, 461; BM, June 16, August 18, 1977. Academic Affairs Committee to Faculty Council, n.d. (early 1980), Faculty Council Papers. ACCM, August 9, 1976; BM, July 20, 1978.

• 373 •

notes

47. BM, July 15, 1976, January 18, May 18, August 17, 1978, March 20, August 21, 1980, February 19, 1981, agenda, December 16, 1982, March 24, September 14, 1983, January 19, June 15, 1978, August 19, 1976; ACCM, March 8, 1976, July 26, September 20, 1976. 48. ECM, January 5, 1978; BM, January 19, 1978, May 21, 1981, May 19, 1983; Bettersworth conversation with McComas, September 4, 1978; BM, January 19, 1978. 49. BM, January 18, June 21, 1979. 50. ECM, January 22, March 19, June 18, 1979; Tupelo Daily Journal, August 29–30, 1981, McComas VF; BM, May 18, 1978. 51. ECM, July 19, November 22, 1976, July 24, August 7, 28, 1978, March 7, 21, May 9, 16, November 21, 1977, January 22, May 14, 1979, November 3, 1980; Jackson Daily News, November 20, 1984, McComas VF; Ballard conversation with Sammy McDavid, February 22, 2006; BM, May 19, December 15, 1977. 52. Pontotoc Press, September 8, 1983, McComas VF; BM, July 17, 1980. 53. Greenwood Commonwealth, March 3, 1983, McComas VF. 54. ECM, December 15, 1980. 55. ECM, October 31, 1977; Bettersworth personal interview with McComas, September 4, 1978; Bettersworth, 463. 56. Bettersworth conversation with McComas, September 4, 1978. 57. Proposal for leadership development, ECM, August 28, 1978; Bettersworth conversation with McComas, September 4, 1978; Board, “Role and Scope of Mississippi Universities, Staff Recommendations,” September 16, 1978. 58. ECM, October 8, November 19, July 21, August 11, 1980, Jackson Clarion-Ledger/ Daily News, February 26, 1978; ACCM, February 20, 1978. 59. BM, agenda, June 15, 1978; ACCM, April 10, 1978. 60. BM, agenda, May 19, 1977, August 20, 1981, February 18, 1982. 61. BM, agenda, July 21, 1977. 62. President’s Bulletin, November 18, 1977, 4; BM, February 2, 1983. 63. Starkville Daily News, March 1, 1983; Greenwood Commonwealth, October 26, 1979, McComas VF. 64. McComas statement, March 22, 1985, McComas VF. 65. FM, January 26, 1977; McComas letter to campus, May 17, 1985, McComas VF. 66. FM, February 11, 1977. 67. Ibid., March 8, 18, April 15, May 6, September 9,1977. 68. ECM, April 17, June 11, September 1, 11, 18, October 4, 9, 23, 1978, February 19, 26, March 19, October 15, September 10, 17, October 22, 1979, January 14, 1980; FM, March 23, September 29, 1981; Columbus Commercial Dispatch, February 27, 1980; Starkville Daily News, McComas VF, SDN, November 29, 1979. 69. ECM, January 12, 19, 26, February 10, 1981, October 29, November 5, 1984; BM, January 20, 1983, June 21, 1984. 70. Ibid., August 6, 1979, January 5, 1981. 71. Ibid., March 21, October 24, December 6, 1977, January 9, February 6, March 6, 8, “MSU Resident Hall Visitation Policy and Procedures,” in February 6, 13, 1978. 72. Barbara Blankenship, Office of Student Life and Services Data, November 3, 1978.

• 374 •

notes

73. ECM, August 16, 1976, May 9, October 24, 1977, January 23, 1978, November 3, 1980, November 5, 1984; BM, April 19, 1984. 74. ECM, September 29, 1980, February 16, 1981. 75. Academic Affairs Minutes, March 9, 1981. 76. ECM, August 16, November 8, 1976, April 25, 1977, February 27, April 10, 1978. 77. Ibid., November 1, 1976. 78. Ibid., March 2, 1981. 79. Ibid., October 6, November 24, 1980. 80. Ibid., November 5, 1984, August 16, September 29, 1976. 81. Ibid., April 25, 1977, June 19, 1978, February 19, March 19, May 14, 1979, May 5, July 28, August 11, November 3, 1980; commencement programs 1981, McComas VF; Starkville Daily News, May 14, 1983. 82. ECM, March 24, 1980, September 11, 1984, January 23, 1978. 83. Ibid., June 9, August 25, 1980. 84. Ibid., July 19, August 2, 23, 1976; BM, June 19, 1980. 85. ECM, January 23, 1978, February 14, November 21, 1977, January 30, July 17, August 14, 1978, February 5, July 2, 9, 16, 23, August 6, November 5, 1979; Crystal Springs Meteor, February 7, 1979, McComas VF. 86. A. P. Posey, registrar, data provided to Bettersworth; Barbara Blankenship, Office of Student Life and Services Data, August 11, 1978, McComas Papers. 87. ACCM, September 5, 1977; President’s Bulletin, August 19, 1978, 4. 88. BM, agenda, December 15, 1977, 8. 89. BM, agenda and minutes, April 28, 1977. 90. Jackson Clarion-Ledger/Daily News, September 2, 9, October 15, November 5, 19, 1978, January 28, 1979. 91. FM, December 12, 1980. 92. Columbus Commercial Dispatch, July 20, 1984, Jackson Clarion-Ledger, July 21, 1984, McComas VF. 93. ECM, August 29, 1978, January 22, 1979; Faculty Council from Athletic Council, March 14, 1980, Faculty Council files. 94. Jackson Clarion-Ledger, February 12–13, 1979; BM, agenda, April 13, 1978, October 18, 1984; Sports Publicity Office Records; MSUAWS; Bettersworth conversation with McComas, September 8, 1978; Faculty Council–Athletic Council correspondence, March 14, 1980, Faculty Council files; BM, November 7, 1983. 95. Personnel office data to Bettersworth; BM, agenda, November 18, 1976. 96. BM, December 16, 1978, March 20, 1980, July 15, 1982, December 15, 1983. 97. Lisa Reynolds, Mississippi State University Survey of Historic Architecture (Jackson, MS, 1974), 6. 98. BM, August 19, 1976, July 21, 1977, March 16, 1978, June 19, 1980, December 16, 1982, December 20, 1984. 99. Ibid., June 15, 1978; Reynolds, Survey, 6. 100. ECM, January 3, September 12, 1977, January 23, February 20, April 10, 1978; Board, statistical report, 1969–70, passim, 975–76, passim; MSU Development Foundation

• 375 •

notes

101.



102. 103. 104. 105.

106. 107.

108.

109.

Office Data provided to Bettersworth; MSU Memo, September, 1978; BM, December 18, 1980, January 17, 1985. ECM, July 19, August 16, September 20, October 18, November 1, 8, 1976, February 7, 28, June 13, 1977, January 23, February 27, April 10, August 7, December 11, 1978, October 15, 1979; BM, January 17, 1985. ECM, May 28, 1979. Bettersworth, 471–72; BM, April 16, 1981. BM, February 16, 1984. Tupelo Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal, May 23, 1985, Jackson Clarion-Ledger, April 17, 1984, Columbus Commercial Dispatch, January 12, 1982, Starkville Daily News, June 5, 1982, McComas VF; BM, May 16, 1985. REF, April 12, 1985, McComas VF; BM, January 17, 1985. MCA, April 3, 29, 1985, Jackson Daily News, April 4, 1985, Jackson Clarion-Ledger, April 3, 1985, Starkville Daily News, April 3, 1985, Tupelo Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal, July 27, 1984, McComas Hall dedication program, all in McComas VF. Jackson Clarion-Ledger, July 1, 1985, McComas letter to campus, May 17, 1985, McComas to all faculty and staff, March 26, 1984, and see also McComas open letter, April 2, 1985, unidentified clipping, February 10, 1994, all in McComas VF. BM, August 10, 1985, June 20, 1985; Starkville Daily News, July 16, 1985, McComas VF.

C ha p t e r Te n





1. Columbus Commercial Dispatch, August 18, 1985; Tupelo Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal, August 20, 1985, Zacharias VF. 2. Tupelo Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal August 20, 1985, Vicksburg Evening Post, August 12, 1985, Zacharias VF. 3. Jackson Daily News, May 14, 1986, Starkville Daily News, April 18,1986, Jackson Clarion-Ledger, December 11, 1985; ECM, November 18, 1985. 4. CA, 1986–87, 398, 1987–88, 397, 1991–92, viii. 5. Columbus Commercial Dispatch, September 19, 1986, Zacharias VF. 6. ECM, November 12, 1985, January 6, 1986, July 20, 1987, April 24, 1995; “Searching for a New Future,” printed on–campus announcement by Zacharias, November 13, 1985, Zacharias VF. 7. “Searching for a New Future at MSU,” January 21, 1986, Tupelo Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal, January 22, 1986, Jackson Clarion-Ledger, January 22, 1986, Starkville Daily News, January 22, 25, February 17, 1986, February 13, 1991, February 3, 1992, Columbus Commercial Dispatch, April 19, September 25, 1988, Zacharias VF; ECM, December 12, 1988. 8. Columbus Commercial Dispatch, July 13, 1986, Zacharias VF; ECM, August 10, 1987, January 9, 1989, October 4, 1993, December 5, 1994, January 29, 1996. 9. ECM, July 15, 22, 1996. 10. Zacharias, “A Personal Message to the University Community,” February 18, 1986, “Speech Communication Profession as Seen by a President,” article in Association

• 376 •

notes



11.

12.



13.



14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20.

21. 22.

23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

28. 29.

30. 31.

for Communication Administration, January 1986, Zacharias VF; ECM, July 20, 1987, February 29, 1988, March 19, 1990. Starkville Daily News, April 8, 24, May 10, 1986, Zacharias VF; ECM, May 2, 1988, April 3, 24, 1989, April 30, May 7, June 4, 1990, February 25, March 11, 1991. ECM, November 18, 1985, April [?], 1986; Jackson Daily News, May 14, 1986, Jackson Clarion–Ledger, December 11, 1985, Starkville Daily News, April 18, August 19, October 2, 1986, Columbus Commercial Dispatch, August 19, 1986, February 10, 1992. Starkville Daily News, November 14, 1986, Zacharias to alumni and other friends of MSU, March 4, 1986, ZachariasVF; ECM, February 17, 1992. Starkville Daily News, April 7, 1986, Zacharias VF. Ibid., August 16, 1987; ECM, March 28, 1988. Council Points, December 1987, Zacharias VF. Zacharias to all faculty and staff, July 22, 1988, Zacharias VF. Starkville Daily News, November 29, 1989, Zacharias VF. Zacharias to faculty, staff, and administrators, February 26, 1990, Zacharias VF. Zacharias to vice presidents, deans, directors, department heads, April 9, 1990, Zacharias VF; ECM, May 10, 1993, August 2, 1993. Columbus Commercial Dispatch, February 11, 1991, Zacharias VF; ECM, July 12, 1993. Tupelo Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal, August 30, Corinth Daily Corinthian, August 30, 1991, Jackson Clarion-Ledger, September 13, 1991, Columbus Commercial Dispatch, November 13, 1990, “Presentation to Joint Legislative Budget Committee,” September 5, 1990, Zacharias VF; ECM, March 28, 1994, August 7, 1995, August 28, 1996. Tupelo Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal, October 26, 1991, Zacharias VF; ECM, September 12, December 5, 1988, October 15, 1990. Starkville Daily News, December 12, 1991, Zacharias VF; ECM, May 16, 1994. Starkville Daily News, February 6, May 15, June 13, 1992, Jackson Clarion-Ledger, September 25, 1992, Zacharias VF. Starkville Daily News, February 2, 1996, ZachariasVF; ECM, April 25, May 2, 1994, July 31, 1995, April 7, May 5, 19, 26, December 15, 1997. ECM, September 9, November 25, 1985, March 3, 24, July 21, November 4, 1986, February 9, January 12, June 15, November 16, 1987, February 8, September 19, 26, December 5, 12, 1988; Columbus Commercial Dispatch, June 24, November 18, 1986, September 13, 1988, Starkville Daily News, September 13, 1988, Zacharias VF. Starkville Daily News, January 1, 1990, Zacharias VF. BM, January 16, March 20, April 17, June 19, July 17, September 18, November 20, 1986, December 19, 1985, March 19, May 21, April 16, November 19, 1987, May 19, June 16, October 20, November 17, December 15, 1988, May 18, June 15, July 20, September 21, October 19, November 16, 1989, December 12, 1991. MSU Memo, November 25, 1987, Zacharias VF. Tupelo Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal, October 3, 1985, Zacharias to faculty and staff, November 15, 1985, Zacharias VF; ECM, July 28, September 8, 1986,

• 377 •

notes

32.

33. 34. 35.

36.

37. 38. 39. 40. 41.

42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

47.

48. 49.

ZachariasVF; ECM, November 21, 1988, November 13, 1989, June 25, July 2, 1990, July 28, October 27, November 10, 1997. Zacharias to dear friends, September 30, 1985, Zacharias to colleagues, October 18, 1985, Zacharias to faculty and staff, October 21, 1985, Zacharias to vice presidents, October 29, 1985, Starkville Daily News, November 12, 1985, MSU Memo, November 25, 1985, Zacharias to colleagues, September 16, 1986, Zacharias to colleagues, September 19, 1986, Zacharias VF. Jackson Clarion-Ledger, October 3, 1985, Starkville Daily News, August 24, 1985, Zacharias VF. ECM, January 27, 1986; Columbus Commercial Dispatch, August 27, 1986; Starkville Daily News, August 27, 1986, Zacharias VF. Zacharias to faculty, September 26, 1986, Zacharias VF; ECM, October 6, 13, November 17, 1986, August 3, 1987, November 19, 1990, May 20, 1991, July 12, 1993, July 18, 1994. Zacharias to Kathie Gilbert and Don Downer, May 11, 1987, and to leaders of the faculty council, “Administrative Internship—Office of President,” fall, 1987, flyer, Zacharias FV; ECM, October 3, 1994, March 20, 1995. ECM, September 28, 1987. MSU Memo, February 12, 1988, Zacharias to faculty, January 17, 1989, Zacharias VF. Zacharias speech to faculty, February 22, 1989, Zacharias VF; ECM, April 17, June 12, 1989. Major goals for MSU, September 15, 1989, 1990–95, Zacharias VF; ECM, September 2, 1986. “Commitment to Excellence: A Planning Agenda for Mississippi State University through the year 2001, A Preliminary Report of the Priorities and Planning Committee,” Starkville Daily News, February 19, April 15, 17, 1992, Columbus Commercial Dispatch, March 18, 1992, Priorities and Planning VF. Columbus Commercial Dispatch, January 30, 1992, Zacharias VF. Jackson Clarion-Ledger, September 9, 1995, Zacharias VF; ECM, July 6, 1987, January 18, 1988, February 6, 1989, December 14, 1992, July 5, 1994; John Grisham VF. Starkville Daily News, September 24, October 4, 1995, Zacharias VF. Jackson Clarion-Ledger, April 16, September 6, September 7, 1990, Yazoo Herald, September 12, 1990, Zacharias VF; ECM, October 13, 1997. Starkville Daily News, August 22, 1989, Zacharias VF; ECM, March 21, August 29, 1988, June 5, 1989, March 12, 1990, March 21, May 30, June 6, 20, August 29, 1994, January 27, 1997. Zacharias to vice presidents, deans, directors, department heads, faculty, October 13, 1987, Zacharias VF; ECM, January 23, 1988[9], April 10, 1989, March 11, September 23, 1991, August 10, 1992. Columbus Commercial Dispatch, May 13, 1987, Zacharias VF; ECM, October 26, 1987. ECM, July 1, 1991, May 18, July 6, August 10, October 5, 1992, February 8, September 27, 1993, January 24, February 14, July 5, August 15, October 10, 17, 31, November 14, 21, December 12, 19, 1994, January 23, March 13, 27, 31, 1995, May 20, 1996, July 29,

• 378 •

notes



50. 51. 52. 53. 54.

55. 56.



57.

58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69.

70.

71.

72.

1996, July 21, November 24, 1997; BM, July 19, 1990, June 20, 1991, August 20, October 12, 1992, March 18, July 15, October 21, November 18, 1993, February 11, August 18, 1994, January 19, February 16, 1995, February 15, July 18, May 16, June 20, September 19, 1996, January 16, September 18, 1997. REF, August 26, 1985, Zacharias VF; ECM, September 21, 1987. Columbus Commercial Appeal, September 27, 1985, Zacharias VF. Ibid., July 19, 1986. Ibid., September 25, 1989, Starkville Daily News, October 29, 1986, Zacharias VF. ECM, November 16, 1987, April 18, 1988, July 17, 1989, June 18, 1990, March 1992, January 29, 1996, December 15, 1997; BM, December 21, 1995, January 18, 1996. Starkville Daily News, August 20, 1995, Zacharias VF. ECM, October 12, 1987, January 11, 25, May 23, June 6, November 21, 1988, March 13, 1989, February 5, September 10, 1990, January 13, 27, December 14, 1992, February 15, April 12, 19, 26, 1993, May 23, June 29, July 11, August 1, 1994. Starkville Daily News, February 15, 1988, September 11, 1996, Zacharias VF; ECM, September 8, 13, 1993, March 31, April 14, 1997. Starkville Daily News, August 25, 1987, Zacharias VF. REF, November 2, 1985, Meridian Star, August 22, 1985, Jackson Clarion-Ledger, November 14, 1985, Starkville Daily News, August 24, 1985, Zacharias VF. Starkville Daily News, May 14, 1986, Zacharias VF. MSUAWS. Jackson Clarion-Ledger, January 18, 1986, Zacharias VF; ECM, October 28, 1986, December 10, 1990, February 28, 1994, July 31, 1995; BM, October 15, 1987. Starkville Daily News, July 2, 1987, Zacharias VF; ECM, August 25, 1986, April 14, June 30, 1987. Jackson Clarion-Ledger, January 31, 1989, Zacharias VF. Starkville Daily News, March 4, 1992, Zacharias VF; ECM, August 2, 1993, May 15, 1995. ECM, September 14, 1992. Jackson Clarion-Ledger, March 30, 1996, Starkville Daily News, March 17, 1996, Zacharias VF. Starkville Daily News, October 13, 1996, Zacharias VF. ECM, February 3, March 17, April 7, August 4, 25, September 22, October 6, 1986, April 6, August 10, 1987, October 1, 1990, July 11, 1994; Starkville Daily News, June 3, September 21, 1987, Columbus Commercial Dispatch, May 29, 1987, Zacharias VF. Columbus Commercial Dispatch, June 16, 1987, Zacharias VF; ECM, January 9, 1989, January 5, February 26, 1990, April 15, 1991, January 6, 27, November 2, 23, 1992, June 28, 1993, March 21, 1994, February 13, 1995. Starkville Daily News, August 19, 1988, March 18, November 7, 1986, March 21, 1992, Zacharias VF; ECM, December 2, 1985, January 6, June 16, July 21, 1986, June 24, August 13, 1991, March 2, 10, 16, 1992, May 24, 1993. Jackson Clarion-Ledger, December 21, 1986, May 15, 1987, June 2, 1989, Zacharias VF.

• 379 •

notes

73. Starkville Daily News, August 22, 1989, MSU Memo, March 18, 1988, Zacharias VF; ECM, July 6, September 21, 1987, April 18, May 23, 1988, January 30, 1988[9], May 1, July 31, August 7, 1989, August 31, 1992, March 27, July 3, 10, 24, November 27, 1995, May 13, October 14, 1996, February 1, 1993, March 7, December 8, 1997, January 5, February 5, March 12, April 23, September 10, 1990, March 28, May 9, 1994; BM, December 21, 1995. 74. BM, January 16, 1986, November 18, 1993, February 20, September 18, March 20, 1997; ECM, May 22, July 24, 1989, April 9, May 14, October 22, 1990, January 28, February 4, March 3, 10, April 29, June 3, 10, September 23, October 14, 1991, May 2, 1994, March 27, July 3, 1995, January 27, February 3, 17, 24, June 16, September 8, 22, 1997, October 12, 26, 1987. 75. Starkville Daily News, September 29, 1986, July 7, 16, September 24, November 23, December 11, 19, 1987, February 1, 1988, February 24, March [?], April 24, June 22, 1989, October 2, 1992, Jackson Clarion-Ledger, March 18, April 21, 1989, April 19, 1990, March 4, 1992, MSU Memo, October 16, 1987, Columbus Commercial Dispatch, August 31, December 8, 1988, poster, April 1989, announcing support rally, MSU announcement and release of speech, November 9, 1992, excerpt from 1992 Justin Smith Morrill Memorial Lecture, 13, Zacharias VF; ECM, December 8, 15, 1986, January 5, 1987, April 18, 1988, July 24, 1989. 76. Jackson Clarion-Ledger, August 3, 1990, Starkville Daily News, September 25, 1990, Zacharias VF. 77. MSU announcement of retirement, March 24, 1997, Zacharias VF. 78. ECM, January 8, 1996. 79. Columbus Commercial Dispatch, March 25, 1997, Tupelo Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal, April 5, 1997, Starkville Daily News, April 6, 1997, Zacharias Hall dedication program, Zacharias VF; ECM, May 20, 1991, January 17, 23, May 1, August 7, 1995, March 12, 1996, May 19, 1997; BM, January 16, 1992. 80. Starkville Daily News, August 22, October 5, 1997, Columbus Commercial Dispatch, September 9, December 3, 25, 1997, Starkville Daily News, September 13, 14, November 19, 1997, January 9, 13, 1998, REF, November 25, 1997, Zacharias VF; ECM, November 6, 1989, September 20, 1993, May 8, November 27, 1995, May 19, June 16, 1997. 81. Starkville Daily News, January 25, 1998, ZachariasVF. 82. Tupelo Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal, March 27, 1997, Columbus Commercial Dispatch, March 20, 1997, Zacharias VF. C ha p t e r E l ev e n

1. West Point Daily Times Leader, October 17, 1997, Portera curriculum vita, Portera VF. 2. West Point Daily Times Leader, October 17, 1997, Portera curriculum vita (note: the rumors of Portera’s hesitancy are derived from several verbal sources). 3. SM, February 1998. 4. Ibid., May 1998. 5. ECM, January 5, 1998.

• 380 •

notes



6. Ibid., January 5, 13, May 18, June 8, June 29, July 13, 1998, June 28, August 2, 1999; SM, August 1999, July 2000. 7. ECM, April 13, August 31, 1998. 8. SM, February 1999, http://msuinfo.ur.msstate.edu/priorities/, also http://msuinfo. ur.msstate.edu/priorities/priorities.fall02upstate.html. 9. ECM, January 12, 1998, August 30, 1999; MSU Memo, September 7, 1999. 10. SM, October 1999, October 2000, September/October 2001. 11. John F. Marszalek to Michael Ballard, June 21, 2006, Ballard private collection. 12. ECM, September 21, 1998, July 26, 1999, March 16 [April 3], 1998. 13. SM, June 2000. 14. ECM, January 13, 1998, March 1, 1999, July 10, 2000. 15. Ibid., February 23, June 15, 1998. 16. SM, September/October, 2001; ECM, January 31, 2000. 17. ECM, April 2, 2001. 18. Ibid., November 1, 1999. 19. Ibid., August 31, 1998. 20. Ibid., April 3, May 18, 1998. (Note: the graduate student was Craig Piper, who eventually earned his doctoral degree.) 21. Ibid., September 21, 28, 1998. 22. Ibid., August 6, 2001. 23. Ibid., January 13, April 13, 1998, April 2, 2001; SM, September/October 2001. 24. ECM, February 9, November 30, 1998. 25. Ibid., December 14, 1998. 26. Ibid., April 5, 1999. 27. Ibid., May 3, June 7, 1999; SM, March 1999. 28. ECM, January 8, 2001; SM, September/October 2001. 29. SM, September/October 2001. 30. ECM, June 8, 1998. 31. Ibid., February 23, May 18, 1998, April 2, 2001. 32. SM, November 1998. 33. Ibid., August 2000. 34. ECM, January 13, 1998. 35. Ibid., February 16, 1998; BM, February 19, 1998. 36. SM, September, October 1998; ECM, April 20, 1998; BM, July 16, 1998. 37. SM, February 1998, January, December 1999. 38. Ibid., September 2000. 39. Ibid., August 2000. 40. ECM, February 23, 1998. 41. SM, March, April 2001. 42. ECM, January 12, June 8, 1998. 43. Ibid., September 21, 1998. 44. Ibid., November 30, 1998. 45. Ibid., February 15, August 30, September 20, 1999, January 3, 2000.

• 381 •

notes



46. 47. 48. 49.



50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59.



60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76.



77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85.

Ibid., March 15, 1999. Ibid., June 14, 1999, May 7, 2001; SM, July/August, September/October, 2001. ECM, June 4, July 2, December 3, 2001. SM, February, March, April, May, 1998, July, November, December 1999, December 2000, January, May 2001. Ibid., November/December 2001. Ibid. Ibid., September 1998, March 1999. Ibid., April 2001. ECM, February 23, 1998; SM, June 1998, March, November 1999. SM, May 1998, January, November 1999, January 2000. Ibid., September 2000, January, April 2001. Ibid., October 2000. Ibid., March 2001. ECM, February 9, April 13, 20, October 19, 1998; SM, March, April, May, June, July, October 1998. SM, November 1998. Ibid., December 1998, December 1999. Ibid., February, June, October 1999, July 2000. Ibid., July 2000. Ibid., May 1999. Ibid., August 1999. Ibid. Ibid., October 1999, November 2000. Ibid., January 2000. ECM, October 11, 1999. Ibid., October 2, 2000. SM, November 2000. Ibid., December 2000. ECM, March 2, 9, 1998, September 20, October 4, 1999, August 6, 2001. Ibid., July 19, 1999, January 31, 2000; SM, March 2000. ECM, February 23, 1998. Ibid., August 24, 1998; SM, October 1998, April, July 1999, October 2000, February 2001. SM, June 1999, May 2001. Ibid., May, June 2000. ECM, May 18, 1998; SM, August, September 2000. SM, September 2000. Ibid., November 2000. Ibid., February 2001. Ibid., March 2001. ECM, January 5, 13, April 13, 1998, February 15, May 3, August 2, 1999. Ibid., January 13, 26, February 9, April 3, 1998, January 11, September 20, 1999.

• 382 •

notes



86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94.



95. 96. 97. 98.



99. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105.

106. 107.

108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113.



114. 115. 116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122.

Ibid., March 16, [April 3], April 20, May 4, 1998. Ibid., July 13, 27, 1998. Ibid., August 24, 1998. Ibid., October 12, December 7, 1998, March 8, 1999, September 10, 2001. Ibid., April 19, 1999. Ibid., July 26, 1999, May 7, 2001; SM, June 2000. ECM, August 2, November 1, 15, 1999. Ibid., November 29, 1999. Ibid., January 31, February 21, February [March?] 21, June 5, July 10, August 11, 2000; SM, January 2000. ECM, November 6, 2000, February 5, 2001. Ibid., February 16, March 9, December 14, 1998. Ibid., May 7, 2001. Ibid., May 11, June 29, July 13, August 24, September 21, October 12, 19, November 9, 1998, October 2, November 6, 2000, May 7, June 4, July 2, August 6, 2001; SM, May 2000. ECM, February 21, February [March?] 21, 2000. Ibid., February 9, December 7, 1998. Ibid., December 7, 1998, June 7, 1999; SM, May 1999. SM, December 1998, June 1999. MSUAWS. Starkville Daily News, November 10, 2001, Portera VF. Jackson Clarion-Ledger, November 9, 2001, Starkville Daily News, November 11, 13, 2001. Board of Trustees, Institutions of Higher Learning, Message to Faculty, Staff and Students of Mississippi State University, November 15, 2001, Lee VF. J. Charles Lee to faculty and staff, November 16, 2001, Lee VF; SM, January/February, September/October 2002, May/June, November/December 2003. SM, January/February, September/October 2003. Ibid., July/August 2003. Ibid., September/October 2003. ECM, March 4, 2002, May 5, 2003. SM, July/August 2003. ECM, May 20, 2002, February 3, May 5, 2003; SM, September/October 2002, July/ August 2003. SM, July/August, September/October 2002. Ibid., January/February 2002. Ibid., March/April 2002. Ibid. Ibid., July/August 2002. Ibid., September/October 2002. Ibid., September/October 2003. Ibid., September/October 2002. Ibid., January/February, November/December 2003.

• 383 •

notes



123. 124. 125. 126. 127. 128. 129. 130. 131. 132. 133. 134. 135. 136. 137. 138. 139.



140. 141. 142. 143. 144. 145.



146. 147. 148. 149. 150. 151. 152. 153. 154. 155. 156. 157. 158. 159. 160. 161. 162. 163.

Ibid., March/April 2003. Ibid., March 2003. Ibid., May/June 2003 Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., November/December 2003. Ibid. Ibid., January/February 2002. ECM, July 7, 2003. SM, January/February 2002. Ibid., March/April 2002. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., May/June 2003. Ibid. Ibid., January/February, July/August 2003. ECM, June 3, September 9, November 4, December 2, 2002, January 6, September 15, 2003. Ibid., November 3, 2003. Ibid., March 31, July 7, 2003. Ibid., September 15, 2003; SM, March/April 2003. SM, September/October 2003. ECM, February 4, 2002, May 5, 2003. ECM, April 1, September 9, 2002, January 6, February 3, March 31, July 7, 2003; SM, July/August 2003. ECM, March 3, May 5, 2003 SM, January/February, September/October 2002. Ibid., March/April 2002. Ibid., July/August 2002. Ibid., May/June 2003. Ibid., November/December 2003. Ibid. ECM, October 7, 2002. Ibid., April 1, 2002. SM, January/February, May/June 2003. Ibid., July/August 2003. ECM, October 7, November 4, December 2, 2002, February 3, 2003. Ibid., July 7, 2003. SM, July/August, 2002, July/August 2003. ECM, June 3, 2002. MSUAWS. ECM, January 6, 2003. SM, March/April 2003.

• 384 •

Addenda Miscellany

P re si de n ts Stephen D. Lee, 1880–1899 John M. Stone, 1899–1900 John C. Hardy, 1900–1912 George R. Hightower, 1912–1916 William H. Smith, 1916–1920 David C. Hull, 1920–1925 Buz M. Walker, 1925–1930 Hugh Critz, 1930–1934 George D. Humphrey, 1934–1945 Fred T. Mitchell, 1945–1953 Benjamin F. Hilbun, 1953–1960 Dean W. Colvard, 1960–1966 William L. Giles, 1966–1976 James D. McComas, 1976–1985 Donald W. Zacharias, 1985–1997 Malcolm Portera, 1998–2001 J. Charles Lee, 2002–2006 Robert H. Foglesong, 2006– Ge n e r a l Fi r sts Academics: quarter system used for the first time, 1928 Air Force ROTC: first female commander, Patricia A. McKelvy, 1995 Architecture: first course offered, 1920 Bulldog Club: first woman on board of directors, Paige Moses, 1986 Blind students: first blind student to receive a doctoral degree, Robert Wade Nelms, 1984 Commencement: first time caps and gowns used, 1924 Dad’s Day: first held in 1921 Doctoral degree: first, Si Marchbanks, doctor of philosophy in agronomy, 1953 Electric lights: first used on campus, 1898 Foreign students: begin attending Mississippi A&M, 1920 Fraternity: first on campus, Sigma Alpha Epsilon, secretly organized in 1887 (fraternal organizations not officially allowed until the 1930s) Fraternity: first Jewish fraternity on campus, Sigma Phi Zeta, organized in 1934

• 385 •

addenda miscellany

Hall of Fame: first inductee, Tom Collins, 1938 Homecoming: started as Dad’s Day, 1921, becomes homecoming, 1937 Honorary degree: first given in 1904 to Wayne C. Welborn “Maroon and White”: becomes alma mater song, replacing “Madelon,” 1932 Master’s degree: first, Henry Hill Harrington, chemistry, 1885 Provost and vice president for academic affairs: first holder of position, John Darling, 1986 Roads: first system of hard-surface roads on campus approved, 1928 Sorority: first one organized on campus, called Co-Ed Club, 1933 Student Association: first organized, 1919 Telephones: first installed in dormitories, 1936 Woman: first degree in aeronautical engineering, Cora McDonald, 1940 Woman: first sorority housemother, Carroll H. (Kitty) Varner, Chi Omega, 1942 Woman: first instructor, Mary E. Phares, 1882 Woman: first female president of student association, Laurie Rosenbaum, 1978 Woman: first signed for golf scholarship, Amy Carver, 1980 Woman: ROTC, first to complete program, Vicki H. Clark, 1977 Women: first admitted, July 1882, excluded, 1913, readmitted, 1930 Women: first graduates, Marianna DuQuercron and Mattie C. McKay, class of 1888 Women: first pep squad, 1941 X-ray equipment installed in physics department, 1920 A f ric a n A m e ric a n s First student: Richard Holmes, 1965 Black Voices: organized by Ronnie Dottery, Arthur Holbrook, and Melvin Smith, 1971 Alpha Phi Alpha: first black fraternity on campus, 1991 First student association president and vice president: Steven Cooper and Kelvin Covington, respectively, 1988 At h l et ic s Maroon and white: colors chosen by W. M. Matthews, captain of 1895 football team Nickname: Bulldogs dates back to around 1905, but initially was only a mascot, Maroons being the nickname up until the early 1960s Football: first win in 1901, 17–0 over Ole Miss Football, all-time record through 2003: won 464, lost 489, tied 39 (bowl record, 6–6) Baseball, all-time record through 2003: won 2071, lost 1157, tied 26 (NCAA regionals, 53–34, NCAA world series, 7–14) Basketball, men’s all-time record through 2003-2004: won 1143, lost 980 (NCAA tournaments, 9–7, NIT tournaments, 3–5; women’s all-time record through 2003–2004: won 418, lost 452 (NCAA tournaments, 3–4, WNIT, 4–3)

• 386 •

addenda miscellany

Ac a de m ic s Colleges/Schools College of Agriculture and Life Sciences, School of Human Sciences College of Architecture, Art and Design, School of Architecture College of Arts and Sciences College of Business and Industry, School of Accountancy College of Education College of Engineering (James Worth Bagley), School of Chemical Engineering (David Swalm) College of Forest Resources College of Veterinary Medicine Departments Aerospace Engineering Aerospace Studies (Air Force ROTC) Agricultural and Biological Engineering Agricultural Economics Animal and Dairy Sciences Art Biochemistry and Molecular Biology Biological Sciences Chemistry Civil and Environmental Engineering Communication Computer Science and Engineering Counseling, Educational Psychology and Special Education Curriculum and Instruction Electrical and Computer Engineering English Entomology and Plant Pathology Finance and Economics Food Science, Nutrition and Health Promotion Foreign Languages Forest Products Forestry Geosciences History Industrial and Systems Engineering Instructional Systems, Leadership and Workforce Development Kinesiology Landscape Architecture

• 387 •

addenda miscellany

Management and Information Systems Marketing, Quantitative Analysis and Business Law Mathematics and Statistics Mechanical Engineering Military Science (Army ROTC) Music Education Philosophy and Religion Physics and Astronomy Plant and Soil Sciences Political Science and Public Administration Poultry Science Psychology Sociology, Anthropology and Social Work Wildlife and Fisheries Bu i l di ng s Since the uses of buildings undergo periodic changes and sometimes even name changes, the reader is referred to the following Web site: http://msuinfo.ur.msstate. edu/where/building/. Oldest Buildings on Campus Honors House (originally a residence), 1898 University Academic Advising Center (originally a residence), late 1800s Textile building (called Twin Towers, oldest academic building), 1900 Montgomery Hall, 1903 McCain Engineering Building, 1905 Middleton ROTC Building, 1907 Carpenter Engineering Building, 1910 Lee Hall, 1910 Scott Field, originated 1914 Harned Hall, 1921 John C. Stennis Institute of Government (old railroad depot), 1928 Herbert Hall, 1928 Lloyd-Ricks Building, 1929, Annex, 1939 University Florist, 1937 Ge n e r a l Fac ts Cafeteria was at one time thought to be the largest college cafeteria in the United States. Chapel of Memories was built with bricks from Old Main dormitory.

• 388 •

addenda miscellany

Cobb Institute of Archaeology has columns in the front of the building that came from the NBC Bank in Columbus and the old Union Station Depot in Atlanta, Georgia. Drill Field was so named because ROTC units did military drills there. Eckie’s Pond, named for A. B. McKay (nickname “Echo”), was built for irrigation. Edam Cheese was introduced at MSU in 1938 by F. H. Herzer, head of the dairy science department. Experiment station has ten stations around Mississippi. Extension service has offices in all eighty-two counties of Mississippi. Maroon Band, known as the Famous Maroon Band, started as early as 1902. The first real director was Carl Leake, 1911–1919, and then came Henry Wamsley, 1922–1952, still the longest tenure of any director. Thomas West, Peyton Crowder, Kent Sills, Rod Chestnutt, and the current director, Elva Kaye Lance (the first woman director), followed, and the band has continued to grow from a handful in the early days to well over two hundred. Mississippi A&M was located in Starkville rather than Meridian because of the connecting railroad to the Mobile and Ohio to the east and to points west, and because there were no “nightspots” in Starkville. Of course, politics played a role, too. Mississippi A&M’s first-year (1880) enrollment was 354. Movie-making has involved two former MSU historians, the late D. Clayton James and retired Giles Distinguished Professor John F. Marszalek. James was advisor to the theatrical movie MacArthur, 1977, starring Gregory Peck. James’s acclaimed threevolume biography of General Douglas MacArthur earned him the advisory role. Marzalek likewise was an advisor to the Showtime television movie Assault at West Point, 1994, starring Sam Waterston, among others. The movie is based on an earlier book by Marszalek entitled Court-martial: A Black Man in America and is about the first black cadet at West Point. The book was rereleased under the same title as the movie. Old Main, at one time thought to be the largest college dormitory in the United States, burned in 1959. Raspet Flight Research Laboratory is named after August Raspet, an aerophysicist who came to MSU in 1948 and began experimental research in various areas of flight, which is still the mission of researchers in the laboratory. Student organizations number more than three hundred, including academic, Greek affiliations, religious groups, and club sports. Sycamore tree on the corner near the intersection in front of Dorman Hall was sent to the moon in an Apollo mission as a sapling. It is planted at the home plate site on the old baseball field. Uniforms were required up until 1930. Students had to wear military uniforms at all times on campus. In 1934, ROTC students began wearing army-issue ROTC uniforms. University’s names have been Mississippi A&M, 1878, Mississippi State College, 1932, Mississippi State University, 1958. YMCA has been on campus since 1882.

• 389 •

addenda miscellany

M SU A lum n i A list of alumni who have excelled in many fields would be too long and too extensive to attempt, and, of course, some who deserve to be on that list would be missed. Suffice it to say that MSU alums have done well in professional sports, engineering research, businesses of various kinds, medical and legal fields, educational leadership at many levels, architecture, entertainment, agricultural and forestry research, the humanities, the military, and politics at local, state, and national levels. In just about any facet of human activity one would care to name, MSU alumni have established themselves as among the best. The University Archives, housed in the MSU Libraries, contains a wealth of information on many of these alumni and their success stories. The Alumnus magazine also provides details about alumni activities. M SU Fac u lt y a n d Sta f f The university has been blessed with many talented faculty through the years. There have been nationally known historians, agricultural, forestry, and engineering specialists and researchers, computer experts, business experts, education specialists, artists, those who produce outstanding publications, inventors, government and political notables, experts in foreign policy, and various humanities specialists. As with alumni, faculty and staff who have excelled and still achieve at high levels are too numerous to list. Current faculty activities are often summarized in Serving Mississippi, a special report from the president’s office that is available, online, from 2001 to the present. The Web site address is http://msuinfo.ur.msstate.edu/servingms/. M SU Fig h t S ong Hail State Words and music by Joseph Burleson Peavey Hail dear ’ole State, Fight for that victory today; Hit that line and ’tote that ball; Cross the goal before you fall, And then we’ll yell, yell, yell, yell! For dear ’ole State we’ll yell like hell! Fight for Mis-sis-sip-pi State, Win that game today.

• 390 •

addenda miscellany

M SU A l m a M at e r Maroon and White Words by T. Paul Haney, Jr. Music by Henry E. Wamsley In the heart of Mississippi, Made by none but God’s own hands, Stately in her nat’ral splendor Our Alma Mater proudly stands; State College of Mississippi, Fondest mem’ries cling to thee, Life shall hoard thy spirit ever, Loyal sons we’ll always be. Chorus: Maroon and White! Maroon and White! Of thee with joy we sing; Thy colors bright our souls delight, With praise our voices ring. Tho’ our life some pow’r may vanquish, Loyalty can’t be o’er run; Honors true on thee we lavish Until the setting of the sun; Live Maroon and White forever, Ne’er can evil mar thy fame, Nothing us from thee can sever, Alma Mater we acclaim.

• 391 •

Bibliographic Notes

Most of the sources used in the writing of this history are documents such as minutes, reports, and publications located in the University Archives of the Mississippi State University Libraries. The archives contains a treasure trove of clippings and other data in its extensive vertical files. The minutes of various organizations, such as the Executive Council, the college’s board of trustees (through 1910) and the Board of Trustees of State Institutions of Higher Learning (thereafter), and the faculty council, are filled with information on the administrative evolution of the university. The campus newspaper, the Reflector, and the yearbook, the Reveille, also provide windows into the history of students and student activities. The athletic department Web site, which can be accessed directly or via the university Web site, contains a wealth of historical information on all sports. Other items accessible on the university Web site give glimpses of the present-day university as well as data from the past. Many campus publications are now available on the Web site. The archives also contains all the university presidents’ papers, which provide in-depth information on the various activities on campus, academic and otherwise. These papers cover the whole scope of university history, from the first president, Stephen D. Lee, to the president in office when this volume ends, Charles Lee. For those interested in the history of departments and university involvement in various branches and consortia, these papers have an abundance of information. Various schools and departments also send their noncurrent records to University Archives. The archives has an extensive collection of photographs, from general campus photos to a large collection of cooperative extension service and agricultural and forestry experiment station photographs, which document those agencies’ work across the state from their early activities down to the present. The general campus photos cover subject areas across the board, offering many trips down memory lane. In summary, those interested in pursuing more information about the university should visit the University Archives and the university Web site. There are several lifetimes of data in both.

• 393 •

Index

Academic Council, 145 Academic Exchanges and Co-operation, 182, 229, 231–33, 243, 263, 273, 275, 284, 285, 321, 323, 324, 342 Accreditation, 94, 97, 172–73 Administrative Council, 145 Agricultural and Mechanical College of the State of Mississippi (Mississippi A & M), 4 Alcorn State University, 4, 7, 232, 323, 342 Alumni organizations, 18, 78, 141, 142, 263, 266. See also Foundations, University, Alumni, and Development Alumnus, 78 Andrews, Baker, and anhydrous ammonia, 137 Athletic Council, 203 Athletics, 34–35, 44, 45, 78, 142, 144, 249, 291, 347; cowbells, 292–93; golf course, 331; and Title IX, 182–83, 203, 250. See also Women’s athletics Band, MSU “Famous Maroon,” 57–58, 250–51 Banner, 285, 316 Barnes, George K. (Machine-Gun Kelly), 78 Barnett, Ross, 148, 152 Baseball, 34–35, 44–45, 69, 79, 91, 128–29, 203, 249–50, 291, 292, 294, 331, 347 Basketball, 35, 44, 69, 79, 91, 128, 144, 148– 52, 203, 249, 291, 292, 331, 347–48; and Final Four, 293–94 Bettersworth, John K., ix–x, 29, 40, 42, 79, 108, 115, 118, 126, 129, 132, 133, 134, 143, 145, 151, 160, 164, 168, 169, 173, 174, 183, 187, 192, 195, 204, 205, 211–12, 214, 219,

226, 253, 275; leadership lecture program named after, 338 Bilbo, Theodore, 73–74, 75, 79, 81, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 104, 105 Board of Trustees (Institutions of Higher Learning), 5, 61, 95, 96, 99, 134, 157, 195, 211, 225, 234–35, 273, 274, 306; LeBauve trustee, 225 Bowen, James V., 44, 55, 56, 72, 76, 77, 89, 100, 112 Budgets, 7–8, 37–39, 63, 75, 81, 83–84, 88, 91, 101–2, 103, 104, 107, 119, 147, 158–59, 172, 176–77, 210, 222, 224, 234, 237, 260ff, 307–8, 310–11, 337; impact of Great Depression on, 97, 98, 99, 100, 102, 306; public access to, 216 Buildings and facilities: Advanced Energy Conversion Center, 338; Agricultural and Biological Engineering Center, 343; Aiken University Village, 299; Alumni building, 254; Ammerman and Hearnsberger Food Processing Facility, 299; Applied Remote Sensing Center of Excellence, 315; Aquaculture Center, 283–84; Arbor Acres, 239; Architecture building, 251; August Raspet Flight Research Laboratory, 162, 164; Ballew animal science, 139, 162; Band Hall (new), 251; Bearden Dairy Research Center, 299; Bedenbaugh Animal Science Laboratory, 252; Biotechnology Institute, 338; Boll Weevil Laboratory, 138; Bost Extension Building, 200; Bowen Hall, 90, 199, 252; Bryan Athletic Administration Building, 293; Butler Guesthouse, 343; Butler Hall, 297, 298; Butler-Williams

• 395 •

index

Alumni Center, 298, 328, 343; Callejas International Student Center, 299; Carpenter (Hall) Engineering, 46, 73, 163; Center for Advanced Scientific Computing, 298; Center for Advanced Vehicular Systems (CAVS), 324, 338– 39, 343; Center for Computer Security Research, 342; Center for Educational and Training Technology, 326; Center for Visual Creation, 283; Chapel of Memories, 163, 241, 328, 329; Clapp Forest Products Utilization Laboratory, 252; Cobb Institute of Archaeology, 192, 200; Cochran Aquaculture Center, 299; Colvard Union, 328; Comparative Biology Research Facility, 298, 329; Computer Integrated Manufacturing Center, 286; Cooley Building (Buck Creek Cotton Mill), 200–1; Cresswell Hall, 162, 329; Critz Hall, 329; Crosby Arboretum, 302; Custer Dairying Processing Center, 299; Diagnostic Instrumentation and Analysis Laboratory (DIAL), 321, 323, 329, 340, 342; Dorman Hall, 162, 163, 199, 298; Dudy Noble Baseball Stadium, 163; Edwards Reactor Laboratory, 162; Emerging Materials Research Laboratory, 319; Engineering Research Center, 255, 283, 321, 322, 324, 341; Entomology Research Laboratory, 162; Entrance to campus from Highway 82, 327; Etheredge Chemical Engineering, 120, 139, 199; Evans Hall, 163; Football stadium (Scott Field), 91, 249; Forest Products Utilization Laboratory, 164, 264; Forestry and Wildlife Research Center, 264, 285, 340; Free Speech Stand, 298; Garner Dormitory (Hall), 120, 327; George Hall, 46, 81, 107; Gulf Coast Institute, 157; gymnasium (original), 75, 91; Hamlin Hall, 163, 199, 328; Hand Chemical Laboratory, 298, 329;

• 396 •

Harned Hall, 52, 87, 162; Hathorn Hall, 163, 199, 329; Herbert Hall, 90; Herzer Dairy Science, 200, 329, 343; Hilbun Hall, 328, 329; Hill Poultry Science, 299; Hitch Hiker Stand, 298; Holmes Cultural Diversity Center, 299; Hough Petroleum Engineering Laboratory, 299; Howell Observatory, 299; Hull Dormitory, 107; Humphrey Coliseum, 106, 200; Hunter Henry Center, 328–29; Jackson Community Design Center, 314; Landscape Architecture, 327, 342– 43, 344; Lee Hall, 46, 107, 168, 252, 298, 328; Leveck Veterinary Medicine Research Center, 252; Life Sciences and Biotechnology Institute, 342; LloydRicks Building, 90; Longest Health Center, 299; Lyle Entomology Complex, 199; Magruder Dormitory, 107; Martin Center for Technology and Disability, 299, 322; McArthur Hall, 199, 201, 298, 327; McCain Engineering, 46, 136, 222, 252, 298, 327, 329, 343; McCarthy athletic building and gymnasium, 120, 200; McComas Hall, 215, 252–53; McCool Hall, 200, 254, 344; McKay Food and Enology Laboratory, 252; McKee Hall, 328; Memorial Hall, 199; Meyer Center, 330; Mississippi Center for Advanced Semiconductor Prototyping, 323; Mississippi Entomological Museum, 326; Mississippi Magnetic Resonance Facility, 283; Mississippi State University Research and Technology Corporation (Mississippi Research and Technology Park), 254, 255, 323, 339; Mitchell Memorial Library, 120, 254; Montgomery Hall, 46, 55, 90, 107, 251, 298, 327, 329, 343; Newell-Grissom Animal Husbandry Building, 252; Old Main, 45, 58, 73, 75, 88, 139; Pace Seed Laboratory, 342; Patterson Engineering Building, 120, 139; Perry Cafeteria, 299;

index

Polk-DeMent Stadium (baseball), 250, 327; Post Office, 163; Powe Center for Innovative Technology, 339; Precision Agriculture Laboratory, 314; Rehabilitation Research and Training Center on Blindness and Low Vision, 319; Remote Sensing Technology Center, 315; Rice Hall, 199; ROTC (Middleton), 46, 257, 315; Sanderson Recreational Center, 302; Sawyer Tennis Courts, 299; Scales Veterinary Science Building, 120, 162, 199; SemiSouth Laboratories, Inc., 341; Sessums Hall, 328; Shira Fieldhouse, 202; Simrall Electrical and Computer Engineering, 45, 200; Social Science Research Center, 126, 135, 284, 340; Southern Remote Sensing and Training Center, 315; Stoner Low Vision Center, 299; Suttle Hall, 199; Swalm Chemical Engineering, 46, 298, 327, 329; Textile (Twin Towers), 45, 90, 199; Thompson School of Forest Resources, 170, 184, 185, 252, 298; Walker Engineering, 139, 162; Wise Center (Veterinary Medicine), 327, 329, 342; YMCA, 58, 73, 121, 163, 327 Bulldog Club, 203 Bulldog mascot, 115 Burkitt, Frank, 5, 36, 37, 38, 39, 50 Business Research Station, 112, 125, 137 Butts, A. B., 73, 77, 96, 104, 106 Campaign for Mississippi State, 264, 269, 272 Campus television and radio, 184, 188, 298 Centennial of MSU, 214 Chadwick, W. D., 69 Chemistry Department, 53 Clapp, Robert, 146, 169 Clower, Jerry, 137 Cobb, Cully, 144, 192; Cobb Institute of Archaeology, 264 Coleman, Frances, 302, 319, 320

Colleges. See Schools and Colleges Colvard, Dean Wallace, 166; administrative team of, 145–46; background, 143; basketball controversy, 144, 148–52; presidency of, 143–65; self-studies, 157–58 Commencements, 18, 56, 225, 243, 309–10; and President George H. W. Bush, 282 Committee of 1985, 214–15 Community College Education Department, 183 Computers, 136, 171–72, 213, 218, 242, 263, 264, 285–86, 297, 316–17, 331, 342 Conner, Mike, 95, 96, 98 Cooper, Owen, 137, 149 Cooperative Extension Service, 27, 53–54, 70, 71, 86, 89, 90, 112, 121, 125, 137, 194, 233 Creelman, G. C., 26 Crigler, L. W., 61, 62 Cristal, Jack, 249 Critz, Hugh, 79; background, 92; and Theodore Bilbo, 92–93; presidency of, 92–105 Croom, Sylvester, 347 Dairy Science, 24, 51–52; cheese production, 230 Darden, Putnam, 7, 27 Davis, Art, 129, 142 Davis, Fred, 136, 171 Delta State University, 324 Dorman, Clarence, 110, 115, 124 Dowsing, Frank, 201 Drennan, Herbert, 145–46 Duplication of Programs, 84, 100, 102–3, 157–58, 227, 228, 232 Eckie’s Pond, 29 Education pedagogy, 48–50, 51. See also Schools and Colleges: Education; Schools and Colleges: Industrial Pedagogy

• 397 •

index

Engineering. See Schools and Colleges: Engineering Etheredge, M. P., 135 Experiment stations, 27–29, 46, 51, 54, 70, 86, 90, 112, 121, 124–25, 137, 233 Extension service. See Cooperative Extension Service Faculty, 10, 23–26, 30, 84, 88, 101, 108, 117, 122, 127–28, 139, 140, 153, 173, 174–78, 210, 214, 215–18, 220–21, 223–25, 266, 268, 276–79, 281–82, 311 Faculty Council (Robert Holland Faculty Senate), 153–54, 173–74, 213, 215, 218–19, 221, 278; and Robert Belton Holland Memorial, 140–41 Farmers’ Alliance, 28, 37, 38 Female students, 133, 155–56; controversy, 66–67; readmission, 100–1 Foglesong, Robert “Doc,” 349 Foil, Rodney, 169, 212, 259 Football, 35, 44, 67, 69, 79, 91, 94–95, 114–15, 128, 129, 142, 144, 201–3, 247–48, 291–92, 293, 294, 331, 347 Forestry, Department of, 110, 111 Foundations, University, Alumni, and Development, 147–48, 172, 204, 209, 211, 213, 214, 263, 269 Funding. See Budgets George, J. Z., 37, 57 GI bills, 80, 109 Gibson Report, 117, 118, 119 Giles, William L., 146, 165; academic policies, 189–90; administrators, 169–71; background, 166–67; building construction, 200; degree programs, 185–86; departmental changes, 183–85; enrollment, 199; lawsuits under, 191; presidency of, 166–205; road construction, 201; summer programs, 187 Graduate School, 113, 127, 138, 145, 157, 185– 86, 227–28

Grange, 27, 37 Grants. See Outreach, research, and grants Grisham, John, 282, 302, 311, 347 Hand, William Flowers, 53, 127, 135 Hardy, John Crumpton: background of, 41– 42; presidency of, 41–63; student/faculty controversy, 60–63 Harned, Horace, 87 Harned family (Arthur, R. W., and Horace), 52 Harrison, Abner, 193–94 Hatch Act, 28 Hawkins, Merrill, 169, 227 Hightower, George R., 113; background, 64–65; and Theodore Bilbo, 73–74; presidency of, 64–74; student controversies, 65–68 Hilbun, Ben, 122, 144; background, 131–32; enrollment under, 138–39; presidency of, 131–43 Holland, Robert B. See Faculty Council Holmes, Richard, 153, 164, 190 Home Economics Department, 170 Homosexuality, 181, 241 Honorary degrees, 325 Hood, Burrell S., 213 Hull, David Carlisle, 49, 82; background of, 83–84; and Susie Powell, 86; presidency of, 83–87 Humanities, 43, 55, 56, 71, 84–85, 100, 109–10, 113, 115, 125–26, 134–35, 156, 226–27, 323 Humphrey, George Duke: background, 106–7; enrollment strategy, 108–9; presidency of, 106–15 Hunt, Gaddis, 326 Hutchins, Ross, 135 Jackson State University, 196, 232–33, 263, 284 John Sharp Williams Club of Economic and Social Science, 57

• 398 •

index

Korean War, 120, 123, 133 Land-grant schools, 1–4, 226 Landscape Architecture Department, 167– 68, 172 Languages. See Humanities; Modern Languages, Department of Lee, J. Charles, 212, 306, 329; academics and enrollment, 346; administrative team and structure, 336; background, 332–33; budget problems, 337; naming of facilities, 343–44; officially named president, 334; and 125th anniversary of MSU, 348; philosophies and goals, 333, 334–36, 348; presidency of, 332–49; status of university, 333 Lee, Stephen Dill: background, 9–10; presidency of, 9–40; selection as first president, 10 Leveck, Henry, 124, 146, 252 Lewis, George, 146–47, 188–89, 221, 278 Lewis, Harvey, 255, 257 Liberal Arts. See Humanities; Schools and Colleges: Arts and Sciences Library, 33–34, 55–56, 75, 87, 117, 128, 141, 146–47, 188–89, 217, 221, 236, 254, 264, 278–79, 301, 302, 306, 319–20, 340; named Mitchell Memorial Library, 120; notable collections in, 189, 254, 282, 320 Lloyd, E. R., 51, 54, 70 Lyceum Series, 56–57 MagnetoHydroDynamics (MHD), 221–22 Magruder, W. H., 60, 65 Magruder Debating Club, 57 Martin, T. K., 137–38, 141, 145, 148, 158, 182, 183, 191, 238, 322 McCarthy, Babe, 144, 200 McComas, James, 179; academic efforts, 222; academics, 227–29; administrative changes, 211–13; background, 206–8; enrollment challenges, 210, 219, 235, 239; faculty relations, 223–25; health issues,

243–44; legal issues, 223, 237–38; philosophies and goals of, 208–10, 213–15, 219, 220, 226, 234, 237; presidency of, 206– 57; resignation, 255–57; State Legislature and, 235, 236 McDaniel, Willie Lee, Jr., 212, 260 McKay, A. B., 26, 53 McKee, J. Chester, 146, 169, 193, 212 McKeen, Allyn, 114, 142 Meridian Branch, MSU, 198, 232, 233, 285, 324–25 Meridian historic buildings restoration, 341 Meyer, Henry, 181, 330 Mississippi, University of, 7, 33, 37, 148, 196, 205, 208, 233, 238, 263, 264, 265, 279, 297 Mississippi A & M College: begins operations, 11; construction, 7, 8, 45–46; electricity, 56; general curriculum, 32–33, 46–47; heat, 56; indoor plumbing, 56; initial funding, 7–8; members of first board, 5; and national, Southern, and Mississippi politics, 35–36; paved streets, 90; site selection, 7 Mississippi Alcohol Safety Education Program, 284 Mississippi Business Review, 112, 125 Mississippi Chair of Insurance, 192 Mississippi Chemical Corporation, 137 Mississippi Dairymen’s Association, 51 Mississippi Educational Services Center, 199 Mississippi Educational Television Network and Center (Mississippi Authority for Educational Television), 160, 161, 187–88, 196–97 Mississippi Farmers’ Union, 64–65 Mississippi Research and Development Center (Universities Center), 159–60, 195–96, 204, 232, 233 Mississippi State College (name changed from A & M), 97, 101 Mississippi University for Women, 16, 95, 101, 134, 218, 231, 232, 255, 263, 275

• 399 •

index

Mitchell, Fred Tom, 112; academic standards, 122–23; background, 115–17; enrollment growth, 119–20, 122; presidency of, 115–30 Mitchell Memorial Library. See Library Mitts, Billy, 150, 151 Modern Languages, Department of, 56, 71 Montgomery, G. V. “Sonny,” 229, 282, 325, 343 Montgomery, W. B., 5, 24 Morrill, Justin S., 1, 2 Music Education, Department of, 138, 172 Nissan, 324 Noble, Dudy, 91, 94, 129, 142 Outreach, research, and grants, 29, 39, 76– 77, 89, 108–9, 124, 127–28, 136, 157, 158, 159, 161, 162, 163–64, 190, 192–99, 217, 221, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 236, 246– 47, 260, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 268, 270, 272, 273, 283, 285, 307, 310–11, 316– 18, 321–27, 338, 340, 341, 342. See also Cooperative Extension Service Parker, Jackie, 129, 142 Peabody Report, 102–5; Brewton-led, 133–34 People’s college, and university concept, 12, 39 People’s University, 214 Phi Beta Kappa, 110, 226, 231, 282–83, 309 Portera, Malcolm: academic changes, 314– 19; administrative team, 305–6; background, 304–5; budget plan, 307–8; campus street improvements, 330; enrollment controversy, 308–9; library commitment, 319–20; naming of facilities, 330; philosophies and goals of, 305, 306–7; presidency of, 304–32; promotional activities, 325–26; returns to Alabama, 332; students and, 312–14 Potts, Samuel Frederick, 81 Powe, Ralph, 259

Powell, Susie, 70–71, 86 Preparatory School, 21–22, 50 President’s Commission on the Status of Women, 216, 275 Private ’13, 67 Quarter system, 76, 89 Rabideau, Peter, 336 Racial issues, 129, 142–43, 144, 148–53, 244– 46, 294–96 Raspet, August, 135–36 Redd, J. C., 211 Reflector, 16–17, 59, 181 Research. See Outreach, research, and grants Reserve Officers Training Corps (ROTC), 68, 78, 101, 113, 123, 138, 153, 154; changed to voluntary program, 187 Reveille, 57, 67, 114 Rice, Nannie, 146 Ricks, J. R., 110 Robert, J. C., 61, 63 Rogers, Gaines, 169, 227 Ruby, Roy, 196, 219, 239, 260, 293, 312, 336 Salter, Sid, 303 Scholarship programs, 138, 172, 204, 277, 309, 311 Schools and Colleges: Accountancy, 229; Agriculture, 23–30, 51, 52, 53, 69–70, 85, 90, 110, 121, 124, 137, 156; Architecture, 168, 170–71, 322, 339; Arts and Sciences, 134–35, 156, 227; Aviation and Aeronautical Engineering, 112; Business and Industry, 56, 72, 85, 100, 112–13, 125, 137, 156, 227–28, 315; Education, 71, 85, 89, 104, 109, 126–27, 134, 137, 172, 314; Engineering, 30–32, 46–48, 53, 85, 90, 101, 105, 111–12, 126, 135, 136, 137, 156, 172, 221, 270, 283, 314, 315, 318, 319, 321, 322, 324; Forestry and Forest Resources, 170, 172, 264;

• 400 •

index

General Academics, 85; General Science, 55, 56, 71, 85, 127; Industrial Pedagogy, 71–72, 77; Veterinary Medicine, 25, 26, 53, 168, 171, 222, 259, 262, 318–19 Scott, Don M., 69 Sessums, Irwin D., 44, 123 Sexual harassment policy, 222 Sheely, Clyde Q., 136 Simrall, Harry, 136, 137, 212 Smith, William Hall: background, 74–75; and Theodore Bilbo, 81; presidency of, 74–82 Smith-Hughes Act, 76, 109 Smith-Lever Act, 70, 71, 86 Social Studies. See Humanities Southern Association of Colleges and Secondary Schools, 94, 95, 97, 101, 156 Southern Livestock Journal, 24, 28 Southern Mississippi, University of, 238, 263, 264, 265 Speakers on Campus Controversy, 179–80 Starkville, as site of MSU, 6 Starkville-Artesia railway, 201 Starkville-MSU relations, 178–79, 210, 242, 296–97, 324 Stennis, John C., 106, 141, 161, 163, 172, 214, 226, 229, 243, 282; chair in Political Science, 188, 226; Institute of Government, 192, 339; public policy degree program, 226; Space Center (Mississippi Test Facility), 161, 285, 321, 322; Stennis Center for Public Service, 255 Stevens, Boswell, 211 Stone, John M., 4, 5, 41 Students, 11–23, 34, 36, 56, 58–62, 65–68, 77–78, 87, 88, 89–90, 95, 96, 98, 101, 114, 133, 142, 178, 179, 182, 218, 225, 238, 239–41, 265, 277, 308–9, 312, 345; activities of, 16, 17, 57, 58, 78, 116, 123, 246, 251, 343; African Americans, 190–91, 244–46, 301, 313, 347; AIDS, 288; alcohol aware-

ness program, 312; Blackfriars, 156; and Buckley Amendment, 241; crime, 289– 90, 312; and drugs, 181–82, 240, 290; exposure to famous people, 191–92, 214; foreign students, 242–43, 313–14; and intramurals, 182; mandatory wearing of uniforms discontinued, 101. See also Korean War; World War I; World War II Superconducting Super Collider, 286 Tennis program, 292, 331 Textile School, 42–44, 45 Track and Field, 45, 69, 79, 91 Tracy, Samuel M., 28–29 Tyler, Bob, 247–48 University Press of Mississippi, 197 U.S. Waterways Experiment Station (Vicksburg), 197, 232 Vardaman, James K., 42, 43, 50 Verrall, George, 212, 260, 336 Walker, Buz M., 30, 43–44, 46, 48, 83, 84, 87, 110, 115; background of, 87–88; and Theodore Bilbo, 91–92; presidency of, 88–92 Walker, Wade, 142, 144, 149 Waller, William (Bill), 168, 170, 171 Wamsley, Henry E., 250–51 Welborn, Ira, 60–61 Whittington, Charles, 147, 172 Whittington, Will, 285 Wildlife and Fisheries Department, 183 Wise, Louis, 137, 146, 159, 169, 327 Wolverton, Robert “Bob,” 212, 215, 220 Women’s athletics, 203, 250; basketball and softball, 331 Wood Science and Technology Department, 170 World War I, 78, 79–81 World War II, 113, 114, 119

• 401 •

index

YMCA (Young Men’s Christian Association), 17, 58, 178, 179–80 Zacharias, Donald, 257; academic changes, 273–74, 284, 286–87; administrative team, 259–60; attempted censure of, 281–82; background, 258; budget challenges, 260ff; and campus facilities and beautification, 297–98; employee sessions, 275; enrollment, 261, 265, 272; facilities named during presidency, 299–300; faculty outreach, 276–79, 281– 82; funding formulas, 267–68; health

policies, 288; illness of, 300–1; library task force, 278–79; named Mississippian of the Year, 300; philosophies and goals of, 259, 262, 267, 273, 275, 279–80, 287, 288–90, 302; presidency of, 258–303; priorities and Planning Committee, 280–81; racial problems, 294–96; speaking tours, 269–70; spending cuts, 266, 270–71; starship and flagship, 279, 297; teaching professor, 288; tributes to and notable accomplishments, 300–3; and Gerald Turner, 297

• 402 •