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Business School, Grown Through 41 Years, Feeds the Country with Leading Executives

Students Spend Their Time Learning How To Make Decisions

When reasoning why the Harvard man is such a prize catch, there is one important factor that the merits of the School's case system should not overshadow: the Business School's student is a remarkably able man even before he begins his two years across the Charles.

Working under the understandable theory that its program produces best results only in the "Well equipped" man, the Business School is extremely particular in-choosing its students. There are three applicants for every available place, and thus the Admissions Office has a wide enough selection to pick the men it considers the potential business leaders of the future.

Admitting a Student

There aren't any formal standards that help the Admissions Office spot the "well equipped" man. Instead, the School prefers to survey a man's entire past performance, looking especially to see how he has chosen to spend his time, how well he has executed whatever he has chosen, and how much good these activities have done him. All these factors, the School feels, are clues to the bigger problem of how well-suited the man is for a career in business administration. The School is not hunting for grinds with good marks, for the ideal business administrator is no introvert.

All this security at admissions time leads to a school with few failures throughout the two-year course. This doesn't mean that the life of a Business School student can be an easy one; on the contrary, the School expects the average student to devote 60 hours per week to his work, inclusive of classroom time.

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But most Business School men can squeeze in time for other things besides discussions of case problems. Ex-servicemen, one-time fraternity presidents, and all the other varied types which make up the student body blend into a group that takes advantage of 12:30 a.m. weekend room permission, and keeps weekly Chase Hall "set-ups" as well as occasional formal dances on a continuing basis.

The School even boasts a lively intramural sports program. Over a quarter of the students this fall played football, with some sections (class divisions) taking their games so seriously as to operate a two-platoon system.

All these things, from the case method to the two-platoon system, have gone toward making today's Business School a far cry from 1908, the year of the opening.

The whole idea of business at Harvard originated at the turn of the century when the University started taking sharp notice of the rapid expansion of business in the country. First came an experimental course in accounting, and then, in 1907, President Eliot announced the Corporation had voted to set up a School for Public Service and Commerce.

The nation's economic "panic of 1907" made the Corporation promptly decide that anyone except the business man would be too hard to place. So on October, 1908, the Business School alone opened its doors, and 33 students started courses as candidates for the newly-minted degree of Master of Business Administration.

Under its first dean, Edwin F. Gay, the fledging School heard lectures by outside business men and grew from a 33-man class in 1910 to a 156-man class in 1917. But the first world war dispersed both faculty and students, and in 1919 only 68 men were around to receive their M.B.A.'s.

Donham Takes Over

That year Gay resigned to take on the presidency of the New York Evening Post, and Wallace B. Donham left his Old Colony Trust Company vice-presidency to become the Business School's second dean. In his first report Donham hailed his predecessor's ten years of work in launching the School but lashed out:

"The present condition of the Business School is intolerable except as a temporary makeshift. We need funds at once for the construction of buildings to house a School of 1,000 and to develop laboratory facilities."

Since its birth the School had been located entirely north of the Charles, shaving "every week and cranny"-as Dean David puts if today-with the rest of the University. The library occupied part of the top floor of Widener, and classes and offices were sprinkled in Yard buildings, museums, the Unions basement, Lawrence Hall, and University Hall.

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