Situated in the verdant valley of the Wattsatonic river of Central Vermont, stands quietly revolutionary Open University, dedicated to the twin aims of individual development of the free spirit, and whole-hearted devotion to a principled way of life. The faculty, students, and trustees of Open feel quite frankly that it is the perfect university.

Open is a triumph of individual self-reliance and modern administrative techniques; it boasts a sensitive and scientific admissions policy, a highly developed system of student-administered justice, and completely free and open classroom discussions. At the same time, student responsibility has developed to the point where a university police force, a hygiene department, and even a Dean's office have been eliminated as without reason or function. Open's supremely representative and well-rounded student body is mature and intelligent enough to "take care of just about anything that may come up."

The University was organized in 1718 in the town of Sessamee by an association of maple sugar merchants of the Vermont region who felt a need for an institution of learning which would crystallize amorphous theories of colonial America into a rational pattern of individual conduct. Chief among the early gifts was one of 654 pounds from Elihu Open, an affluent London merchant, who little realized that his modest gift would result in the naming of the infant school in his honor.

A Modest Gift...

Immediately, the two-man faculty and the six students (two of whom were full-blooded Algon-quin Indians) set to work on a Constitution of Conduct, which has stood virtually without change for 233 years. This constitution, or "Open Letter." which binds both students and faculty, generally defines what members of the university may and may not do, and sets forth the ideals of academic freedom toward which Open has long aspired.

But mere analysis of the majestic phrases of the constitution cannot hope even to suggest the remarkable degree of freedom in and out of the classrooms at Open. The fact of the matter is that any student may say anything in the classroom at any time, provided that in the opinion of the majority present, it is pertinent to the subject. Sociologists might describe education at the university as a four-year non-directive interview, or as it is now more commonly known--an Open ended interview.

...Brings Academic Freedom...

The primary result of utterly free classroom discussion is, as a psychologist might gather, a student body completely free of suppression neuroses and abnormal personal problems. On the other hand the constant interruption by students of the lecturing professors does slow down the dissemination of factual knowledge. Consequently in the more populous courses, it occasionally takes up to a year and a half to complete a half-year course.

Because the cathartic value of free discussion is held in such high esteem at Open, a friendly rivalry has sprung up among the professors to see whose half-year course can take the longest. Present leader is a social science course on Thought and Institutions, which takes more time to put forth its material than even the most optimistic sociologist would hope to predict.

Because of the university's deep-seated faith in the basic soundness of its constitution and its students, Open uses the honor system exclusively in all phases of its activities. However, Open's honor system is not plagued with the usual moral problems which accompany its use at lesser institutions. There is no incident on record in which anyone but the actual culprit has been responsible for the reporting of an offense against the regulations of the college or community.

Personal conduct as a matter of fact is on such a high level that the name of Ralph W. Apley stands among the great names in the Open Alumni Hall. Apley was the first man who turned himself in merely for thinking about shattering a regulation. The student court system, while approving of Apley's zeal, elected not to accept the case on its calendar.

The honor system, while cutting down the number of offenses, cannot entirely eliminate human frailty. To take care of those few offenders who must be tried and punished, the university has set up its famous system of open courts.

...True Justice...

The Open judicial system is operated by the student without outside supervision, although the members of the faculty do act as bailiffs, constables, clerks, and, occasionally, court reporters. The members of the freshman and sophomore classes are called upon to act as jurors, in connection with the required course in Good Citizenship. As they become more versed in the legal system, Open students become lawyers during their Junior year, and the top scholars of the class take over judgeships for their last year. Trials seldom take more than a few hours, and appeals, though not mandatory, are permitted.

After working swiftly and successfully for many decades, the open courts ran into some difficulty in the recent years. Because of the heavy influx of veterans and other students in the post-war period, court calendars have fallen somewhat behind.

As a result, some men have been forced to return to Open after graduation to stand trial for offenses committed as sophomores. Officials are quick to deplore the two and one half year delay between indictment and trial, and feel the inconvenience caused individual defendants and witnesses is unfortunate.

The calendar problem could, of course, be solved by the simple expedient of increasing the number of trial judges. But Open feels that nothing of this sort should be done, lest it tend to lower the quality of the judiciary. Rather a 29-month wait for true justice than a swift and slipshod treatment of individual rights and liberties, say the university savants. In any event, they point out, increased effort by the present number of solons will probably eliminate the court backlog within twenty or thirty years.

...and IBM Machines

Perhaps the most controversial feature of Open's policies is its policy of open recruiting of all students. A battery of giant IBM sorting and filing machines whirr night and day in an attempt to improve the Open student body and make it even more well-rounded. The IBM's spew forth a thumbnail description of a worthy undergraduate every seven and one half minutes. Armed with this information, the Open recruiters converge on the area (the machines always specify an area, though not the name) and sift the local high school youth for the man who mostly nearly approximates the IBM ideal. Once he is found the recruiters send in a revised description of the man who is coming, and the IBM's revise their future selections in view of the men who have already been chosen.

Sometimes, but not often, the IBM-Open recruiting system goes wrong. For example, in 1941, a clerk in the admissions office inadvertently ran his nail along the edges of a batch of cards under process. The resultant nick caused the acceptance of twelve Cuban handball players.

The University, never slow to capitalize even on its own mistakes, immediately took up handball as a sport, and the record books show that the national handball doubles titles during the war years list the titleholder as "Open."

In conclusion, let it be said that Open is not interested in creating a graduate whose cranium is crammed with a staggering weight of facts. Logically enough, it is trying to produce a man with an open mind, who can see the broad implications of world-wide events and whose scope is not narrowed by the parochial limitations of mere facts. The Open graduate, while realizing the importance of other factors, is primarily people-conscious. His education is an education for living, for understanding and accepting the complexities of 20th century existence.

In this sense Open stands alone; for four years it prepares its students for this business of living, but not for this business of earning one.

The current parietal rules controversy at Harvard recalls a similar dispute at Open University in 1907.

Open students even in that early day were quick to point out to their administration that a rule requiring women to be out of men's rooms by 7:30 p.m. was antiquarian. Queen Victoria, they noted, had died six years before.

An emergency committee of students was quickly formed to discuss the situation. After an hour-long open debate, the group issued a statement attacking the administration's stand as "discriminatory against women."

The statement pointed out that women made up a good percentage of the world outside Open, and should not be antagonized. In face of such arguments, the administration quickly capitulated and extended room permission hours. There have been no complaints on this subject since then.