Lawrence College trustees called Pusey back as president primarily because of his leading part in the curriculum innovations at Wesleyan. Since its founding in 1847, Lawrence had put its emphasis on a broad inclusive education, and Pusey, then a rising educator of 37, was certain to uphold the tradition.

Ties with Harvard

Lawrence, Pusey soon found, has many ties with his alma mater. Amos Lawrence, its founder, was the brother of Abbott Lawrence, President Lowell's grandfather, and was a member of the Harvard Board of Overseers and a heavy contributor to the building of Memorial Hall. Perhaps as atonement for this architectural sin or perhaps because the land was of no use to him (the Lawrence won renown for their frugality) he donated some Wisconsin acreage he had acquired to the Rock River Conference of the Methodist Church to use in founding a college.

Lawrence, an Episcopalian, said later that he would have preferred granting the property to members of his same faith, but since the Methodist sect was the frontier religion, they could make better use of it. Lawrence was careful to insure, however, that the College would not be denominational and forbade "propagating the tenets of any sect." In 1932 the College severed all remaining religious bonds with the Methodists, so that while religion continues to be a prime force on the campus, it is more than ever non-denominational.

Scholastically and financially, the new college did not always fare well. Students with the necessary qualifications for college work were so few that until 1908, the College maintained a preparatory school to boost applicants to the necessary academic level. And in the '80s the school was debt-ridden to the point that the president offered to resign so that his salary might be used to keep Lawrence from buckling.

Lawrence has always been co-educational, though in the Victorian era there were constant dicta forbidding pleasantries between the sexes. One elderly former co-ed remembers the rule banning any Lawrentian gentleman walking with a Lawrentian young lady without a chaperon. The one exception was during a rainstorm in which event the young man could offer to share his umbrella with the girl. "We used to call them our rainbeaus," the lady smiles.

Compulsory Chapel

Pusey, an Episcopalian opposed to a sectarian approach in campus religious life, does work at encouraging the spiritual growth of his students. A course in religion, with philosophy as a possible substitute, is required of all freshmen. And at the weekly convocations, attendance is compulsory. Once a month, a convocation is likely to be of religious nature, with speakers invited from every faith. The convocations are generally not too popular with the students, but Pusey thinks they have a definite value. "I know they kick about going," he says, "and sometimes the programs are poor. But by the time a student is a senior, I think he comes to realize that it has been a very unifying experience." Pusey adds that to establish such a program at Harvard would be almost impossible since there is no auditorium large enough to hold the entire college; and unless attended by the whole student body, the meetings, lose much of their effect.

Even more than encouraging a religious atmosphere at Lawrence, Pusey's chief concern has been in recruiting a superior faculty. He has drawn often on Harvard and its graduate schools--six of the 53 active faculty members have a Harvard degree and two more have been engaged for next term.

Near Miss

Pusey, always careful in his screening of prospective teachers, has had only one near tumble. In 1949, he hired by mail a professor from Australia, Robert Peters, whose qualifications on paper were excellent. When the new term began, Roberts had not arrived. Pusey took over his course in ancient history, waiting anxiously for his new professor. After 4 weeks had passed without Peters, student speculation was rife: one story had Peters captured by Australian canibals, another had him washed overboard during his voyage to America. Jaime, Pusey's younger son, then 7, immediately named his imaginary friend "Peters," and the President wished increasingly as the months dragged on that his long overdue employee would turn up. For years passed and this spring when the errant professor was almost forgotten, a small news item appeared in Milwaukee newspapers. The College of Wooster, with a collective red face, had just discharged one Robert Peters, a fraudulent "professor" with bogus references and no degrees. No one at Lawrence knows why Peters changed his mind about the College, but the incident is always related with a sigh of relief.

Once Pusey has hired an assistant professor, there is no iron rule about promotion. He requests each year a list of publications by the faculty, but as he says, "Out in this part of the country, we put much emphasis on the great teacher concept. I am in no way minimizing scholarship and research, but I can see little value in large volumes of short articles." At Lawrence, where the faculty carries a heavy teaching load, Pusey has been very tolerant about a small published output. Then, too, the College library with its 75,000 volumes is too limited for advanced research. Ideally, however, Pusey prefers to promote professors on a combination of their writing and classroom work.

Pusey's Choices

Among the eminent men on the Lawrence faculty are Herbert Spiegelberg of the philosophy department, recently awarded a Guggenheim Grant to study phenomenology in Germany; Warren Beck, the novelist; Craig Thompson, an Erasmus scholar; and William F. Rancy in history. In the last three years, eight faculty members have applied for Ford Fellowships for study abroad and all eight have been accepted. Professors credit much of this record to Pusey; not only does he pick superior men, but he encourages the worthy professors to compete for the awards. Many college presidents hesitate to allow their best men the year's absence and dislike finding

The song, set to the tune of "Surrey With the Fringe on Top":