Twenty five years have clapsed since A. Lawrence Lowell and Edward S. Harkness faced each other in University Hall to inaugurate their great experiment in the subdivision of Harvard College. Over a quarter of a century later, this plan, designed to save Harvard from itself, is still an experiment. For even with the House System, the College still suffers from many of the same ills Lowell proposed to cure.

The war's interruption and unexpected rigors of post-war college living have retarded the plan's development. Yet in spite of their youth and technical shortcomings, the Houses have succeded by their very existence in fulfilling Lowell's essential requirement: that they provide a basis for social and intellectual contact among the mass of undergraduates. But they are accomplishing only a part of what Lowell expected of them.

Lowell's plan was to preserve the quality of the small American college in the big university by dividing the College into units. Undergraduates have had little or no chance to experience this quality in the necessary uncrowded conditions Lowell visualized. Over 4,000 students now live and are educated in facilities designed for a maximum of 3,000. Almost every planned single suite is a double, every double a triple, and every triple a quadruple. Tutorial, the educational aspect of the Houses, has failed to absorb the burden.

Overcrowding Acute

Ahead lies the possibility of eventual ruin for the entire Plan and subsequent return of dormitory standards at best. By 1958 the first of a flood of post-depression babies will begin applying for admission, and many feel that if the College is to maintain its national character it will have to admit more than the present 4,500. Under such an enslaught the House system, already badly in need of additional space, could conceivably collapse.

The optimum of House spirit has always been something of a question. Lowell often seemed intent on producing something akin to the loyalty attached to the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge, yet he always insisted on placing the College ahead of the single units making it up.

Lowell's intention to restore the "mind whetting quality of the small college without losing the advantages of the big college" has not been forgotten. It has been incompletely carried out. The main justification of the plan is the assembling of reasonably small groups of students and tutors in the same building so that free intercourse and friendship can voluntarily blossom if a student so wishes. Difficulties have come in refinishing this idea to the maximum. But while the plan is yet to be perfected, it does represent a striking advance over conditions in Cambridge during the first 25 years of the twentieth century.

A Hotchkiss boy up to receive an award for his school's paper at a Crimson dinner in 1930 summed up the immediate reaction of many to the proposed College subdivision when he noted Harvard was carrying out Princeton's idea with Yale's money. Those at the dinner nodded sympathetically remembering that Woodrow Wilson 25 years earlier had tried to institute a democratic division at Nassau, but had been unable to defeat the alumni-backed club system. President Lowell, however, jumped to his feet to correct the speaker's remark. Princeton was not involved at all. "It was a bolt out of the Blue," the dark-haired, mustached president declared.

Yale Snubbed Harkness

The bolt had been in the form of Yale graduate and benefactor Edward S. Harkness '97, who had come to Lowell after being turned down by his alma mater. Yale had been unprepared for his offer to finance subdivision, but Lowell was already strongly convinced overgrown Harvard had to be split up. Ten seconds after Harkness had offered his financial assistance, Harvard had for all practical purposes become the guinea pig for large American colleges.

With all the perception of Woodrow Wilson, Lowell had seen as early as 1906 the necessity of housing all students, not only as an educational problem but as an encouragement of democratic social life among his students. He spoke at Yale in April of 1907. "A body that is too large for general personal acquaintance tends to break up into groups whose members see little of one another," Lowell then a professor of Government stated. "The obvious solution is to break the undergraduate body into groups like the English colleges, large enough to give each man a chance to associate closely with a considerable number of his fellows and not so large as to cause a division into exclusive cliques. We need a system of grouping that will bring more men from different parts of the country, men with different experience and as far as possible social condition into each group. In short, what we need is a group of colleges each of which will be national and democratic, a microcosm of the whole university."

When Lowell succeeded Eliot in 1909, he immediately began his campaign to democratize the growing undergraduate body. His first step came in 1916 with the addition of four freshman dormitories along the Charles. Lowell always said it had been one of his deepest regrets that as an undergraduate he had not known many in his class who later proved themselves men of worth. His regret spurred on his conviction of the necessity of throwing all members of a class together for at least one year. Through the freshman dorms, classmates were to meet each other briefly as equals before passing on to the disrupting existence of upper-class living.

By the autumn of 1928, Harvard was well on its way to becoming an urban university: if not a Paris, then a Boston University or CCNY. Increased admissions had created a mass of undergraduates living at random about Cambridge, eating at cheap counters along Massachusetts Avenue, and split into numerous factions, of which the club group along the Gold Coast was the most notable. Whatever American tradition of college life Harvard had once possessed was menaced with suffocation in the unmanageable mass of undergraduates.

Lowell instituted required concentration and general exams in an effort to cut out the worst abuses of the electoral system. Tutorial was widely increased to help prepare students in the special fields. But with the student body and tutors casually scattered about Cambridge contact between the two was limited. Not only had an undeniable social chasm split the Gold Coast and the Yard, offending Lowell's delicate democratic sense, but his educational program stood in danger of falling before an unmanageable student body. He did not wait for Harkness.

Honors House Planned

Thinking simultaneous division of the entire undergraduate body an economic impossibility, Lowell had quietly drawn up plans for a single so-called "Honors House." This building, which he planned to build on the triangle of land formed by Massachusetts Avenue and Quincy Street opposite the Union, would be his testing plant and model for future additions. Fortunately, however, when he applied to the College Education Board for a grant he was turned down, and was still searching for a donor when Harkness appeared, fresh from his rebuff at New Haven.

The president advanced two reasons for the exclusion of freshmen from the Houses. He could see no other arrangement that would permit voluntary choice of a House instead of arbitrary appointment. He could not picture all students of one school living together in the same house but was certain of arousing resentment if all students were arbitrarily assigned. His strongest argument against freshman participation in the House Plan, however, was to permit each class to form new friendships and gain a certain unity before being separated into the Houses. On these grounds the Yard, long the domain of seniors, became freshman territory and the all-inclusive term "Yardling" was born.

After meeting with Lowell, Harkness offered three million dollars to build the Honors House, subject to the approval of the governing board and faculty. His only stipulation: that the donor remain anonymous.

Reception by the governing board was so enthusiastic that Harkness offered to finance housing the entire upperclass undergraduate body. By planning on the use of all existing buildings Lowell estimated that six or possibly seven units would be sufficient and still leave a few beds left over for a future increase in admissions. Such a plan would entail building three new structures: Dunster, Eliot and Lowell. Harkness offered $13,398,000.

Julian L. Coolidge, destined to be first Master of Lowell House, led the opposition at the faculty meeting. Jumping to his feet after Lowell had told of Harkness' proposed gift, he asked, "Does this mean, Mr. President, that we are committed to the House Plan?"

Lowell answered stiffly. "I do not know whether we are committed or not, but that is what I mean to do." That evening he reported to Harkness the faculty had accepted his gift without a dissenting vote. In typical fashion, Lowell conciliated Coolidge by appointing him one of his first two House Masters.

Alumni, who saw the death of the College in its division, and club members, who saw in it the downfall of the club system, were met with further appeasement. Profiting from Woodrow Wilson's mistake, Lowell told fearful alumni, "I am dividing to save Harvard," then convinced the clubs they would gain in importance with the addition of the Houses. He pictured the buildings along Mt. Auburn Street as serving the function of bringing men of different Houses together and thus somehow preserving the entity of the College. His main argument was that if club men wanted to stay out, they could. The Houses would have voluntary membership. Meals were to be arranged so that all House members could eat out without paying a certain amount of the time.

American Georgian Design

The existing freshman dormitories along the river and the buildings now composing most of Adams House were of course standing long before Dunster, Eliot, and Lowell were even designed. The older buildings, Winthrop, Kirkland, Leverett, however, were without the dining rooms, libraries and common rooms necessary for House living. Work was begun first on Dunster and Lowell, so the older units were not ready for occupancy until a year after Dunster and Lowell had begun operation.

Construction of the three new buildings climaxed the College's march toward the river. Designed by Bullfinch in American Georgian, they were to avoid standardization, yet give a motley collection of University buildings some sense of continuity. Lowell residents, many of whose quarters are uniquely contorted, claim that President Lowell asked well-known artists to submit paintings of attractive buildings, then, picking out the one he liked best, he told Bullfinch to stick rooms in it.

Dunster and Lowell were to serve as the two extremes of the Plan. Lowell was given a raised dais and designated the "formal" house; Dunster was given its sunken garden and called the "democratic" house. This weak stab at immediate characterization never materialized. For when the other Houses opened the next year no such attempts were made to give them distinctive character. On September 30, 1930 the first two opened with 240 in Dunster and 300 in Lowell, all students living in singles and doubles.

Hot Competition

Chester Greenough, former Dean of Students, and Coolidge, the first two Masters, were instructed to pick out the boys they desired and try to persuade them to join their Houses. Although Coolidge together with Merriman of Eliot was to enjoy the position of heading one of the two most popular houses in Cambridge through most of the 1930's, Dunster under Greenough got off to the better start. Apparently Greenough promised all-American quarterback Barry Wood an entire entry for himself and his friends if he would choose Dunster. Master Coolidge, as head of the Watch and Ward Society, simultaneously helped the initial swing to the river House by severely fining a Cambridge bookstore for selling banned copies of Lady Chatterly's Lover.

In the fall of 1931 remaining Houses opened, and Eliot, built on the site of the vacated Boston Elevated Railway power plant immediately catapulted to the front in popularity. At the other Houses, Winthrop's Ronald M. Ferry, last of the original masters, finally accepted the application of a room of four doubtful freshmen in poor standing. One of the four was later dismissed, but two of the others became successive varsity football captains. In such a fashion was a House reputation born and the ideal cross-section of the student body soon warped. Leverett, for instance, with Professor Kenneth B. Murdock as master soon began to attract a large percentage of the College's English concentrators. On the other extreme, Dunster with three top economics tutors found itself in 1932 with only two economics concentrators in the House.

By the year 1932-33, the most pressing problem of the House Plan had become that of assigning students to Houses. A Central Committee, headed by Dean Hanford, had been set-up to secure an equal intermingling of all seven units, but the Student Council in its first survey of the plan in 1933 reported that negotiations between freshmen and House representatives had proved unsatisfactory.

For a time the Central Committee bludgeoned masters with entreaties of "play fair," but the complete lack of fixed rules and the annual difficulties produced by flexible distribution gave way eventually to the present 70% method. Rather than have complete free choice or complete distribution, the masters settled on the compromise plan of permitting each House to fill 70% of its quota with first choice applicants. The remainder of the space would have to be filled with second and third choice applicants sent along from those not accepted by the first choice House. As is witnessed by several Houses today, this method is far from fool-proof in avoiding preponderance of students with similar backgrounds and interests from congregating in the same House.

Compulsory Membership

If the House plan was to work fully, it was perhaps inevitable that compulsory House membership would eventually be instituted. In 1941, President Conant summoned the graduate presidents of the final clubs and told them that within a year House membership would be a requirement for all undergraduates. Justification for the move had been a College survey that showed a shocking difference in grades between the 50-odd men still living piled on top of each other in the remaining "rat houses" along Mt. Auburn and students in the Houses.

If there ever was a peak to the House Plan it probably came in 1940. Under Adolph Samborski intramural athletics had graduated to an organized program from the informality insisted upon by masters in the opening years.

Eliot Perkins, master of Lowell, says that in its last year under Coolidge in 1940 his House reached its perfect state. With 100 less students than at present, each senior knew each other senior if not on a social level on an intellectual one. Social distinctions were at a minimum within the House and had been replaced by a congenial friendship among men of varying backgrounds. That situation has now somewhat deteriorated. A junior in the House recently remarked that there are not eight other students in the building he knew or liked well enough to sit down to a meal with. As a Lowell House tutor recently noted on viewing the consistent separate eating groups in the dining hall, "the white lines aren't on the floor but you can tell right where they ought to be painted."

War Halted Tutorial

The war had more than a temporarily paralyzing effect. It produced the veteran's attitude of "to hell with everything but a degree." And it produced the more permanent prospect of 1,000 additional undergraduates. The veterans had no time to meet and discuss with other students and tutors. Tutorial, abolished during the war, could not withstand post-war indifference and crowding, and gave way to an advisory system. In view of Lowell's motives in founding the Houses, the move in retrospect seems almost unaccountable.

Reinstated following the 77 page Bender Report in November of 1950, tutorial is yet to receive the enthusiastic backing it once had. Indifference toward the tutorial system, which constitutes the heart of the educational aspect of the Houses, seems especially apparent in the fields of English and Economics, where department leaders have failed to give the necessary enthusiastic backing to the plan. In general, as long as advancement is based entirely upon scholarship, and little or no credit is given to men for the time spent in carrying out the duties of a good tutor, tutorial has a small chance of succeeding.

The University itself has not helped the full return of tutorial in depriving tutors of free lunch meals in their Houses. Dean Bender, an ardent supporter of tutorial, has said if he had ten million dollars to sink into any one project at the present time, he would unhesitatingly choose to use it to bolster tutorial.

Perhaps the major advancement of the House Plan since the war has been the incorporation of the assistant deans into the Houses in the role of Senior Tutors. Also recommended by the Bender Report, this move has recharterized the dean's office in a less impersonal light and given each House a real autonomy. The question again is: will the men involved receive due credit and advancement even though they spend half their time on administrative problems?

In the meantime, the spectre of increased growth lies ever before the system and must be faced. In opposition to the belief that Harvard must expand to maintain its national character is the argument that the college has a deeper primary obligation to undergraduates to turn out a quality product. The House Plan is a vital link in producing such a product.

What is needed is not only an eighth House but a ninth House to take care of the additional 1,000 students added since President Lowell and Harkness initiated the Plan.

On Mt. Auburn St. stands Claverly Hall. It is a visible reminder that the issue of subdividing Harvard is far from entirely settled. Before money can be raised to build additional units, the President and administration have got to come out openly in favor of at least one more House. Rumor is that Pusey is now moving in such a direction. A fine site and possible location for one unit is the land now used by the Hygiene Building. Another might be the land beneath Claverly.

To the average indifferent Harvard undergraduate it makes small difference whether he lives in crowded conditions or not. The history of subdivision is dotted with many ideals, less fulfillments. To the administrator and educator if should be clear that the potential of the House Plan is yet to be reached