"Establish the law for educating the common people. This is the business of the state to effect and on a general plan." --THOMAS JEFFERSON
A grapefruit-sized eightball rests on the president's desk. Perhaps no other symbol could as well represent six years of trials and tribulations for Dr. J. Paul Mather, president of the University of Massachusetts and center of one of the greatest educational controversies in the history of this state. During the six years of his fight to achieve relative independence from the state governmental bureaucracy his black hair has turned almost white and his forehead became crossed with lines of worry; aged 44, Mather looks closer to 55.
The University of Massachusetts--UMass--had long since thrown off the the "agricultural school" odium before Mather moved into the presidency in 1954. But primarily through Mather's efforts the Amherst school is raising itself from the lower ranks of educational society into the upper reaches--despite the interference of the state legislature. The short-sighted efforts of a few senators on Beacon Hill brought about the president's resignation early last month, ignited public controversy, and demonstrated the tremendous changes in the seam-splitting state university.
Salary Issue Vital
Adequate salary scales for faculty members ostensibly touched off the entire controversy. Able educators quickly turned away when they heard the UMass emoluments; full professors started at $6,812 per year, and could earn a legal maximum of $8,684, slightly less than half the comparable salaries at Harvard. But a larger issue encompasses many of the UMass problems: How much control should the state government exert over its land-grant college? Massachusetts has gained a certain notoriety for the inordinate amount of academic control held by the state legislature. For example, the University of Massachusetts cannot keep any fees paid to it--tuition, board charges, room rents--but must turn the money over to the General Fund of the Commonwealth.
To achieve a higher faculty pay scale, legislative approval had to be obtained. Last spring, the university's administration doubled tuition, from $100 to $200 for state residents, to make the pay hike possible. Massachusetts actually profited by the change. Some additional $644,000 would have been obtained, and only $479,000 disbursed to the faculty. Bill 1030, the pay-raise proposal, seemed certain of passage. Governor Foster Furcolo deliberated a special message ("high quality public education is the Commonwealth's greatest natural resource"); President Mather stumped the state and appeared before the powerful Committee on Education; and students rallied to the support of the bill.
Raise First Defeated
But Massachusetts politics is far from rational and its followers are distant from altruism. Senate president John E. Powers, now running for mayor of Boston, threw his political savvy against Bill 1030. After all, he reasoned, "We can't possibly compete with heavily endowed and high tuition universities for teachers." The AFL-CIO accused the university of attempting to establish "its own distinctive caste system that sets up discriminatory classification system identifying [teachers] separately and distinctively from everyone else." Finally the Senate Ways and Means Committee delivered the crushing blow by coupling the faculty raise with a general hike for all state employees, a bill that would eventually cost $12.3 million yearly. Thus Bill 1030 went down to defeat on August 14 before a group of economy-minded senators.
"A double-cross of the first order." President Mather minced no words in expressing his opinion of members of the State Senate following the defeat of the pay increase. "After all, we cannot attract professors with fresh air and a small town atmosphere. And the idea of a 'dedicated teacher' who completely ignores his salary is a great deal of bunk," Mather cuttingly remarked. Two days later, in order to call public attention to the legislature's actions, the president resigned his post effective June 30, 1960. He showed no intention of dropping his fight, however. "During this, my final academic year at the University of Massachusetts," Mather wrote in his resignation statement, "I plan personally to carry the major problem of the University--the need for better faculty and administrative salaries--to the legislature, the state administration and the electorate."
Students Support Mather
The student body quickly rallied to support their professors and their president. An effigy bearing the sign, "John Powers--Traitor" went up in flames (an apology was filed the next day), and a group of students drove the 100 miles to Boston to picket the state capitol. Governor Furcolo filed a special message with the legislature on August 24 which forced reconsideration of the salary issue.
Another three weeks of bickering, and the salary problem was solved. Although the state House voted to raise pay for teachers only, the Senate tossed aside all pretenses of economy and priority, giving faculty members hikes of $430 to $1,261, and an across-the-board raise of $360 to all state employees. Political compromise may have caused smiles on Beacon Hill, but the entire maneuvering cost the state one of its finest educators and administrators. Some senators resented Mather's resignation for the political sympathy it aroused and they misinterpreted his motives; one senator accused him of "trying to play the part of a martyr for education when he is actually scheming to protect his own selfish interests." The senator was utterly mistaken. Mather still does not know what post he will assume come next July. His resignation, however brought much public interest into the open; UMass may well have received more favorable publicity in the 31 days between the death of Bill 1030 and the passage of the compromise hike than in the 96 previous years of its history.
Though the university won the wage battle, it lost out in attempting to maintain a 13:1 student-faculty ratio. Legislative fiat revised this figure to 15:1. (Harvard's ratio is approximately 3.1.) "Even if we received the salary increase, we lost out," Mather comments wryly, "since professors are not interchangeable parts. The type of thinking--that a 13:1 ratio means there are 13 students to each class--is completely wrong. This makes professors only teachers; they must have time to think up ideas." With so much time necessarily devoted to instruction, few members of the UMass faculty have the opportunity for independent research, "the underpinning of a great university." Although great advances have been made to increase research--from $83,000 six years ago to $1.5 million last year--the lack of time for independent work remains one of the university's greatest drawbacks. Harvard has both the endowment and the research grants to make pioneering work possible; UMass is struggling to catch up with the rest of the nation.
From a sociological standpoint, other contrasts between Harvard and the University of Massachusetts become strikingly evident. Some 68 per cent of the fathers of students currently attending UMass never attended college; only 15.9 per cent of the fathers of Harvard '62 did not go to college. Over 42 per cent of UMass students's fathers work at "blue collar" jobs, but for Harvard the figure is only 8.2 per cent. Shannon McCune, Provost of the University of Massachusetts, estimates that fully 80 per cent of his students are lower- to middle-middle class.
Mass Education Sought
The philosophies that direct the two universities also lie poles apart. With the continually increasing number of applicants and the relative impossibility of expansion in Cambridge, Harvard is becoming more and more dedicated to an elitist education. Many apply; few are accepted. And this education is as expensive as it is selective. The state institution, on the other hand, is surrounded by farm lands which can easily be purchased for expansion, and with greater numbers of applicants the number of students will rise. State subsidies keep tuition costs low. Many apply--and many are accepted. Thus, the University of Massachusetts definitely favors expansion to accommodate an influx of new students.
More than any other factor, the problem of cost lies behind the efforts of the state college to expand. By means of this low cost, a public college can attract able students whose parents simply cannot afford a private education. Despite the preaching of Seymour Harris, it is doubtful whether 20year payment plans, interest-free loans, or other similar proposals will enable all persons to enter private schools. State colleges must expand to fill the gap. President Mather's latest report well illustrates this belief:
"In our rapidly growing population, regardless of the level of total productivity, there will always be a greater relative proportion of middle and lower income class people who have children deserving of a higher education but unable to pay the price of the private institution. . . . As the college-age population pressures generated after 1940 come upon all higher education in the next ten years, it is possible the private institutions should devote less of their energies to the problem of providing financial aid to needy students and gird up their internal programs against rising inflationary costs. Public institutions, by means of low tuition rates, can perhaps work more effectively on this problem of higher education without economic discrimination.
"In continuing to support a low nominal tuition rate at the University of Massachusetts, I would still maintain that the Commonwealth does not owe anyone an education. . . . What I believe the Commonwealth does owe its citizenry is public tax-supported higher educational opportunity in an amount that will enable all students with limited means but intellectual potential and motivation, to realize that potential to the utmost." Thus, the state university directly attempts to attract students that could not afford a private education--and in this respect the public and private colleges are complementary.
The desire of so many people to attend college cannot be denied. And to accommodate these hordes of new students, the University of Massachusetts has embarked upon an impressive expansion program designed to provide facilities for 10,000 students by 1963. At present, 4,852 undergraduates attend UMass along with a smattering of graduate students. The present freshman class of 1,758 would have been larger had additional dormitory space been ready; next year the freshman class may reach 2,000.
Expansion keynotes the UMass atmosphere. From almost every point on the 800-acre campus one can see new buildings arising: a new science center, a seven-floor addition doubling the size of the Goodell Library, a new women's dormitory, a liberal arts building. This expansion has definitely been keyed to the future, to the day when a student body of 10,000 will matriculate. Perhaps the most impressive document on display in the UMass information office is the Master Plan. Drawn up in 1954, this 42-page booklet talks airily of 15 more men's dormitories, 5,000 new parking places for student automobiles, re-routing of intrastate highways, a new stadium, field house, and two physical education buildings, 30 fraternities, plus many other such structures.
In five years, many of the new buildings envisioned in the Master Plan have become reality. The state government has appropriated over $26 million in this period, and an independent corporation, the University of Massachusetts Building Association, has spent $11.2 million for construction. The Building Association sells bonds and uses the proceeds for dormitories and other student facilities; at the end of a certain period of time, the buildings revert to the state.
One part of the expansion, the Student Union, has become the focal point of student activity in the last two years. The size of Sever, this building serves
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PLANETARY GOVERNMENT AND THE MIDDLE EAST
