Frederick S. Allis, Jr.
Youth from Every Quarter



DURING THE Fuess and Kemper administrations a number of developments occurred on Andover Hill that would alter the face of the School. Some involved changes in the curriculum. Toward the end of the period the English Department developed a new course entitled "Competence," designed, through a new approach, to teach students to write more effectively. The course was an instant success, as was attested by articles about it in national news magazines, and has had substantial influence on the curricula of other schools. The Mathematics Department, in addition to adding new courses in advanced mathematics, acquired a computer, which gave a new dimension to the teaching of mathematics and has been extensively used by the administration as well. The number of history courses increased from five to over twenty and offered students for the first time instruction in such subjects as the history of education, of the family, and of women, as well as more conventional fields like Russia. The Science Department, in addition to adding advanced courses in physics and chemistry, expanded their offerings in the life sciences with subjects like ecology. The Language Department developed new courses in Russian, Italian, and, for a time, Chinese, in addition to enriching already existing courses in French, Spanish, and German. The so-called direct method, whereby only the foreign language to be studied is spoken in the classroom, which had been pioneered by Dr. James H. Grew, was used not only with French, where it had first been tried, but with all languages. Dr. Grew also tried the interesting experiment of having qualified Seniors teach first-year courses in French. A fully equipped language laboratory was set up which enabled students to listen to tapes of the language being studied and also to test their own pronunciation. A brand new department came into existence with the establishment of courses in psychology, while the number of offerings in the field of Religion increased markedly. The Oliver Wendell Holmes Library steadily enlarged its collections, until today they consist of well over one hundred thousand books. A new Teaching Fellowship program was set up under which each year ten or so college graduates would come to the School as apprentice teachers who, it was hoped, would choose the teaching profession as their life work. Among other things, this program proved to be an extremely useful recruiting device in hiring new teachers. Meanwhile undergraduate extracurricular activities proliferated, particularly after the abolition of the Societies. The School publications like the Phillipian continued to flourish, and new clubs were formed. One year an energetic group of undergraduates set up a mock Senate, where they tried a President on impeachment, debated various pieces of legislation in the news at the time, and engaged in intricate parliamentary maneuvers. All of these changes were important and interesting, and all could well be discussed at length. They took place within the existing framework of the School and were, therefore, primarily evolutionary. This chapter, however, will be devoted to a discussion of five changes that broke sharply with the past---the explosion in the Arts, the transformation of Andover Summer Session, the reformation of the Department of Archaeology, the development of new policies and procedures in Admission, Scholarships, and College Admissions, and the development of cooperation between Andover and Exeter.



In 1955 Oliver Jensen, '32, was asked by the School to poll Andover alumni from representative classes to find out what they thought about the School. From among many interesting findings, the following was particularly striking:

The most remarkable development, from the standpoint of the older classes at any rate, is the rise of art---which in my day was something we heard they kept in that new gallery, and which we left there, undisturbed. Obviously something constructive has been done to change the atmosphere. Whatever it was that once wrapped so fundamental an aspect of culture in an aura of sissification . . . seems to have disappeared. The art-loving class of 1951, in fact, still doesn't think the subject is getting enough attention.(1)

Though Jensen is talking about the visual arts, similar developments have taken place in drama, music, and, more recently, the dance. Many factors have contributed to this important change at Phillips Academy: in the first place the number of teachers in all phases of the arts has grown from four in the early 1930's to some fifteen in the early 1970's, not counting members of other departments who work in the field of drama; secondly, the various departments of the arts have not simply grown in size; a group of extraordinarily imaginative and forward-looking men and, more recently, women have developed programs in the arts with great appeal for the undergraduates; thirdly, the construction of the Arts and Communication Center in 1963 provided, for the first time in the School's history, adequate facilities for the study and practice of the arts; and, finally in the 1960's courses in the arts provided a welcome relief to an alienated generation from the rigidly structured cognitive courses that characterized most of the Andover curriculum.(2)

The first major breakthrough for the arts in the history of Phillips Academy, as noted earlier, was the construction of the Addison Gallery of American Art in 1931 and the acquisition of a distinguished collection of paintings and sculpture by native artists to go with it.(3) It was the hope of Thomas Cochran, who was responsible for the building and a good part of the collection, that if Andover boys could be surrounded by beautiful things, their lives could be immeasurably enriched. Cochran suggested that the first Director of the Gallery be Charles Sawyer, son of his dear friend James Sawyer, the School Treasurer. When Thomas Cochran suggested something, it was usually done, and Charlie Sawyer soon took over. Because he had some background in the law, in addition to his interest in the arts, he proved an ideal museum administrator. He soon had the permanent collection hung, and he worked hard at finding and purchasing new acquisitions. In this work he was assisted by the Addison Gallery Committee, which Cochran had established to oversee the purchase of new works of art. Charlie Sawyer also arranged a number of loan exhibits designed to attract the interest of the community. Among the more important were "The International Exhibition of Theater Arts," "Water Colors by Contemporary Americans," "The Works of John Sloan," "Works of Maurice and Charles Prendergast," a show of the drawings of Walt Disney, and "Water Colors, Drawings and Prints by Winslow Homer."(4) It was Charlie Sawyer's ambition to have the Gallery serve the community in general and the Phillips Academy students in as many ways as possible. He was particularly anxious to have the boys receive instruction in drawing, painting, and modeling. "But," he wrote, "The aim will not be to produce artists at Phillips Academy. It should rather be the purpose to show that an ability to draw represents neither eccentricity nor talent but may be as much a part of a complete cultural equipment as the ability to write."(5) At the time he took over, there was an informal Sketch Club that reached a few boys, but it was not until the appointment of Bartlett H. Hayes, Jr., in 1933 that regular instruction in painting and drawing was made possible. When the Gallery was built, no real provision had been made for studios, and so the painting classes had to be conducted in a spare room in the basement that was far from satisfactory. Though a start had been made, it would take a long time for the new Art Department to convince the undergraduates that art was something they should concern themselves with, and during the 1930's progress toward achieving this end was slow.

In 1940 Charles Sawyer left the Addison Gallery to become Director of the prestigious Worcester Art Museum, where he was to work until, later, he went to Yale. He had laid a firm foundation for the work of the Addison Gallery; it remained for his followers to carry through what he had begun.

Bartlett Harding Hayes, Jr., of the Class of 1922,
Director of the Addison Gallery of American Art, 1940-1969.

Sawyer's successor was Bartlett H. Hayes, Jr., who would hold the position for twenty-nine years, from 1940 to 1969. During that period he made the Gallery---and himself---nationally, even internationally, known. Though Bart Hayes's interests were catholic, his greatest achievements were in the shows he mounted. Some of the most interesting were based upon pictures from the permanent collection, rather than imported works. For example, "Architecture of a Painting" was built around Edward Hopper's "Manhattan Bridge Loop," an item in the permanent collection. The purpose of the show was to teach viewers by a close examination of this one work of art. Limitations of space prevent mention of more than a few of Bart's exhibitions, but some of the more significant showed works by Mahonri Young, Hans Hoffman, and a group of European Artists Teaching in America. Each year there were striking exhibitions of the work of the students themselves. Accompanying all the important shows were handsomely printed brochures, reproducing important pictures in the exhibition and including perceptive texts. Bart the gallery director and Bart the teacher were never far apart, and several of his exhibitions were didactic. "The American Line: One Hundred Years of Drawing" traced the development of American drawing over the past century and illustrated how the changes that had taken place reflected changes in American society generally. "The Naked Truth and Personal Vision" instructed the viewer how to look at a work of art and how to distinguish between the raw material the artist had started with and what he had done with it. Finally, "A Layman's Guide to Modern Art" proved to be an immensely popular explication of this difficult subject, and the resulting book was widely sold throughout the country.

Bart was also interested in helping Andover alumni who were artists. For example, one exhibition presented paintings and mobiles by Donald G. Outerbridge, '42. Nor were the exhibitions limited to the Andover community; several traveled widely to other galleries and museums and brought the names of the Addison Gallery and Phillips Academy to many people throughout the country. It is probable that more people know about Phillips Academy through the Addison Gallery than through any other single agency of the School.(6)

The work of the Gallery since 1969 has been ably carried on by Christopher Cook, Bart's successor. He has focused particularly on artists who live in the area around Andover, with painters from Lawrence and Boston, for example, represented in exhibitions. Other programs illustrative of Chris Cook's determination to involve the Gallery with the surrounding communities have included the public schools of the area. The most innovative of his programs is one devoted to work with patients at the Danvers State Mental Hospital. Believing that the study and practice of art can help emotionally disturbed people deal with reality and not escape into fantasy, Chris organized classes in painting and drawing for the patients. One man who had not spoken for years started to talk again after working in this art program. Chris also had the patients make videotapes of themselves so that they could see themselves in action. Arrangements were made for the patients to visit the Addison Gallery on a monthly basis. The result of all this was a show that was astonishingly competent; it went on tour throughout the country. Chris Cook annoyed some people by moving the ship-model collection to the basement, but justified the move on the ground that no room in the Gallery should ever be permanently static.(7) The Addison Gallery has been fortunate in its three directors---Sawyer, Hayes, and Cook. They are all very different, but each has contributed innovative programs for the institution, and together they have made it nationally known.

At the same time that the Gallery was developing into a national institution, important changes were being made in teaching art to Andover undergraduates. The first breakthrough came in 1933, when the Faculty voted to establish a two-hour minor course for Upper Middlers as an introduction to art and music. Originally this course spent two terms on art and one on music, but later it was half and half. As first conceived, the art course was essentially a history of art, depending heavily on slides of famous masterpieces. It was not generally successful, the main reason being that it was another cognitive course, similar to those the boys were already taking; no chance was given students to learn about art by practicing it themselves. In an attempt to improve this situation in the late 1930's a course entitled "Studio Art" was offered; it would serve as an alternative to the introductory course. At about the same time "Advanced Art" was established for Seniors who had taken studio art the year before. Bart Hayes taught the studio course at the start, but he soon became Director of the Gallery and a new man was needed. The person selected was Patrick Morgan, an extraordinarily gifted art teacher. Not only did he make things sing in his studio; he and his wife Maud, a distinguished painter in her own right, became father and mother confessors for countless numbers of boys. At a time when many of the faculty still conceived their relationship to the boys as one of cops to robbers, Pat and Maud Morgan treated them as equals, and their house was continually thronged with undergraduates. Much of this general popularity was transferred to the art program and helped to make it acceptable to the undergraduates. Pat Morgan's job was not an easy one. In 1948 he wrote a perceptive article suggesting that there were two major hindrances to the success of an art program in a secondary school: lack of facilities and the curriculum. Though lack of facilities was bad enough---Pat was still teaching in the Gallery basement---the real problem was the curriculum. Not so far back, he suggested, it was assumed that a man would marry whatever culture he was to possess and thus there was no point in art programs. Some schools had used art as therapy for maladjusted students, with the result that art classes became a kind of asylum. But the real problem was the colleges, which looked with suspicion on art courses offered for admission. Until the colleges changed their tune, it would be difficult for secondary schools to develop adequate programs. And this was all the sadder because elementary school children loved art and wanted to continue with it. If only the curricular hurdle could be jumped, Pat predicted a flowering of art programs that could provide excitement and insight for many boys.(8) Pat, unfortunately, left Andover in 1957 and thus never saw the flowering he was talking about. But while he was here, he was a rare spirit.

Some minor changes were made in the art courses in the late 1950's and early 1960's. The studio course was modified and an art major was offered. But this was nothing compared with what happened with the completion and dedication of the Arts and Communications Center in 1963. This handsome complex consisted of a small auditorium, a lounge, rooms for painting and drawing, sculpture, photography, and manual arts, an experimental theater, and an audiovisual center. This latter included four small rooms, where three or four people could see a movie or a slide tape; a larger room, where a whole class could be handled; and facilities for movies to be shown in the Kemper Auditorium. John Kemper used to worry about this new building. Would it be used enough to warrant the large sum of money that had been expended on it, he wondered. He did not need to fear: the building was a catalyst, stimulating all kinds of creative endeavor on the Hill. In charge of the Audio-Visual Department was Gordon G. (Diz) Bensley, '42, who had joined the Faculty as a young art instructor in 1948. It was not long before he decided to develop an audiovisual department to serve the entire School, and despite handicaps of space and lack of equipment he made progress during the 1950's. In this venture he was ably assisted by technician Aloysius (Lolo) Hobausz and his wife Lillian. Midway in the decade Diz was given the old Faculty room in Samuel Phillips Hall, which could seat some seventy students, and began selling his services to his colleagues. The most obvious type of audiovisual presentation was, of course, the movie. If a French class could see a movie on Paris or an English class a movie like Man for All Seasons, it could greatly enrich their classroom experience. Yet movies had problems. They were prohibitively expensive to buy, which necessitated renting them; in addition, in many cases, the movie did not provide what the teacher wanted. Diz Bensley, therefore, became a great shouter for the slide tape. This involves making a number of slides of the teacher's choice and then recording a commentary on tape. In its most sophisticated form, the slides are put in a projector and synchronized with the tape through magnetic markings on the latter so that the whole show is automatic. Slide tapes take a long time to make, but they can easily be revised by introducing new slides and need never become frozen, like a movie. Under Diz's prodding more and more Faculty members began to make use of his services, and with the opening of the Arts and Communications Center the whole program was stepped up tremendously. Theoretically, five different showings could occur at the same time, and the small showing rooms made it possible for students who had missed an earlier showing to catch up. Partly as a result of the new facilities and the excitement of the new building, members of the Faculty began to make slide tapes. Wayne Frederick of the History Department, for example, produced a splendid one on the American cowboy. At the same time, the number of rented films increased. This is not to say that more use might not have been made of the facilities; many Faculty members have not found a way of adapting their class programs to them. But on balance the Audio-Visual Center has been a striking success, and Bart Hayes and Diz Bensley, who were responsible for the concept, deserve accolades.(9)

The Audio-Visual Center was only one part of the effect of the Arts and Communications Center on the art program in particular and the School in general. For the first time in the history of the School, adequate facilities for a wide variety of art courses were made available, and the Department was quick to take advantage of them. More important, it changed the whole concept of art teaching at Phillips Academy. The aim of the Department now was to give each undergraduate an experience in creative work in the arts. The old Introduction to Art, where the students were passive spectators and the material cognitive, was done away with the year after the Center opened. The following year there were new offerings in painting, architecture, furniture design, sculpture and photography, and in the next few years the list lengthened to include graphics, filmmaking, animation, ceramics, kinetic art, and a course called contemporary communications, given in conjunction with the English Department.(10) In making it possible for each student to have the experience of creating something in the art field, the Department found that photography was the most useful vehicle. A student with an inexpensive box camera could be turned loose anywhere on the campus to learn by experience the relationship between his picture and the object he photographed. Though some believe that too great an emphasis has been placed on photography, it is hard to fault the Art Department when the number of students that must be dealt with is considered. And the other art courses are flourishing as well. If anything else were needed to demonstrate the increased interest in art, course enrollments would furnish it. In 1976-77 Andover enrollment for term-contained courses in the field was 1041. To be sure, some students took more than one course, but at a conservative estimate over six hundred individual students took one or more art courses that year. Courses in the history of art have been transferred to the History Department, where they probably belong, and the present offerings of the Department are strictly noncognitive. Though it is true that the most important parts of a school are the faculty and the students, a new building can sometimes bring about revolutionary change. That has certainly been the result of the Arts and Communications Center, as the flowering of art programs bears witness.



In large measure because of the Puritan antipathy to the stage and all its works, drama did not become a significant activity at Phillips Academy until well into the twentieth century. In the 1850's, for example, rumors that Harriet Beecher Stowe went to the theater in Boston did much to make her suspect in the Andover community. At the turn of the century a Dramatic Club was formed which presented, among other works, She Stoops to Conquer, with boys taking the girls' parts, but this organization appears to have died out in a few years. In the 1920's interest in the drama revived, and a newly organized Dramatic Club put on at least one production a year, again with the boys playing the female parts. In 1931, for example, the club presented The Queen's Husband, with the late Max F. Milliken, '31, in the leading part.(11) Drama at Phillips Academy continued pretty much in this same state until after the war. An exception occurred in 1937 when the Faculty presented Prissy Hallowell's Many Happy Returns. She not only wrote it but played the leading role of Mrs. Hogstrap. The production was directed by Allan T. Cook of the English Department. The play, a hilarious farce, included the delivery of a coffin to the wrong address, with Mrs. Hogstrap hiding in the coffin; the arrival on the scene of Dark Stable, a famous movie star; and various cloak-and-dagger complications that all eventually got sorted out.(12) The undergraduates were highly appreciative of this effort, which went far to convince them that the Faculty were human beings after all, not just policemen. (The production was repeated in 1955, with John M. Kemper playing the role of Wretch, the butler.)

A breakthrough in the direction of more professional productions came in 1948, when some students asked Pen Hallowell to put on Othello. No one had attempted Shakespeare before, though the Ben Greet players had occasionally performed plays like As You Like It before the School in the 1930's. Pen Hallowell decided to take the students up on their request, and thus began a series of distinguished productions of Shakespeare plays that would continue into the 1960's. Hallowell was interested in Shakespeare for two reasons: the challenge of producing him and the conviction that acting in a Shakespearean play would be a unique learning experience, far more valuable than anything to be learned in class. Once the Shakepeare tradition had become established, the Andover community was treated to Macbeth, Hamlet, Antony and Cleopatra, The Merchant of Venice, King Lear, and others. The beauty of these productions was greatly enhanced by the striking sets built by the stage crew under the direction of Hart D. Leavitt, with assistance from members of the Art Department. Instead of having boys play the female roles, Pen turned to the Faculty wives and discovered talented ladies able and willing to play the female parts. Particularly outstanding were Audrey Bensley as Cleopatra and Ethel Whitney as Desdemona. Director Hallowell describes his procedures as follows:

The casts for our plays have usually been built up around one or two actors who seemed to be "naturals" for the major parts . For them and their supporting casts, Shakespeare has become a part of their life. It means work, time and patience on their parts. On the average, each play is given 70 hours of rehearsal time on the stage. In addition, special drill in articulation, inflection, blank verse, posture, walking, gestures, even sitting, is necessary for individuals who, without the drill, might suffer by comparison with the better actors in the cast. In the interest of consistency, regional accents are levelled off as much as possible. Self reliance is encouraged by making it clear at the first rehearsal that no prompting is allowed, once the lines have been learned. The usual reason an actor forgets a line is that he has not learned to concentrate on the stage action. He allows himself to be distracted from this world of make believe .... If overall improvement is slow, scenes are recorded on a tape and played back to the cast. And so ad infinitum---work to eradicate any clumsiness which might tend to destroy the audience's illusion. Perfection can't be reached, of course, but we won't admit it until the play is over.

There is just one question that I have been asked many times. I should like to answer before closing: "Must you spend so much time on the plays?" The answer is emphatically, "Yes!" To learn the lines is one thing. To declaim the lines with actions is another. To feel the lines is still something else. That takes time.(13)

It might be added that Pen Hallowell carried out his promise of no prompting by coming out and sitting in the audience on performance nights. Nor did the actors' academic records suffer, despite Faculty fears. For some time Faculty members had noticed that members of the football team did better in class during the season than afterward, when they had more time to study. The experience of the actors was another example of the same phenomenon. Taken as a whole, the Shakespeare productions were a smashing success, and the boys who participated in them never forgot the experience.

In 1955 a group of students organized the Drama Workshop, designed to give undergraduates more opportunity to engage in all phases of the drama. It was described as "an organization to teach boys, through experience, the mechanics and techniques of acting, directing, staging, designing, and producing dramatic productions."(14) The group believed that the Shakespearean plays, though admirably presented, did not give students a large enough share in the manifold activities that go to make up a dramatic production. They hoped to offer several one-act plays in the fall and a full-length play in the spring, leaving the winter for Shakespeare. The fall one-act plays or fragments of longer plays would be presented primarily to the members of the Drama Workshop, rather than to general public. Despite these praiseworthy aims, the Workshop never really got off the ground. In the first place, it had no permanent home and wandered about from White Auditorium to Peabody House to the Addison Gallery to George Washington Hall. Play production was obviously difficult under these circumstances. Nor was student support encouraging. The Phillipian panned many of their productions, and eventually the leaders came to the conclusion that they must present popular pieces like Arsenic and Old Lace and The Ten Little Indians if they were going to capture and hold an audience. The original aim of experimenting with different kinds of drama had to go by the board.(15) All of this changed when the Arts and Communications Center was completed in 1963. Part of that project included the construction of an experimental theater under the main stage of George Washington Hall. The main stage itself had been reequipped and modernized as part of the program. The Drama Lab, as the experimental theater soon came to be called, was another instance of how adequate facilities can stimulate activity in a given field. Once the Lab group had a place to roost, their activity increased tremendously. Partly because it was the 1960's and partly because of the facilities of the new building, students in the Drama Lab began to branch out into all kinds of experimental theater. They started slowly; in their first year they produced Saroyan's Hello Out There, O'Neill's In the Zone, and Beckett's Waiting for Godot, among other works. The next year saw the introduction of plays written by the students; after all, all activities were carried on by undergraduates. Some of the success of this venture was due to an arrangement with the Athletic Department whereby boys could be excused from a term of athletics to engage in various types of dramatic activity. The next year the Drama Lab group established a workshop in which Seniors instructed interested Lowers and Juniors through various kinds of dramatic exercises. From the late 1960's on, the Drama Lab has become more and more avant-garde. Works of Beckett, lonesco, LeRoi Jones, Pintner, and Brecht dominated, indicating the desire of members to look into every phase of the modern drama.(16) All of this led to a rivalry of sorts with the main-stage productions in George Washington Hall, the Drama Lab group insisting that Faculty direction was not necessary for the successful production of a theatrical work. Yet the two different dramatic activities have each continued without serious opposition from the other. Dramatic activity reached such a peak that in 1973 Headmaster Theodore Sizer appointed Harold Owen, '42, a member of the English Department, as Chairman of the Committee on the Performing Arts. As such he also has supervision of Dance, which Phillips Academy acquired as a result of the merger with Abbot and which has grown in popularity among both boys and girls ever since. Like the visual arts, drama provides the undergraduates with the opportunity for a noncognitive personal experience in art. This was a major purpose of the Arts and Communications Center, and in the field of theater the hopes of its builders have been richly fulfilled.



Unlike the visual arts, music has had a long history at Phillips Academy. While at Governor Dummer, Samuel Phillips told his family of the "superior singing" that the undergraduates were producing. Eliphalet Pearson was a musician of note: he played the cello, trained the school choir, and was a musicologist of sorts. In the early days of Phillips Academy the Trustees voted to provide a music master, though none seems to have been found. At the early Exhibitions, musical selections appear on the program, often with imported groups like the Germania Band or the Boston Cadet Band. After the 1870's the students took an active interest in music. As noted previously, there were a School choir and glee club, various quartets, a banjo club, and a mandolin club. Like athletics during this period, these organizations appear to have been primarily student inspired; certainly the Faculty provided no rigorous musical training.

The modern period of music at Andover started with the appointment in 1912 of Carl Friedrich Pfatteicher as Director of Music, a post he was to hold until 1947. In many ways Pfatteicher was not suited to teach music in a boys' school. He was first and foremost a scholar, his specialty being the work of Johann Sebastian Bach. He edited a learned edition of Bach's works that is still highly respected among musicologists. Though he would never have admitted it quite that bluntly, he really thought that no music worth the name had been written since 1900, and except for Wagner, he had doubts about nineteenth-century works as well. He waged a continual war against modern jazz, barbershop songs of the nineties, and sentimental Victorian music generally, and he complained vigorously when he was criticized by musical illiterates. For him there was no substitute for the best, and that meant, for the most part, German music of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

Over the years 'Pfatty' Pfatteicher was able to develop an excellent choir and glee club, a small orchestra, and a number of students who excelled as soloists. To encourage boys to join the choir, three bribes were offered: a free cut from chapel each week, or credit for a minor course on their schedule, or a small weekly stipend. Partly as a result of this system there were always more applicants for the choir than could be accepted. Applicants may also have been influenced by the fact that for concerts with girls' schools, the choir became the glee club and could enjoy the dance that followed the concert. It was always a hard fight to field an orchestra. Because there were not enough instrumentalists among the students, the orchestra had to be strengethened with various ringers from time to time. Dr. Pfatteicher's instrument was the organ, and he was never tired of bragging about the magnificent Martha Cochran Organ in the Cochran Chapel. In large part because of his enthusiasm for the instrument, a number of boys each year took organ lessons from him. Mention has been made in an earlier Chapter of the distinguished concerts held at Andover in the 1930's and 1940's. These were, for the most part, a result of Dr. Pfatteicher's taste and drive. Yet despite his accomplishments, he always bemoaned the fact that so few boys at Andover were musically literate. He liked to tell the story of a boy who came to him and said, "I play cello, but my mother wants me to play football." And then the good doctor would go on to say that until music had the same respect among the undergraduates that football did, the situation would be unsatisfactory. To buttress his case he used to remind boys that Bach sired twenty children---certainly no sissy could have done that. Next to his complaint about undergraduate lack of interest in music was his dissatisfaction with existing facilities for music. To be sure, with the construction of the Cochran Chapel an excellent choir practice room had been provided, but there were still not enough practice rooms for individual students and not enough instruments for those who could not afford to buy them. What was needed was a new building, designed for musical activities, that would both meet the present demand and encourage others to elect music as a field.

A student who knew Carl Pfatteicher remembers him as follows:

As I saw it then and now, Dr. Carl Pfatteicher of Park House remains a kindred soul. Gemütlichkeit flowed from him, from his wife Lillian, and even from the overstuffed Dalmatian, Specky. Many a Sunday afternoon was spent, alone, in that Bavarian study overlooking the soccer fields, listening to the New York Philharmonic and occasionally looking greenwards through the leaded windows. The whole Park House group were congenial; the leader most of all.

Dr. Pfatteicher conducted the glee club and choir, played the organ in post-chapel Sunday recitals, dispatched brass quartets to the top of the Bell Tower; and otherwise sustained the musical life of Andover. Philosopher, theologian, and musician all in one, he was (except for the medical degree) our alter-Albert Schweitzer. Andover was his Lambarene. He was not really happy there. He escaped briefly on Saturday nights, going to Symphony with his students . . . . When once, ill-advisedly, he returned to see the changes which Art Instructor Pat Morgan had made in Park House---conservative pictures having given way to Avant Garde Modern Art---his wisdom seemed corroborated.

Yet for a long time Andover was his locus. Who of us in the glee club can forget the admonition: "Remember, lads, this is a concert followed by a dance---not a dance preceded by a concert!" He was hurt when some in the community objected to the choice of "The Mikado" as a Phillips-Abbot enterprise in 1943, while the war was going on. Individuals like my roommate took it amiss that Pfatteicher stressed performance on the trombone rather than motivation. Many did not share his enthusiasm for J. S. Bach, or his high-decibel interpretations of the master. Freddy Boyce, the Physics master, publicly disparaged the notion that sympathetic vibrations could shatter glass, on the grounds that (were the theory valid) the chapel windows would have been long since gone.

One Saturday afternoon my roommate and I went up in the chapel organ loft on a surreptitious inspection. Unbeknownst to us, the good doctor was about to practice. Suddenly, the "St. Anne's Fugue" broke forth, shaking all the pipes in the forest. As the poet says: "Such violence. And such repose." The doctor, in his wisdom, would surely have understood. It was he who allowed a student into the Bell tower, ostensibly to play "Ein' Feste Burg" for the general edification. When, instead, "Little Brown Jug" emerged, the master's chagrin knew no bounds.(17)

Toward the end of his career Dr. Pfatteicher finally agreed to put on a Gilbert and Sullivan opera with Abbot Academy as the spring musical. He was dubious about the project from the start, but at least it was not jazz. Much to his surprise he found himself enjoying the production thoroughly, and when the actual performance was received with acclaim by the undergraduates, he was as pleased as punch. For that rest of his career a Gilbert and Sullivan was mounted each year. How sad that he waited so long to compromise a bit with the Phillistines. He was a man who set high standards for himself and the School and who could be easily wounded by some imagined slight. He once wrote Al Stearns a letter accusing Al of cutting him dead after a Vesper Service. Al replied that he had not remembered seeing him on that occasion. Yet for many boys his contagious enthusiasm for great works of music rubbed off on them and stayed for the rest of their lives.

With the retirement of Carl Pfatteicher in 1947, the driving force went out of the Music Department for some time. The essentials of the Pfatteicher program were maintained, with choir, glee club, and orchestra continuing to function. Some distinguished spring musicals were given jointly with Bradford Junior College and with Abbot Academy---Carousel and Brigadoon, for instance. During this same period a School marching band was organized; its productions between the halves at football games were stirring.(18) But when plans for the Andover Program were drawn up, Music found itself the stepchild of the arts. The Department was then housed in Graves Hall, a building that had gone through various reincarnations since its life as the Science Building. For a while the School Laundry was there; junior members of the Faculty had taught there; after the war it had been used as a Civil Defense Headquarters. The building was old, the walls were thin, the acoustics disastrous, and it could not provide adequate quarters for the Music Department. Yet the Andover Program made no provision for correcting this state of affairs, and partly as a result, music did not share in the explosion of the arts that followed the construction of the Arts and Communications Center. Inadequate facilities can adversely affect student interest in a field, and this was undoubtedly true to some extent with music. Interest was rekindled after the merger with Abbot, and in the last few years William Thomas and a group of able assistants have bucked up the program. If, at long last, it can get adequate facilities, Music should once again take its rightful place among the arts at Andover.



During its thirty-five years of existence, the Andover Summer Session has gone through several metamorphoses until today it bears little resemblance to the institution established in 1942. Originally designed as a war measure to help Academy students accelerate their secondary education, build them up physically, and teach them skills useful in the armed forces, the session became, after the war, basically a testing ground for prospective students and gave the School's Admission Office a chance to select the most promising performers for admission in the fall. This role was continued throughout the 1950's until, in 1960, it was decided to make the Summer Session almost completely independent of the Winter Session, to eliminate make-up courses, and to recruit public school students vigorously. In 1964, for the first time in the history of Phillips Academy, girls were enrolled, and since that time a number of experimental courses and programs have been instituted. More recently, attempts have been made to recruit minority students, a program that, on balance, has probably been more successful than the similar one in the regular session. What those in charge of the Summer Session have been aiming at is a "national public summer school."

Mention has already been made of the first Summer Session in 1942 with its aims of enabling Andover boys to accelerate in order to graduate before the age of eighteen, to develop physically through a demanding body-building program, to give them experience in various kinds of manual labor, and to offer repair programs for those who had failed courses.(19) Later wartime sessions followed much the same course as the first one, though the curriculum was broadened to include more liberal arts courses in the belief that these would be useful to future officers.(20)

A high point of the 1945 session was the announcement by President Truman of the surrender of Japan. All the school bells were rung, and the students assembled in George Washington Hall to sing the Star Spangled Banner and listen to a short address from the director.(21) After the war the Summer Session adopted a conservative stance, its major purpose being to help Phillips Academy students who needed extra study, or prospective students who needed a preliminary experience with Andover standards. For a while the Admissions Office sent to the Summer School a substantial number of applicants to the regular session, after which they would compete for ten or fifteen places that might still be open in September. This exercise was brutal, as numbers of small boys tried frantically to beat one another in the competition; often at the end of the Session there were more eligible candidates than there were places. Fortunately, the practice was dropped after a few years. From the beginning, the Summer Session was conceived as an institution where experiments of various kinds were made in order to see if particular policies or courses should be adopted in the regular session, but in the years after the war the Summer Session was essentially conservative. Writing in 1949 Floyd T. Humphries, the Director, spelled out some of his suggestions for the future.(22) He hoped to see the introduction of courses in Greek and Latin; more emphasis on music, the visual arts, and reading; and departmental experimental courses. He thought a major effort should be made to help boys with language disabilities and blind spots in mathematics and suggested the establishment of clinics for each group. Interestingly enough, he thought the Session should have a stand-by program ready for use in time of war and recommended getting advice from the military for such a program. He pointed out that most of the Andover Faculty who taught in the Summer Session did so from economic necessity and expressed the fear that they would go stale if they continued to teach summer after summer. He hoped that every third year a member of the Summer School Faculty might receive a summer sabbatical with pay. Finally, he hoped that the Session might develop policies to attract more public school students, and hoped that a more generous scholarship program might be established to that end. But the Session was still to be tied closely to the regular session as the remedial programs and the testing of candidates for entrance into the Academy in the fall indicated.

As time went on, the Summer Session became more and more divorced from the regular session, until today it is for all intents and purposes a completely independent institution. In 1960 the first big changes were made, under the Directorship of Robert Hulburd. After that year, no Summer Session course carried Phillips Academy credit; the Session was reduced from eight to six weeks; a mandatory six-hour course in English composition for all students was introduced; review and make-up courses were dropped; and the screening of prospective candidates for the regular session was eliminated. Coupled with these changes came the gradual elimination of grades. From the start no grades were given in the English composition courses, and bit by bit the other courses fell into line. The result was that teacher and student alike could concentrate on achievement rather than worry about marks. There was also a proliferation of new courses, such as The Art of Communication, Probability with Application to Elementary Statistics, Research in Biology, Contemporary Drama Workshop, and Atomic Physics. Those in charge of the Session were apprehensive that these changes might result in a falling off of applications, but the reverse proved to be true, the student body increasing by over 50 percent between 1960 and 1964. In 1964 came a truly momentous change when, for the first time in the history of the Academy, girls were admitted. Despite dire predictions of sexual orgies among the students, the transformation to coeducation was accomplished smoothly and, as we shall see, played an important part in preparing the way for coeducation in the winter session. The Faculty became coeducational as well. Another innovation was the engaging of ten Teaching Assistants---able college students who assisted in many aspects of the Summer Session program and worked closely with an experienced teacher.(23) Now, with increased scholarship funds available, the Summer Session has been able to diversify the student body far beyond what was true in its earlier years and has been particularly successful in enrolling representatives of minority groups. In this respect it has been able to go further than the regular session. Since the mid-1960's, therefore, the Summer Session has continued to grow toward its aim of becoming a national public summer school. It has served as a laboratory for experimental courses, many of which have later been adopted in the regular session, and for other experiments, like coeducation and elimination of grades. Finally, it has meant that instead of lying fallow all summer, as was true in the pre-War period, the Phillips Academy plant is being used constructively during almost the whole year.



"You know, I don't think many alumni know anything about the Peabody Foundation, and I'm sure that very few undergraduates do," remarked a recent alumnus who was always one for perceptive remarks.

His words, classic in their understatement, report all too truthfully the fact that the Andover family goes happily on its way in complete ignorance of a side of the Academy that is known to scientists concerned with man and complexities of his life, throughout North America, Great Britain, and Europe, and even behind the Iron Curtain.(24)

This statement by Douglas S. Byers, Director of the Robert S. Peabody Foundation for Archaeology from 1939 to 1968, points up a dilemma that the Foundation has had to face almost since its inception. It will be remembered that Robert Peabody, in his letter of gift to the Trustees, said that he hoped that the building to be constructed would be pleasant and attractive, that the Curator would be "of such a character and manner as would invite the approach and inquiries of students who might feel an interest in any point and desire to obtain explanation regarding it; to make it a pleasant place where students might find an agreeable relaxation during the broken moments which occur in the lives even of those most closely pressed."(25) This desire of Mr. Peabody's has, over the years, proved impossible of fulfillment, and for good and understandable reasons. In the early years of the Foundation lectures on archaeological subjects were given frequently and were well attended. In addition, a few boys studied under Dr. Warren K. Moorehead, the Director, and sometimes accompanied the staff on summer expeditions. As time went on and the space in the museum became more and more in demand for collections and exhibits, it became clear that Mr. Peabody's hope that the Museum might become a social center for the students was not going to be realized. Accordingly, in 1911 Dr. Moorehead suggested to Dr. Charles Peabody, son of the founder and a top-flight archaeologist in his own right, that a kind of annex be constructed near the Museum to provide such a social center, the money for construction to be taken from the Peabody funds. With the approval of the Trustees what became known as Peabody House was built and dedicated in 1915. But this did not solve the problem either. Although some undergraduate activities took place in the house, they usually consisted of special meetings, and the building never became a center to which students would repair. In the basement, as previously noted, there was a grill, run by the redoubtable Jim Riley and his wife, where undergraduates could buy sandwiches and where they were allowed to smoke. Populated by what were called "grill-hounds," this establishment eventually became so unsavory that it was discontinued. Finally, nothing that went on in Peabody House had anything to do with archaeology. In the 1930's some of the staff of the foundation, resentful that Peabody Foundation money had been used for the construction of the building, investigated the original letter of gift and with the aid of counsel came to the conclusion that the money spent on Peabody House had been in effect a breach of trust. But the Trustees insisted that they were trying to carry out Robert Peabody's desire for a social center for students and refused to budge. Since the staff were not about to go to court, the dispute finally died, and the various attempts to tie the School into the Department of Archaeology failed. One of the major reasons was the steadily increasing professional work of the staff-work that forced them in 1917 to abandon lectures and classes for the undergraduates. It was clear that if the staff had to choose between professional work and popularizing archaeology for the students, they would opt for the former.

But if Mr. Peabody's dream of undergraduates swarming around the museum, being introduced to archaeology, never came to pass, his basic aim of establishing a scholarly Foundation that would contribute to the knowledge of ancient man was realized many times over. Under Warren K. Moorehead, Douglas S. Byers, Frederick Johnson, and Richard MacNeish, the Foundation has engaged in a wide variety of archaeological digging and has published a distinguished set of scholarly bulletins. Dr. Moorehead---later known as "Wigwam Willie" because of his work with Indians(26)---had, as first Director, to get the Museum's collections in shape, especially the one donated by Robert Peabody. Additional gifts swelled the collection, until by 1905 it numbered over 60,000 artifacts. That same year Moorehead wrote to Charles Peabody, "the cases are not only full inside but underneath every case is packed solid with thousands and thousands of implements .... all the closets in the building are filled to overflowing."(27) With the Museum itself under control, Dr. Moorehead turned to other matters. In 1909, at the request of the United States Commission on Indian Affairs he investigated the claims of the Chippewa Indians that their land and timber were being stolen from them. He was able to prove that many of these claims were true, and the grateful Chippewas presented him with a ceremonial war flag. Starting in 1912 the Foundation began a series of expeditions to the Penobscot River in Maine to study the past history of the "Red Paint People." Not only did they find a large number of artifacts, but they also discovered the source of the Indians' paint, thereby disproving the claims of another group of archaeologists who believed that European explorers had furnished the paint. While this was going on, the Foundation embarked on what was to be a long study of the Pueblo Indians in the Pecos Valley in New Mexico. This enterprise was under the direction of Dr. Alfred Kidder of the Peabody Museum in Cambridge, who was, in effect, loaned to the Andover Foundation for this purpose.

Before he was through---in 1958---Dr. Kidder was able to reconstruct a Pueblo town and acquire a large number of artifacts.

His major contribution, however, involved stratigraphy in American archaeology. According to the law of stratigraphy, in a series of strata the lowest is always the oldest, the uppermost the youngest. Many American archaeologists had been convinced that while stratigraphy might apply in the Old World, the record of man in the New World was too short for its application. Dr. Kidder refused to accept this. At the Pecos site he found nine layers, indicating nine different periods of habitation. As Douglas Byers has put it, "All modern archaeological research is based on the foundation which Kidder cemented into place."(28) In addition, foreign artifacts at the Pecos site indicated the existence of trade with other tribes, while European china and iron dated the arrival of the Spanish.

Space does not permit a detailed account of all the other projects undertaken during the period when Warren Moorehead was Director. He investigated the Cahokia mounds near St. Louis and was instrumental in preventing their destruction as a result of the city's expansion; at the request of the Department of the Interior he visited an Iroquois tribe in Northern New York and recommended that the government should leave them alone; as a member of the Board of Indian Commissioners, a position without power and without pay, he fought hard to get politics out of Indian affairs and to get better people into positions of responsibility. He was active in so many things that he may have spread himself too thin. In his later years he had little time for the Museum or the Foundation collection, and both suffered as a result. Yet a start had been made: the Museum had been built; a large collection had been acquired; and a number of expeditions had been mounted.

The Peabody Foundation entered a new era in the 1930's when. Douglas S. Byers and Frederick Johnson were appointed to the staff. Byers was Harvard-trained and had been a "baby dean" at Harvard. Johnson, from the age of thirteen, had spent summers in company with an older friend in the wilds of Northern Quebec and had then studied at Tufts and the University of Pennsylvania. Each had acquired a high degree of professional competence. For all his enthusiasm, Wigwam Willie Moorehead had never been fully accepted among professional archaeologists, and one of the aims of the two newcomers was to establish the reputation of the Foundation among scholars throughout the country and convince them that Phillips Academy was no longer supporting a moribund institution. One of their first tasks was to renovate the Museum itself and to refurbish its collections. This involved the remodeling of three exhibit rooms so that items from the Foundation's collections could be properly shown, and washing, sorting, and in some cases cataloguing the thousands of items in the collections so that they could be properly stored. Doug Byers also reintroduced a course in archaeology for undergraduates that has been taught, in one form or another, to a small number of students ever since. At about the same time Stuart Travis painted one of his striking picture maps on the west wall of the museum, a work that combined cartological and archaeological information in a most effective way. With the museum in better order, Byers and Fred Johnson were able to begin studies on the archaeology of New England, particularly to try to establish stratigraphic sequences in the area. In order to determine the difference, if any, between remains in various parts of New England, they worked one summer on Martha's Vineyard and published an article on their findings. They later moved to Maine, where they discovered a sequence, but one very difficult to interpret. This led to consultation with scientists in other fields---botanists, geologists foresters, zoologists---and helped pave the way for the interdisciplinary, cooperative ventures that have become a characteristic feature of modern archaeology. It should be added that much of the manpower for these excavations was furnished by Phillips Academy undergraduates, who worked for $1.00 a week but ate high on the hog. One of the most interesting opportunities for research came in connection with the so-called Boylston Street Fishweir, parts of which were uncovered when foundations were being sunk for three new edifices in Boston's Back Bay---the New England Mutual Life Insurance building, the John Hancock Life Insurance building, and the International Business Machines building. The foundation for each was sunk through a structure of poles and brush. thought to be an Indian fishweir, giving archaeologists a rare opportunity to study what was surely a very old structure. Commenting on the work done at this site, the present Director of the Foundation, Richard MacNeish says: "the Boylston Street dig saw a real use of interdisciplinary techniques with studies of pollen, sedimentation, botany, chemistry, mollusks, oysters, foraminifera and so on."(29) Stakes from the IBM site yielded a radiocarbon date of approximately 2500 B.C. Frederick Johnson was the member of the Foundation staff most actively engaged in this study. Finally, a group of studies in Maine and other parts of New England enabled the Foundation staff to push back the date of the earliest human societies in the area to 8000 B.C.

Both Doug Byers and Fred Johnson retired in the late 1960's, to be succeeded by Richard MacNeish, an archaeologist of wide experience and a prolific scholar as well, with more than one hundred titles in his bibliography. One of his major concerns was the origin of corn, the resulting development of agriculture, and its effect on the rise of civilization. Much of his recent work has been centered on the so-called Tehuacan Project in Mexico. Several volumes on this project have already been published, with more to come. When completed, these studies promise to be an outstanding contribution to archeological literature.

The staff of the Peabody Foundation has done much more than dig. They have enhanced the reputation of the Foundation by participating actively in professional organizations and in the editing of scholarly articles. Doug Byers, for example, became editor of American Antiquity, the journal of the Society for American Archaeology, just before the war and managed to publish a distinguished journal despite such handicaps as wartime shortages and authors who vanished into the service. He is also editing Scotty MacNeish's studies on the Tehuacan Valley, a monumental job in itself. Different members of the staff also held leading offices in various learned societies. Alfred Kidder held many positions in the American Anthropological Association, including its Presidency, and Fred Johnson also served as Treasurer and President. Fred received an honorary degree from his alma mater Tufts, in 1966 and in 1977 was cited by the Department of the Interior for his contributions to archaeology. Scotty MacNeish was recently elected to the American Academy of Sciences, one of the highest honors an American scientist can receive. These offices and honors are a clear indication of the respect that professionals have for the staff of the Peabody Foundation. In addition, the Foundation mounted a number of conferences, the first held by Alfred Kidder at Pecos in 1927 and later ones at Andover. These conferences were true pioneering efforts and did much to advance the concept of cooperative effort among archaeologists.

The position of the Foundation in Phillips Academy is unique. Though based in Andover, all its archaeological work is done elsewhere---sometimes at very considerable distances from the School. This also means that it is difficult for the staff to integrate closely with the School community. As a result (noted above), most of the community is unaware of what the Foundation is doing. Yet if the success of the institution is to be measured by its reputation in the outside world, there are few departments of the School that can equal Archaeology. If Robert Peabody could have seen all this, he would have believed his gift to Phillips Academy to have been worthwhile.

Chapter Eighteen, continued

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