Jambalaya [yearbook] 1975

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Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2010 with funding from
Lyrasis IVIembers and Sloan Foundation
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©Tulane University
Richard Scott Paddor, Editor
New Orleans, Louisiana
You need the best ingredients to
make a great /ambaJaya.
1975
)AmA[AWA
Richard Scott Padclor
Editor-in-Chief
Robert Eliot Paddor
Associate Editor
Alan E. Krinzman
Associate Editor
^'
Ernest M. Back
Administrative Assistant
Debra Luskey
Art Director
Joanie Cleary
Kathleen Edwards
Sally Sue Victor
Administrative Secretaries
Patrick Carney
Design
Professor Andy Antippas
Faculty Advisor
Stacey Berger
Assistant Editor
Robert Warren Swasey
Art Editor
Mark Sindler, Francisco Alecha,
Andrew Boyd, Grant Bagan,
Burgess Chambers, Toby Darden,
John Kelly Charlton,
Dudley Sharp, Rob Sharpstein
Photographers
Barnett Brimberg,
Matt Anderson, Mike Smith,
Avery Crounse, Wade Hanks
Contributing Photographers
^iT
PROLOGUe
IN COMPILING THIS VOLUME OF THE JAMBALAYA, IT
HAS BEEN OUR AMBITION TO REFLECT TRUTHFULLY ALL
SIDES OF STUDENT LIFE AT TULANE TODAY. EVERY
DEPARTMENT OF THE UNIVERSITY HAS BEEN GIVEN EQUAL
REPRESENTATION. WE BELIEVE THAT A COLLEGE ANNUAL
SHOULD BE MORE THAN AN INANIMATE CATALOG OF THE
EVENTS OF THE PAST YEAR, AND IT HAS BEEN OUR PURPOSE
TO PRODUCE A BOOK WHOSE EVERY PAGE FAIRLY GLOWS
WITH THE SPIRIT OF OUR ALMA MATER, AND WHOSE EVERY
PICTURE RECALLS SOME FOND MEMORY. WE HAVE
DREAMED OF A JAMBALAYA SUPERLATIVE — OF A JAMBA-LAYA
AMONG JAMBALAYAS. TO SAY THAT WE HAVE ONLY
PARTIALLY SUCCEEDED IS BUT TO RECORD HUMAN
FRAILTY. LOOK KINDLY ON OUR FAULTS AND ATTRIBUTE
OUR FAILINGS TO LACK OF ABILITY RATHER THAN TO
INSINCERITY OF PURPOSE. OUR SUCCESS LIES IN YOUR
APPROVAL. LET THE JUDGEMENT BE FAIR. PROCEED.
JOHN H. STIBBS
1909 - 1975
DEDICATION
AS AN EXPRESSION
OF OUR HIGHEST ESTEEM,
AND IN APPRECIATION
OF HIS UNTIRING WORK
FOR THE
UNIVERSITY,
WE,
THE 1975 BOARD OF EDITORS,
DEDICATE THIS,
THE LXXX VOLUME
OF
THE JAMBALAYA,
TO
THE MEMORY OF
JOHN H. STIBBS,
DEAN OF STUDENTS, 1951-1975.
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10
History Of Tulane
Gazing out upon the expansive vista of the Tulane Campus and the surrounding area af-forded
by a fourth floor window seat in the Howard Tilton Memorial Library, it is interesting
to recall the process by which Tulane University grew to its present proportions.
In September of 1834 the university made its "humble but honorable" beginnings as the
Medical College of Louisiana, with no definite income, eleven students, a faculty of eight,
and no home other than a few lecture rooms in the statehouse. The growth of the infant col-lege,
until the War was steady, but not phenomenal. The Civil War closed the University in
1860's and the war's aftermath brought grave financial difficulties. However, with the gene-rous
sponsorship of Paul Tulane, a wealthy New Orleans merchant, the University was once
again able to thrive.
Inl882, he set up the Tulane Educational Fund to be administered by a 17-man self-perpetuating
board. In 1884 the state legislature turned over the property and control of the
University of Louisiana to this Board with the addition of three ex-officio members. The Uni-versity,
now a private institution, was named The Tulane University of Louisiana in honor of
its benefactor.
Mrs. Josephine Louise Newcomb founded Newcomb College in 1888 as a memorial to her
daughter, Harriet Newcomb, who died of diptheria at age fifteen. Newcomb was the first
women's college in the country to be coordinated as a part of a university.
Today the University consists of 10 colleges, and is a campus of four locations: the main
uptown campus, the downtown medical complex, the Primate Center, and the Riverside
Research Laboratories.
The student body of today's Tulane may believe that their difficulties in dealing with the
university are only restricted to their era. This fallacy is quickly corrected when looking back
and finding that even problems in course selection existed for the alumni — only worse. In
1894 the catalogue of Tulane University said that the College of Arts and Sciences was "not
trusting in the ability of immature students or even of parents who have seldom duly con-sidered
the subject, the College of Arts and Sciences now offers four courses of study with
prescribed branches, each leading to a baccalaureate degree." The clash between the elective
system and the classical curriculum characterized the academic philosophy until the turn of
the century.
The male student of this period more often than not wore a moustache, his hair parted in
the middle and combed toward his ears. His suit was tight-fitting complete with vest, high
starched collars, derby hat and high laced shoes. Newcomb's coeds prided themselves on a
"Scarlett O'Hara" waist, and long flowing skirts that covered everything except her toes.
School spirit meant "shirt-tail" parades, bonfires, pep rallies, tears shed at the loss of a game
and dying for the dear old alma mater. Organized athletics came about in 1887 with track
being the major attraction as football did not enter New Orleans until the collegiates from the
East brought it down a few years later.
Students became a bit more emancipated in the era of the "flapper." Tulane professors had
to learn to accept the new coed image — rolled stockings and half exposed thighs — a far cry
from the protective long skirts of the earlier years. Inter-collegiate athletics occupied the
minds of students throughout the 1920's and 30's with football and tennis the most popular.
Sound familiar?
Tulane has seen troublesome times — struggles with poverty. Civil War and Reconstruction,
two World Wars and Depression. It has grown because of its founders, faculties and admini-strators,
its benefactors, alumni and students. In this year of 1975, Tulane stands as a com-posite
of its colorful traditions and its modern ideals.
11,
TULANE'S
ORIGINAL
SAINT CHARLES
CAMPUS
By William R. Cullison
Eittff^O jj'
Front Elevation, Gibson Hall.
Harrod and Andry, Architects. August 26, 1893.
12
By the late 1880's, the Common
Street campus of Tulane University,
as a result of increased enrollment
and growing curricula, became in-adequate
to the needs of the school.
Realizing that further expansion
within the already congested down-town
business district would be
difficult (even if it were desirable),
university officials began looking
for another solution to the problem.
Finally in 1891 property on St.
Charles was purchased with the
idea that the school should move as
soon as new buildings could be put
up.
In March of 1892, the University
invited architects to submit designs
in competition for a large "college
building" to be constructed on a
proposed new campus on St.
Charles Avenue across from Audu-bon
Park. According to the require-ments
of the competition, the pro-jected
building was to contain both
administrative facilities for the
school and classrooms. It was also
to cost "around $100,000" and to be
"constructed of brick or of stone, if
the difference can be made up."
Despite the fact that plans for
only one building were solicited for,
it was intended that the new Tulane
campus should from the start consist
of several other structures as well.
Depending upon the exact amount
of money raised, university officials
additionally planned to put up a
manual training hall, chemistry and
physics laboratories (these were to
be separate but were to match each
other in design), a library and a
number of others. While it is not so
stated in any of the sources pres-ently
available, it would appear that
the winner of the administration-classroom
building competition was
supposed to supply the designs for
these buildings also. (As it turned
out, this is exactly what happened).
For the proposed administration-classroom
structure (ultimately
Gibson Hall), the university re-ceived
a total of eighteen designs
from twelve different architects.
The majority of the designs were
submitted by New Orleans prac-titioners,
though there were also
entries from as far away as Birming-ham
and Cincinnati.
13
old Tulane Campus on Common Street,
(originally University of Louisiana). 1890.
14
At the judging of the competition,
held May 9, 1892, a committee of
university administrators and fac-ulty
selected as the winning entry
the design that was submitted by the
office of Harrod and Andry, a New
Orleans firm composed of architect-engineer
Benjamin Morgan Harrod
(1838-1912) and his young partner
Paul Andry (1868-1946). In choosing
the winning design, the committee
noted that it was "commodious,
adapted to the requirements of the
situation and a very handsome
structure."
Besides Gibson Hall, the final
building program for the new cam-pus
included four other structures.
These were: a physics laboratory;
a building comprising individual
sections for electrical and mechan-ical
engineering, a machine and
carpentry shop and a chemistry lab
(by this time, university officials
had decided to leave the separate
chemistry building to the future and
to include a smaller "temporary"
chemical lab with engineering);
another building housing a black-smith
and tin shop; and a power
house. According to the program,
the latter three structures were to
be grouped together, a situation
which soon caused them all to be
referred to simply as the "engineer-ing
buildings" or the "engineering
complex." (It was while drawing the
proposals for the additional campus
buildings that Andry reworked his
original scheme for Gibson Hall;
the new design was also presented
and approved on May 26, 1893.
In late August of 1893, the con-struction
drawings for Gibson and
the physics lab were completed, and
at the bidding held the following
month Thomas Nicholson of
Chicago was awarded contract for
both. Because Nicholson's bids
were somewhat under the amount
allotted for these structures, Tulane
officials immediately began to dis-cuss
the possibility of including in
the building program the since-forgotten-
about separate chemistry
laboratory. To find out if the ad-ditional
structure was economically
feasible, the university bid the final
drawings for the engineering com-plex
— these were completed a
short time later — both with and
without the temporary chemical
facility.
On December 12, 1893, New
Orleans, builder John McNally was
found to be the low bidder for each
of the two slightly different engi-neering
proposals, and two days
later the university's administrators
declared the cost differential
($12,000) large enough to allow for
the extra building without a budget
overrun. Accordingly, McNally was
authorized to build the engineering
complex without the temporary
chemical lab and Harrod and Andry
were commissioned to draw plans
for the new one. The contract for
the chemistry building, drawings,
for which were finished in January
of 1894 and bid the following month,
went to Thomas Nicholson.
15
,,H„„is central Railroad S.a.ion (Union S'a"on^ R^P^J. SJ-tj^Now O^Jean.
16
Work was begun on Gibson Hall
and the physics laboratory at the
end of 1893. By May 1, 1894, both of
these buildings were nearing com-pletion
as was the engineering com-plex,
begun in the early part of the
same year. The chemistry building,
begun a few months after the en-gineering
complex, was at this point
not so far along. All the buildings on
the new campus were finished by
the summer of 1894 at which time
the university moved from its old
quarters on Common Street.
With reference to the layout of
the new campus, Gibson Hall was
situated near and parallel to St.
Charles roughly equidistant from
the lateral boundaries of the uni-versity
property. Some distance -
behind Gibson were located the
physics and chemistry labs (these
are now history and the computer
center, respectively), one to either
side of the campus and quite close
to its edges. The latter two buildings
also faced toward the campus and
quite close to its edges. The latter
two buildings also faced toward the
Avenue but were placed at a slight
angle to the former, giving a feeling
of enclosure to the open space
created by the three structures and
suggesting a typical college quad-rangle.
As for the new engineering
complex, this was situated adjacent
to and behind the chemical lab run-ning
toward Freret Street.
While Gibson Hall was intended
all along to occupy a prominent
position at the front of the campus,
there appears to have been little
thought given initially to just where
the other buildings were to be
located. Indeed there is strong evi-dence
that the other structures were
actually designed before their par-ticular
locations were determined.
It would also appear that at no time
during the planning and execution
of the initial building program was
there serious thought given to any
sort of proposal for future univer-sity
development. While there are
today preserved in the Tulane
Library several site plans for the
original St. Charles campus, these
show only structures proposed at
various times during the planning of
the initial building program and
none projected for the future.
As can be seen in the present
building, the final design for Gibson
Hall was largely based upon Harrod
and Andry's prizewinning compe-tition
entry. While of rockface stone
as originally proposed, the building
has, however, no bell tower and its
central and end pavilions are less
pronounced than in the earlier
scheme.
17
Paul Andry at his drafting table.
1890.
Prizewinning competition
perspective for Gibson ^j^,^.. _
.
Hall, 1892. Harrod and ,^_ais,
Andry, Architects. - -,-~ ~ — i^^-^^j' m
PLAN OF JUGCC-JTED IWPn,OV£ME/Jrj'
-
—TULANt GCOUNDJ
—
' ¥ BfndEBWCEIj-
Suggested master plan for Tulane, 1910.
Andry and Bendernagel, Architects.
18
At the same time, what in the first design
was a random assortment of variously-sized
round and segmental arched windows is now
at the first floor a continuous row of large
identical round arched openings and at the
second a series of smaller double round
arched openings with triple arched openings
in the center of each of the main elevations.
As constructed, Gibson also has much less
decorations than the competition proposal,
the only ornament appearing on the building
around the main entrances, in the dormers
and in the gables of the central pavilions.
Andry's designs for the physics and chem-istry
labs are stylistically similar to Gibson,
i.e. basically in the style of Henry Hobson
Richardson, but a good deal simpler both in
form and detail. Built of pressed brick with
stone trim, these repeat the latter's rectan-gular
shape, central gabled pavilion feature
and neo-Romanesque detail. Their boxish
regularity, fenestration (arched windows be-low,
rectangular above) and low hipped
roofs were, however, undoubtedly in-fluenced
by the old Union Railroad Station
on Rampart Street.
The original Tulane engineering complex
has been largely added to or otherwise al-tered
through the years and while difficult
to pinpoint is nonetheless almost all still
standing. The most easily recognized part of
the design today is the mechanical labora-tory,
now the Civil Engineering Building.
Constructed, like the rest of the complex,
completely of brick, this is a heavy two-story
Richardsonian derivative with a high hipped
roof and recessed arched entrances, the
enormous patterned "voussiors" of which
are made entirely of headers. Less well pre-served
than the mechanical structure but
nonetheless substantially intact is the elec-trical
laboratory, now the William B. Greg-ory
Hydraulics Lab. This still retains its
original walls, but its high hipped roof and
cupola (the latter was patterned after that on
the Union station] is now replaced with a
second story of recent vintage. The remain-ing
portion of the lab, clearly Richardsonian
in spirit, is detailed in a manner similar to
the adjoining mechanical building.
Although Tulane's newly-completed St.
Charles plant was an improvement over its
Common Street predecessor, even it did not
meet all the needs of the school. While well
equipped with classrooms, it had, for
instance, no facilities for non-academic
activity — a gymnasium had been mentioned
for inclusion in the initial building program
but because of financial restrictions had
been eliminated — nor any dormitories.
(Students from out of town were forced to
board with families living near the school).
Also conspicuously absent was a separate
library. A separate library had, as was
noted, been considered early on in the plan-ning
of the new campus but as much for lack
of books as for lack of money had not been
built. (Until such time as a building could
be put up, the university's library was to be
housed in Gibson Hall). Tulane officials
were well aware of the need for these ad-ditional
facilities, however, and it was not
long before they began to plan for them.
By 1901, work had begun on the first
structure to be put up on the new campus
since the completion of the original building
program — the F. W. Tilton Memorial
Library. This was soon followed by a series
of other buildings including a dormitory,
refectory, more classrooms and several
additions. These however, constitute the
second phase of construction on the cam-pus
and as such lie outside the scope of this
essay.
William R. Cullison is curator of prints
and drawings at the Howard-Tilton
Memorial Library of Tulane University.
19
DINWIDDIE HALL
20
RICHARDSON MEMORIAL
21
JOSEPHINE LOUISE HALL
22'
Mrrumtpdtm
Herbert Longenecker
President of Tulane, 1961-1975
24 .
Jambalaya Message
1975
... as I approach a new phase in life . .
.
In 1935, an instructorship in biochemistry at Penn State tipped the scales for me in favor of
an academic career and away from either industry or the professional musician's world.
Now, after forty years in university service — two as a post-doctoral research fellow abroad,
seventeen as a faculty member and dean at the University of Pittsburgh, five as vice president
of the University of Illinois at the Medical Center, and fifteen as president of Tulane — a
major change is about to occur and with it, an invitation to contribute a few lines for a student
yearbook.
Many thoughts crowd into one's mind in an attempt to respond. Only a few can appro-priately
be shared here.
Pleasant thoughts stem from: — the truly outstanding Tulane student body only a few hundred of whom it has been
possible to know as individuals each year; — the dedicated faculty and staff members, and their husbands and wives, whose interest
in the student's growth and maturation is unflagging despite handicaps under which they
have often had to work. — successful alumni, contributing to the quality of life in their communities in all parts of
the world. — thousands of loyal friends of the university whose connection is maintained by deep
interest in the university's people and programs;
— courageous and dedicated board members whose timeless energies have formulated,
guided, and defended, when necessary, the policies of Tulane;
— the respect in which Tulane is held wherever one goes in the world — as one of just 23
private universities in the United States among 59 total major research universities;
— the enormous increases in financial support from both private and public sources for
Tulane and the translation of that support into a steady stream of improvements in the
university's facilities and programs.
There are a few regrets, too: — that there was never enough time to know well every one of the splendid and delightful
students and faculty and staff members; — that fiscal resources fully commensurate with the needs and the potential for Tulane's
leadership role were unavailable; — that the increasing financial dependence on public funds will almost certainly diminish
Tulane's independence in its future decision making.
Summing up, one thinks of the basic purposes for which Tulane University exists. In Paul
Tulane's words, his gifts that brought about the university as we have known it were ". . . for
the promotion and encouragement of intellectual, moral and industrial education . . . for the
advancement of learning and letters, (including) the arts and sciences . .
." His objective in
giving, joined by countless thousands of others, has indeed been achieved.
On a personal note as I approach a new phase of life, I am reminded of the words of an
anonymous writer who said:
"Youth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind. It is a temper of the will, a quality of the
imagination, a vigor of the emotions .... Nobody grows old living a number of years. People
grow old only by deserting their ideals .... Whether seventy or sixteen there is in every
being's heart the love of wonder, the sweet amazement at the stars and star-like things and
thoughts .... You are as young as your faith, as young as your self-confidence, as old as your
despair ....
(Receiving) messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage, grandeur, and power from the earth,
from men, and from the Infinite, so long are you young."
25
John H. Stibbs
Dean of Students, 1951-1975
26
For Jambalaya
The Jambalaya has honored me greatly in this 1975 edition. This marks the 25th anniversary
of my serving Tulane University as its first Dean of Students. I accept your recognition with
deep appreciation.
You have requested some comments from me at this time, and were kind enough not to limit
my remarks. I should like to remind you that I have simply filled a necessary position. After
all, we need florists, dentists, zoo keepers, and deans of students. I want you to know that in
spite of continual crises, such as the big student demonstrations of the late '60's and other
campus problems, I have, in my way, enjoyed every minute of it.
A strange analogy comes to my mind. It is expressed in a line from Kipling, in one of his sea
verses. Except for this one line, the poem is hardly worth notice. The ship is at sea, and a
cockney Londoner, who is a common seaman with a background of indifferent hard work,
falls sick and dies. At the simple burial ceremonies, the Captain orders the canvas shroud
with the lead weights to be slipped over the side. He directs the man's friend, another
cockney, to say a few words. The friend paused briefly, and then with blunt certainty spoke
up, '"E LIKED IT ALL!"
I want to thank the students of several generations who have become, through a variety of
contacts, my close personal friends. I have written and deposited in the library a short volume
of memoirs of the twenty-five years of my student deaning. In this volume, I have acknowl-edged
in detail my indebtedness to colleagues and students who have served with me faith-fully
during these years. I hope this cross-reference will meet to some small degree a re-sponsibility
I feel in preparing this necessarily short statement.
During recent months I have learned something about myself — most particularly, that it is
not as easy as I thought to leave the post I have occupied for a quarter of a century. I find that
I have become involved not only in the "little" world of Dean of Students, but also in the
greater problems of the whole University. Without displaying my ignorance, let me say that I
have some sense of the awesome problems that stand before us in the immediate years to
come. In this University we have a multiplicity of schools, colleges, divisions and service. But
what is needed at Tulane is a multiplicity within unity. The alternative is separatism. If we
fail to work together, we will retreat into a divided multiplicity — pre-law, pre-medicine, a
separate women's college, and football dorm at the Dome. This is not what the students want.
This is not what the members of the faculty want. Both students and faculty want to be a part
of a united Tulane University.
A collegiate institution, like a civilization or a work of art, is something put together. The
ingredients, of course, must be there. If you would be first rate, the ingredients must have
quality. At the college or university, the quality student is essential — certainly not the sorry
fellow who won't work and wishes himself in the Virgin Islands, or some other faraway place.
But with all the ingredients, and with quality in each, there has to be a fusion. Arnold Toynbee
has written about the "Second Challenge" that causes a civilization to draw together in
strength and grow in stature. The mystery of the Taj Mahal, Michelangelo's David, and the
Mona Lisa, in each case, a wonderful fusion of ingredients into a unity. This feeling of unity,
this University spirit, is a great and wonderful thing. It can be promoted; it should be worked
on at all levels. AND WE OUGHT TO BE ABOUT IT!
Let me turn again to the field of letters, this time to John Milton. His deep interest in edu-cation
and the driving force of goodness in man should be an inspiration to us all. His power-ful
ringing words of faith should challenge our thinking, as we plunge forward in the work
that lies ahead at Tulane. Milton's mighty statement should guide us and inspire us with con-fidence
as it did those who had to meet the searing problems of the Cromwellian Era, "There
is no power human or from Heaven that can war against the good in man!!"
27
Robert A. Scruton
Director of Security, 1960-1975
28
Foreword: The editors of the Jambalaya asked me to write a story about my job at Tulane
because I am retiring January 1, 1975. Here it is
Auf Wiedersehen
by Robert A. Scruton
I'm turning in the badge at 62. It is flattering that many students and professors have asked
me to stay on. But 26 years in the infantry, 3 shooting wars, and 16 years as Tulane's Security
Director are enough. I don't rebound from long hours and lost sleep like I used to. It's time to
change the guard.
The increasing demands of the job can be measured by the increasing number of Ma Bell's
instruments I have in the office and my home. I started out with one in the office and one
bedside. Now I have nine in the office and three in the house. They all ring more or less
constantly. Most of the problems are human ones; mine is a "people job." I do almost as much
business over my home communication center as I do in the office — that's a lot of humanity.
But after all, Tulane is a city inside a city.
My first human problem came on a sleeting winter morning in 1959. The bedside phone rang
at 3 a.m. and Fred, a freshman, said he was in jail. He confessed to a few of Pat O'Brien's
"Hurricanes" and to sassing the cops. He needed $100 cash to get sprung. Could I help?
"Do we have a hundred in the sock?" I asked my wife.
"You can use the house money," she said.
So I took the house cash, went to the jail, sprung Fred and brought him back to his dorm. He
paid me back in a couple of days and I got a call of thanks from his father. Somehow it made
me feel good and worthwhile. Fred, a Tulane Law School Grad, is an attorney in the city now
and tells me he'll return the favor anytime.
Word of the new "service" spread fast. Soon I was a fixture at the lockup, getting the kids
sprung. Most charges were minor, what you'd expect from youngsters in a swinging town.
Hell, I'd done the same thing for my GI's when I was a company commander. I've seen a lot
of jails and they're no place to stay any longer than you have to. I guess I've sprung 3,000
frightened people in my time at Tulane, including professors and staff. It was hard on the
sleep but good for the people. As I said, mine is a people job.
29
Not all the calls for help were so uncomplicated. One midnight in February 1960 the bedside
phone rang and the desperate voice of a girl said: "Colonel Scruton, I'm going to kill myself in
a minute. I'm just calling to give you my name and where you can find my body." She gave me
the address of a motel on Chef Menteur.
"Will you talk to my wife just a little, honey?" I said.
She talked to Leila for 30 minutes — long enough for me to get to the motel. She hung up
just as the manager and I rushed into her room. She had a chance to swallow only a few pills.
I put her into the car and raced her to Health Service, where Dr. Trickett waited to pump her
out. Just as we were leaving the manager said: "Hey, she owes eight bucks rent! And keep it
out of the papers, will you bud? Ain't good for business."
So I threw him the rent and kept it out of the papers, and Paul Trickett pumped her out. But
the real life-saver was Leila. That girl would have died without a woman's voice to allay her.
When you're very young and a love affair goes sour, it often seems that suicide is the only way
out. Leila often helped in similar emergencies and wild rides to motels on the outskirts of the
city. When she died in 1965 I lost not only a wife but a member of the team. Yet I am a lucky
man; my present wife, Leona, is a lady of endless patience and understanding, often remind-ing
me that, though I have no kids of my own, I have a big family at Tulane. Amen!
Although I did not know it then, doing all this for others was to be a big help to me in the
years of student turbulence ('69 and '70). By that time I had an image of going out of my way to
help others. The kids respected me, even liked me, though I always did my damndest to get
them a stiff lick of Dean's discipline when they got too far out of line. We understand each
other very well. In 1963 they promoted me to General and were later to give me their top
prize — the John H. Stibbs Award, named in honor of Tulane's first Dean of Students.
I had a lot of other things to do besides being helpful, in those early years at Tulane. I had
to learn my way around the thicket of committees and how to deal with the traffic chaos. I've
never really licked that one. I've found that everyone is in favor of traffic enforcement except
when it is applied to them. Then you get denounced. It is necessary to understand this "people
principle" in order to maintain serenity while you're being denounced. I have a good pro-fessor
friend who gets tickets. Then we play a game. He comes to my office and denounces me
for 10 minutes while I listen serenely. Then I say:
"That will be ten bucks. Make out your check payable to Tulane." We're good friends. He's
also a philosopher.
30
And there were other things to do. I had to get my cops — the Greenies — around to my way
of thinking, a philosophy of campus law enforcement, and I had to learn how to cope with the
numerous panty-raids of the era. One thing I learned about those affairs was that unless you
can stop them before they get really going, you may as well relax and enjoy it. We haven't had
one for quite awhile — "streaking" may be "in" these days — and I very much hope the kids
don't stage one in honor of my retirement.
There was a really nasty problem in those days. A large con-fraternity of outsiders, who
today would be called "gays" but were then known by a less gentle term, had infested the
campus. Some would alight from trains and head straight for one of our facilities which shall
be nameless. They couldn't wait! It was a sticky wicket. But after all, Tulane is a city within a
city.
Getting more money out of the Administration was another tough problem, like staging a
successful raid on Fort Knox. But I managed to wheedle better pay for the Greenies, radio
equipment, and a patrol-car ambulance — the celebrated Car 6. When we got our first car we
stencilled it up all policey looking and then the question came up what number we'd call it.
"Why don't you call it car 6," a Greenie Sergeant said. "Then everyone will think we've got
lots of cars and the campus is well-policed."
So Car 6 it became. We've had seven Car 6's in my time, but only one at a time. The seven
sixes have transported about 11,000 ill and injured to medical help all over the city.
I had enough to do in those early years to keep me on 80-hour weeks, but the truly ugly
problem didn't hit me until 1967. As the national and city crime rate soared, our unfenced
campus got its share. Drugs. Muggings. Attempted rapes. Robberies. The campus actually
became dangerous. Along with the pros of football in the Stadium came pros of another kind.
More and more often the Greenies were in Criminal and Municipal Courts, testifying against
those they had arrested. I reorganized my department to cope in 1968, and we're still coping.
It's a tough situation.
Yes, tougher than '69 and '70, our years of student unrest.
I'm not going to say much about those years. Perhaps in the 1980s some historian, armed
with the perspective of time, should write that story for the archives.
31
I'll say only this — for me it was another kind of combat. Those marching, hollering, dem-onstrating
kids — the "enemy" as some called them — were my friends. You don't tear-gas
your friends. You don't bring in the riot squads. In fact, you disarm your Greenies to make
sure that no tragic accident occurs. You overlook a lot of things and you don't make petty
arrests. You have to know that the kids were frenzied by the articulate persuasion of a very
few. You keep the cool and you have to find the right words — exactly the right words — to
tell the kids. There was an incident, one of many, that makes the point.
A Greenie was accused of rapping the knuckles of a freshman at one of the flagpole dem-onstrations.
Right away a cry went up. Police brutality! Police brutality! Rapidly a great
caucus assembled in the then "occupied" University Center. The alleged victim got up and
shouted that a Greenie had knocked the sh out of him.
"I don't see how you say that," I said. "You still seem to have a lot left in you."
It brought down the occupied house. I don't know how I found just the right words. They
may have made up for all my mistakes.
Still, there was a lot of tension, including 408 bomb threats. In one stress period I never left
the campus for 30 days. It was the one time my Leona complained.
"When are you coming home?" she'd demand over the phone. "I'm tired of being alone!"
So we compromised. She'd come to me in the office with one of her gourmet meals. She is
unquestionably the finest cook in New Orleans, as those who have tasted her food, including
students, can vouch. (The Underground Gourmet would give her five stars, a Generalissimo of
cuisine!) And along with the food she'd bring me a stiff bourbon, my pills, fresh clothes, and
lots of wifely advice — a real member of the team.
We're near the end now. I've saluted the big generals in my time — MacArthur, Eisenhower,
Bradley, Patton — and won a collection of the better combat awards. But I do not think I
saluted the generals with the same sincerity that I now salute the students of Tulane. And
that award they gave me — it's right up there with the best I got for another kind of combat.
Well, that's it. Some say I should write a novel about this, but I do better with the shorter
stuff. So — briefly — Auf Wiedersehen — to the students, the staff, the faculty, the Admini-stration
— and the Greenies who loyally serve the University.
32
ADMINISTRATORS OF THE TULANE EDUCATIONAL FUND
Edmund Mcllhenny
Chairman of the Board
Edmund Mcllhenny,
Chairman
Gerald Louis Andrus,
Vice-Chairman
Sam Israel, Jr.,
Vice-Chairman
John Winston Deming,
Vice-Chairman
George Shelby Friedrichs
Ford Mulford Graham
Frederic Bigelow Kelleher
Alden James Laborde
Floyd Wallace Lewis
William Blanc Monroe, Jr.
Lanier Allingham Simmons
Charles Gabriel Smither
Edgar Bloom Stern, Jr.
Arthur Joseph Waechter, Jr.
Ex Officio
The Governor of Louisiana
The Mayor of New Orleans
The State Superintendent
of Education
Board of Administrators
(Advisory)
Charles Leverich Eshleman
George Shepard Farnsworth
Clifford Freret Favrot
Darwin Shriever Fenner
Richard West Freeman
Leon Irwin, Jr.
Jacob Segura Landry
Lester Joseph Lautenschlaeger
Joseph McCloskey
Joseph West Montgomery
Clayton Ludlow Nairne
Isidore Newman
Ashton Phelps
Marie L. Wilcox Snellings
George Angus Wilson
Anthony Percy Generes,
Secretary-Treasurer
Invited by the Board
Frank Thomas Birtel
Jean Marie Danielson
Wayne Shaffer Woody
Students Elected
Peter Kohlman
George Ann Hayne
Scott Wagman
33
David R. Deener
Provost/Dean of Graduate School
Albert Wetzel
Director of Development
Jessie Morgfin
Business Manager
Samuel Hulbert
Dean, School of Engineering
William Turner
Dean, School of Architecture
Joseph Sweeney
Dean, Law School
[ames T. Hamlin
Dean, School of Medicine
Wayne Woody
Associate Dean, Law School
Fred Sutherland
Dean, School of Social Work
]nsf;[ih Gordon
Dean, School of Arts and Science
ohn McDowell
Assistant Dean, School of Arts and Science
Robert Wauchope
Director of Middle American Research Institute
Dorothy Dale
Director of Admissions, Newcomb
Anna Many
Emeritus Dean, Newcomb
Buddy DeMonsebert
Business Manager, Athletics
Rix Yiird
Director of Athletics
Bea Fields
Director, Alumni
Activities
Dr. Patrick Hanley
President, Alumni Association
Joseph Hammill
Director of University Food Services
John Gribbin
Director of Libraries
Robert Mclnerney
Director of Housing
and Food Services
Don Moore
Acting Dean of Students
Claude Mason
Assistant Dean of Students
Einar Pedersen
Director of University Center
Thomas Loved
Director of Financial Aid
Mason Webster
Director of Placement
George Molliere
Personnel
Manager
Elton Endicott
Bookstore
Waller vf)n Klein
Director of Student Records
Samuel Cresap
Purchasing Agent
Elbert Crozet
Hoffman Duplantier
Director of Director of
Planning University
Relations
Stanley Have
Bursar
THG
new
PRCSIDGMT-FR/
lhCIS SKGLDOM H/1CKh€Y
We sit in the dark green, mahogany-lined con-ference
room adjacent to the President's office in
Gibson Hall. Myself, the editor, and a photographer
— wondering if there will be enough light for photo-graphs,
wondering if the tape recorder will work,
wondering "what he'll be like." He's late. The con-ference
room is somehow imposing — with its long
antique table, its huge antique bookcase filled with
antique books. One wonders what important deci-sions
have been made here, what crises have been
met. Probably none.
There is a shuffle of feet outside the door, some
last minute instructions as to what time tomorrow's
meeting is scheduled can be overheard. Clarence
Scheps, executive vice president, opens the door,
closely followed by someone who grabs my hand
saying, "Hi, I'm Sheldon Hackney." He is a tall man,
perhaps six feet four inches; he moves with the grace
of a natural athlete. He is dressed in a sports coat and
slacks, and is wearing a tie that could have been
designed by the technicolor department of Walt
Disney Studios. We sit down.
Francis Sheldon Hackney was born on December 5,
1933 in Birmingham, Alabama. His voice still bears
traces of his southern heritage. At forty-two, he is a
man who looks thirty. He received his B.A. in 1955
from Vanderbilt, his M.A. from Yale in 1963, and in
1966 was awarded his doctorate from Yale University.
Since 1965 he has been at Princeton University, first
as an instructor, then working his way up the tenure
ladder to full professor in 1972. That same year
Sheldon Hackney was named Provost of Princeton,
attaining that high office in the short space of seven
years. At the ripe age of thirty-nine, he was among the
finalists in Princeton's search for a President.
He has published extensively; in 1969 he authored
his first book. Populism to Progressivism in Alabama.
For that effort he was awarded the Albert Beveridge
Prize by the American Historical Association for the
best book in American History published in the year
1969. Numerous articles and an edition on contem-porary
problems followed. He counts among his
friends and advisors C. Van Woodward of Yale and
Arthur Link of Princeton — two of America's most
important historians. Barely forty, he'stood (stands)
on the edge of a highly rewarding, successful, aca-demic
career. He could have easily succeeded Link
at Princeton in a prestigious chair. He is an academic
44
success and, by all standards, still several years away
from his "academic prime." This past spring, Sheldon
Hackney accepted the post of President of Tulane
University, effective July 1, 1975. Not only has he
shifted his focus from teaching and writing to ad-ministration,
but he has done so at a University that
finds itself in grave financial crisis. From the comfort
of academia and the financial comfort of Princeton
to the trials of administration and the money squeeze
at Tulane, Hackney has altered the course of his
professional life.
places in the South, not many private institutions of
higher education that have a chance to really become
great universities. The South needs a great university,
I think. Tulane is one of the places that has a chance
to make it, I think primarily because of its tradition
as a very strong university, one with very high stan-dards,
able to attract good students and good faculty.
All those things are under pressure because of the
financial situation at the moment, but, because the
tradition is there, and because New Orleans is such
an attractive place, and because I think that potential
I wondered, "Why administration, why Tulane?"
I questioned Hackney on this point. "Well, first, the
Princeton situation is not all that comfortable. They
run a much richer operation than Tulane has and
they're faced with the decision of running a less
rich, that is a less sumptuous, educational program,
or finding new revenue. The Tulane situation is, I
think, very similar." Hackney continued, explaining
his reasons for switching to administration and for
coming to Tulane.
"What attracts me, well, one can start with the fact
that Tulane is in the South. This is a less tangible
reason. I'm from the South, I've been interested in
Southern history professionally. I have thought for
some time that it would be fun for me to come back
to the South and to try to do something, to make some
contribution in the field that I know best, which is
education and/or history. There are very few places
in the South, I think, where a significant difference
can be made to the region's future. Private univer-sities
happen to be the thing that I know best, I guess,
because I went to Vanderbilt and went to Yale and
then to teach at Princeton and they are all very
similar kinds of institutions. There are not many
sources of support are also there, Tulane has the
chance to be truly great."
Somehow all this talk about greatness is almost
believable — coming from Hackney, that is. The
reason that it is perhaps believable is because
Sheldon Hackney recognized the major problems of
private higher education in this country. This recog-nition
does not, however, presuppose that he has the
answers to such problems.
In a speech to the Tulane Board of Visitors on
April 3, 1975, Hackney outlined these problems and
defined them as ". . . the unfortunate confluence of
demography, inflation, recession, and history." He is
correct when he asserts that, "Throughout our history
Americans have ascribed an almost magic quality to
education. We have looked to school to provide access
to the word of God, the rules of law, and the duties of
a citizen in a democracy." In addition to these tra-ditional
expectancies, Americans have correlated
higher education with higher income and a better
standard of living. Hackney continued, saying that
fewer people are going to college now, partially
because of the costs involved and partially because
of a reversal in the growth trend. College-age popu-
45
lation will actually decrease in the next fifteen years.
Rising costs due to inflation, and parents' inability to
afford a private university for their children have
taken their toll on the university's ability to be
financially solvent.
Should we, I asked, because of these different
crises, change the basic notion of the liberal arts
education to something more "job oriented"? What,
in essence, should our goal be? Hackney finds Robert
Goldwin's viewpoint very congenial. Goldwin,
special assistant to the President with responsibilities
as liaison to the academic community, argues that in
this rapidly changing world of future shock, the only
kind of education that makes sense is education for an
indefinite future. Learning how to learn, he said, is a
skill derived from a liberal education, and it is the
most important skill one can acquire. Quoting Hack-ney,
again from his speech to the Board of Visitors:
"Undergraduate education should focus on develop-ing
the capacity for critical thought, the capacity for
defining and evaluating options and for making de-cisions
.... Between the formal and informal cur-riculum,
students should almost by accident be
stimulated and challenged by exposure to the broader
culture, different systems of thought, and the highest
standards of excellence."
Finding myself satisfied with Hackney's overall
view of higher education, its problems and goals, I
am still wondering, "What kind of President will he
be?" Much can be determined from the kinds of
personal relations Sheldon Hackney keeps. Lest I
make the same mistake Dr. Hackney made, I choose
to talk about his wife, Lucy, first. In the acknowledg-ment
in his book on progressivism in Alabama,
Hackney writes about Lucy, "To my wife, who will
see the humor of being mentioned last, I owe much
that can not be noted here. Nevertheless, my apprec-iation
of her fund of understanding, her vitality, and
her painfully proper sense of priorities should not
go unrecorded." Lucy Judkins Durr married Sheldon
Hackney on June 15, 1957. Beyond being a June bride,
there is little about her that is traditional. Lucy left
Radcliff to marry Sheldon before she was graduated.
Ten months later she bore their first child. This
spring, well into her thirties, she will graduate with
a B.A. from Princeton. Her main interest is public
affairs. She was manager of George McGovern's
presidential campaign in the Princeton area. She
maintains, as does her husband, an active role in the
American Civil Liberties Union. There is the distinct
possibility that she will enter Law School once the
family is settled in New Orleans — Fall, 1976, per-haps.
She will not be the traditional wife, solely
supportive of her husband. In describing her. Dr.
Hackney said, "Lucy is very interested in public
affairs in general and politics. I suspect that she will
pursue those with a lot of her time. Lucy has her own
activities and her own life and will lead those."
What is emerging in this portrait of a President-elect
is a man who is entirely contemporary. Much
unlike his predecessor, Sheldon Hackney is a student
of the 1960's, and all that that turbulent decade repre-sents.
For Tulane he is a radical departure from the
leadership of the past, unlike it in age, education,
personal belief and personality. This difference is
high-lighted in a comment Hackney made to me in
response to a question about what caused student
activism in the 1960's. "The student 'revolt' must be
looked at through social history. The unrest is un-explainable
unless you connect it to the real issues
that students were mostly organized around — civil
rights and the war. But that's not all it was; I think
basically what was also happening then was a real
effort to reorient institutions to reflect more the
current realities of the status of young people. Young
people were achieving more and more freedom —
economic, political, social freedom — except in col-leges
where they were still in a dependent status on
the institution, vis-a-vis the faculty, in loco parentis,
etc. There was bound to be some shakeup, some
readjustment of that relationship, and what is
emerging is really a different ethos, a different
atmosphere in which the student lives which governs
the relationships of students and faculty. The inclu-sion
of students on policy-making and decision-making
boards is an example of this change. I think
that's good; you get better decisions that way. Basi-cally,
it is a sociological readjustment that has taken
place and I don't think that basic values that young
people were trying to express have changed."
Hackney's formative years as a teacher were in the
middle of that period of conflict in American univer-sities.
He brings to Tulane a sensitivity — recently
acquired — to people, to students, and to issues.
Issues which are current — contemporary, if you
will — and are at the heart of this ever-emerging
concept of what a university is. This sensitivity will
surely find its way into policy. Out of this sensitivity
grows Hackney's view of a university as he expressed
it to me: "I think very much about a University as a
community of trust in which people can live and work
together with the sort of human relationships, com-mon
purpose and common identification that I think
is ideal in society. One of the functions of a university
is to demonstrate to people who come through it, the
students who pass through it, transiently in a way,
that that sort of existence is possible and is worth
striving for."
In the midst of Hackney's enthusiasm, his sensi-tivity
and commitment, the question still remains —
can he do it? Tulane has many problems. The Uni-versity's
endowment is small — and its reserves funds
are dwindling. The University can meet only so many
more years of deficit spending. Because of the money
squeeze, good junior faculty are looking for jobs
elsewhere, academic programs are suffering and
46
tuition has just gone up $400.00 for 1975-76. With all
these problems, can Sheldon Hackney make Tulane
the "great" University of which he speaks? And can
he do it in an economically and politically pessi-mistic
time?
I think he can. Hackney will bear the heaviest of
burdens and walk the thinest of lines — but it can be
done. He must create a positive attitude in the
faculty — something which has been non-existent in
the demoralizing atmosphere of the past five years.
He is looked to by students as a young president, one
not so far removed from them in either age or phil-osophy.
Student demands for a greater voice in the
decision making processes are likely to continue.
To be sure there will be many circumstances that
Hackney can not control. The University is already
committed to the new Medical Complex and its
enormous costs. It was originally planned to have this
teaching hospital make money to offset the annual
deficit of the Medical School. Many in the local
medical community question this.
Hackney will have very little or no control over
Federal and State aid policy to higher education.
Though he is for state aid to Tulane, one can hardly
be sanguine about the prospects for substantial state
governmental aid. Tulane's relationship to the State
of Louisiana is a very delicate one, characterized
by tax-exempt status, legislative scholarships and
who knows what else.
There are, however, many areas where Hackney
can exercise substantial control. This is where the
difference will be made. Hackney must exercise
strong, positive academic leadership. He has ex-pressed
the sincere desire to be a part of a revitaliz-ing
process — the internal revitalization of Tulane.
Perhaps Hackney's strongest attribute is his openness
and candor. He impresses me as being the kind of
man who will tell things as they are, even if they will
be unpleasant to the listener. His enthusiasm, his
youth, and a proven capacity for work, will aid him
in his task.
A very important sidelight to this story of Sheldon
Hackney is the story of how and why he was offered
the job in the first place. In offering Hackney the job
of President, the Tulane Board of Administrators has
made the move for change. Largely, this new attitude
can be attributed to two men, Edmund Mcllhenny,
Board chairman, and Gerald Andrus, chairman of the
Selection Committee. There is a new force emerging
on the Board, different from the leadership of the
past. Mcllhenny, Andrus, Lanier Simmons (the
Board's only female member) and Bill Monroe are
members of this new force. What makes Hackney's
chances for success good are these people who,
hopefully, will support the new President when the
tough decisions need to be made. One would suspect
that the Board is ready for change and a progressive
administration, or they would not have gone to
Hackney in the first place. It can be said that a new
president with fresh ideas and a progressive outlook,
and a Board willing to act positively and progres-sively,
will combine to make Tulane as strong as it
once was. This spirit of cooperation between Presi-dent
and Board will be directly related to Tulane's
ability to "come back." We are in for an exciting
time at Tulane.
In closing his speech to the Tulane Board of Visi-tors,
Hackney compared the University to the elegant
bridges of an architect named Maillart.
"Maillart bridges are simple elegance functioning
at the most practical level to facilitate traffic across
a chasm. They are a fitting metaphor for a University
whose vitality depends so much upon the bridging of
internal gaps and whose social function is to connect
people to ideas and ideas to reality.
"If I am right, Tulane can be that sort of an elegant
educational sculpture. It is certainly not immune
from the problems of private higher education, but it
has great strengths as well. In the first place, it is a
University, with the advantages that can accrue to
diversity. It has a heritage of high standards that
distinguish it from other universities in its region.
There is about it a marvelously beguiling regional
ambience and tradition, aided by all of the attractions
of one of the continent's foremost cities. Yet, it is an
institution which draws and sends students nationally
and has a national reputation. In the coming shakeout
of higher education, Tulane may shake, but it will be
mainly from the reverberations of people crossing
bridges."
This kind of language makes one enthusiastic about
the University's future. Yet we would be foolish to
make the mistakes of the past — the mistakes of in-action.
Tulane must not only shake from people
crossing bridges but must shake to its heels internally
if we are to merit support from the outside com-munity.
Do-nothing deans and department chairmen,
lethargic and disinterested faculty, arrogant and
short-sighted alumni must shake in this revitalization
process. Apathetic students must, perhaps more so
than any other group, shake themselves to an aware-ness
of the University's plight. A great university can
stand these tests. It will not happen by itself and it
will not happen over night. Socrates said, "Time in
its ageing course teaches all things." But for Tulane,
time is short.
About the author —
Jim Cobb is a 1974 graduate of the College of Arts
and Sciences, Tulane University. While at Tulane,
he was student representative to the Tulane Board
of Administrators for the years 1972-73, 1973-74.
Additionally, he was student representative to the
Board of Visitors from 1971-74, addressing that group
in 1971 on Tulane and the Community — Some
Responsibilities." He will enter the Tulane Law
School in the Fall of 1975. — The Editor
47
BIOLOGY
E. Peter V'oipe
Sluarl S. Bamforlh
JohnT. Barber
Joan Bennett
D. Eugene Copeland
Harold A. Dundee
ErikG. Ellgaard
Joseph Ewan
Milton Fingerman
Gerald Gunning
Richard Lumsden
Merle Mizelt
Claylon R.Page HI
Mary Pelias
Kenneth Roux
Alfred Smalley
Royal Suttkus
Leonard Thien
Arthur VVelden
Steven Ackerman
ANTHROPOLOGY Arden R. King
J. L. Fischer Cesley S. Lancaster
Harvey M. Bricker Francesca C. Merlan
VicloriaR, Bricker Elizabeth S.Walts
R. Eerie Clay Robert Wauchope
Munro S. Edmonson
48
ARCHITECTURE
Bryan Bell
Georgia Bizios
Richard Caldwell
W. F. Calongne Jr.
Eugene Cizek
ohn Clemmer
Robert P. Dean
Brand Griffin
Roberl Helmer
Stephen P. Jacobs
James R. Lamantia Jr.
Bernard Leraann
William J. Mouton Jr.
Neil M. Nehrbass
Leo M. Oppenheimer
Gu8 Pelias Jr.
Richard Powell
John Rock
Robert L. Schenker
Milton G. Scheuermann
^m
K...
J<
.^.
ART
Norman B. Boolhby
Donald Robertson
James L. Steg
Jules Struppeck
Pat Trivigno
Franklin Adams
Harold E. Carney
Ceedilia Davis
Arthur Kern
Jessie Poesch
J. Russell Sale
Greer Farris
Robert Rothchild
49
BUSINESS
Evan E. Anderson
Larry R. Arnold
Jeffrey A. Barach
Richard E.Beckwith
Frank W.Bennett, Jr.
Kenneth I.
Boudreaux
Walter M- Burnett
Bernard l-Capella
Elizaheth Casellas
Seymour S. Goodman
David W.Harvey
Richard D. Hays
Daniel B.Killeen
Irving H.LaValle
Gerald C. Leader
James J. Linn
Hugh W. Long
James T. Murphy
F.KellederRiess
Howard Streiffer
Edward C. Strong
Eric W. Vetter
Stephen A. Zeft
Joan S. Horwitz
Dennis Seereiter
CHEMISTRY
William Alworth
D. Darensbourg
M. Darensbourg
T. F. Fagley
C. F. Fritchie
]. Hamer
H. B. Jonassen
J.T. Mague
G. L. McPherson
M. J. Nugent
E. J. Panek
O. E. Weigang
T. L. Gibson
R. L. Kieft
S. Ann Johnson
D. A. Drew
S. O. Nelson
J. G. Aiken
A. F. Wycpalek
J. W. Yu
50
ENGLISH
R. P. Adams
]. P. Roppolo
Andy Aniippas
T. J. Assad
P. E. Boyette
D. H. Edmonds
E. N. Herbert
I. D. Husband
J. L. Simmons
A. L. Stephens
A. McK. Taylor
H. E. Ussery
51
in
1^. . E
ELECTRICAL w ENGINEERING 'WW 1
I. Cronvich
1
1
R. Drake „
D. Vliet
C. Sperry ^iC•I'^r^'fl^
G.Webb
P. Duvoisin
C. Beck
Y. Selo
E. Williamson
I
^Kv^'
CHEMICAL ENGINEERING
Duane F. Bruley
Robert P. Chambers
Gordon H. Harris
Victor J. Law
Samuel L. Sullivan Ir.
Dale von Rosenberg
Robert E. C. Weaver
52
MECHANICAL James C. O'Hara
ENGINEERING Louis P. Orth. Jr.
David W.Wieling Chester A. Peyronnin, Jr.
Kenneth H. Adams Harold H. Sogin
Stephen C. Cowin Hugh A. Thompson
DeWill C. Hamilton William C. Van Buskirk
Edward H. Harris Robert G. Watts
Henry F. Hrubecky
53
FRENCH AND ITALIAN
Catharine Brosman
Paul Brosman
Weber Donaldson
Simonne Fischer
Ann Hallock
Francis Lawrence
Jeanne Monty
Harry Redman, Jr.
Antoinette Roubichou
Victor Santi
William Woods
54
GERMANIC AND
SLAVIC LANGUAGE
Ann Royal Arthur
Bodo K. Golzkowsky
Karlheinz Hasselbach
Michael H. Porter
Thomas C. Starnes
George M. Cummins III
Susan }. Laylon
John F. Daugherty
Robert B. Dewell
Aubrey Jerome Ford
YvetteR.Lioyd
Marianne Whitmore
GEOLOGY
Harold E. Vokes
Hubert C. Skinner
Hamilton M. Johnson
Joachim D. Meyer
John fendrzejewski
John P. McDowell
Ronald L. Parsley
Emily H. Vokes William Wiggins
Taylor Blood Eileen Hollander
James Edson
William Furlong
55
MATH
. Thomas Beale
Charles B. Be
Mark Bernard
Frank T.Birlel
A.H.Clifford
E. D. Conway
John Dauns
Maurice Dupre
Laszlo Fuchs
Jerome Goldstein
Pierre Grillel
Lawrence Gruman
Karl H. Hoffman
Ronald Kn
Hon Fei Lai
Terry Lawson
Arnold Levine
John Liukkonen
Michael Mislove
Jennie B. Muilin
William Nico
Frank Quigley
James Rogers
Steven Rosencrans
Janvier Thayer
Albert Vitter
HISTORY Peter T.Cominos Radomir V. Luza G. M. Capers
NelsBailkey 0. Edward Cunningham BillMalone R. A. Esthus
Richard Bait Charles T. Davis Trudy Matyoka Sylvia Frey
W. Burlie Brown Richard E. Greenleaf Hugh F.Rankin Sam'Kipp
Gerald Carpenter James N. Hood Bennett H. Wall Sam Ramer
Charles H. Carter Henry A. Kraen Ralph Lee Woodward Francis G. James
56
PHILOSOPHY
Edward C. Ballard
James K. Feibleman
John D. Glenn, Jr.
O. Harvey Green
Carl H. Hamburg
Margaret B. Hartman
Donald S, Lee
Larry W. Miller
Andrew J. Rock
Louise N. Roberts
Robert G. Whiltemore
George E. Barton
Harold N. Lee
MUSIC Robert E. Preston
Peter Sijer Hansen Castro E. Silva
Francis L. Monachino Sylvia Anne Zaremba
John H. Baron John J. Joyce
Jane Smisor Bastien John Kuypers
John W. Baur
57
NEWCOMB P.E.
Linda Parchman
Winifred Melcalf
Janice Michiels
Minnette Starts
Alicia Crew
Dooley Womack
58
PHYSICS
S. G. Buccino
R. J. Deck
F. E. Durham
A. M, Hermann
]. J. Kyame
R. H. Morriss
C, I. Peacock
R. D. Purringlon
Karlem Riess
R.M. Wilenzick
POLITICAL SCIENCE
James D. Cochrane
JeanM. Danielson
David R. Deener
Roland H.Ebel
George C. Edwards, III
Paul Freedenberg
John S. Gillespie
William B. Gwyn
Paul H. Lewis
Henry L. Mason
Glenn A. Nichols
Warren Roberts
Robert S. Robins
Douglas Rose
William W. Shaw
Michael P. Smith
Don England
Richard Collings
Georgianne Farley
Edward D. Grant
59
SOCIOLOGY
Thomas Kisanes
Howard London
oseph Fichter
Alan Wells
Paul Roman
Edward Morse
Frederick Koenig
Sally Hartling
Michael Micklin
BethWillinger
PSYCHOLOGY
Mary Ann Bendler
Ina McD. Bilodeau
Davis J. Chambliss
Lawrence Dachowski
William P. Dunlap
Jerry L. Fryrear
Gordon G. Gallup, Jr.
Arnold A. Gerall
Wesley J. Hansche
Chizvko Izawa
Joseph F. Kersey
Jack O. Maser
Halsey H. Matterson
Douglas MacPherson
Barbara Moely
Edgar C. O'Neal
F. Michael Rabinowilz
Jefferson L. Sulzer
60
mi;
SOCIAL WORK
Rosalir; Balchf:ldf:r
Marjjarel Campbell
Helen Cassidy
Cynthia Christy
Alice Clark
Rita Comarda
Edwin I- Cryer
Christine Derbe*
Helen Fife
Nell Lipscomb
Esther McBride
Luis F. Marloreli
Frank Pinion
Louise Rachal
Dorothy Randolph
Elizabeth Rayne
Eugenie Schwartz
Fred M. Soulherland
Raymond A. Swan
Elizabeth Torre
Ethel van Dyck
Gunde M. Williams
SPANISH AND PORTUGESE Olto Olivera
Almir Brunei! GilberloPaolini
James C. Maloney William J. Smilher
Norman C. Miller Alberto M. Vazquez
D. W. McPheeters George Wilkins
Thomas Montgomery Daniel Wogan
61
TEACHING Melvin Gruwell James Quick Eldrige Gendron
Jacyra Abreu Shuell Jones Harold Shuler
Louis Barrilleaux Thomas Patrick James Sirles
Marguerite Bougere Douglas MacPherson RitaZerr
62
TULANE SCHOOL OF LAW Robert Force
Thomas J. Andre, Jr. Hoffman F. Fuller
RodolfoBaliza Leon D. Hubert. Jr.
Harvey C. Couch III Alain A. Levasseur
Winslon Day William A. Lovett
Luther L. McDougal III John L. Peschel
Leonard Oppenheim Clinton W. Shinn
Christopher Osakwe Ferdinand F. Stone
Vernon V. Palmer Joseph M. Sweeney
BillupsP. Percy Wayne S. Woody
63
Ip^
MEDICAL SCHOOL FACULTY
1. Robert G. Yaeger. Ph.D.
2. John ]. Walsh, M.D.
3. )amesT. Hamlin, M.D.
4. Clifford Newman, Ph.D.
5. Jerome R. Ryan, M.D.
6. RulhS. Hoffman, M.D.
7. Georgiana Von Langermann, M.D.
8. Edward G.Peebles, Ph.D.
9. George A. Adroney, Ph.D.
10. James E.Muldrey, Ph.D.
11. Wallace K.Tomlinson, M.D.
12. Fannie Mae Lemann, M.S.W.
13. Leon B. Walker, Ph.D.
14. Dr. Nina Dhurandhar
15. George B.Mitchell, M.D.
16. Arthur W. Epstein, M.D.
17. Judith Domer, Ph.D.
18. Paul Guth, Ph.D.
19. Rune Sljernholm, Ph.D.
20. William Cohen, Ph.D.
21. FernandoP. Chirino, M.D.
22. Martins. Litwin, M.D.
23. David Jarrott, M.D.
24. WallerJ. Sluckey, M.D.
25. James W.Fisher, Ph.D.
26. GunlherSchoellman, M.D.
27. Laurence D. Fairbanks, Ph.D.
28. Eugene Hamori, Ph.D.
29. Michael L. Michel, M.D.
30. Claudia B.Odom.M.S.W.
31. Maurice Dale Little, Ph.D.
32. ManieK.Stanfield,Ph.D.
33. Jeanette Laguaite, Ph.D.
34. Charles E. Linke, Ph.D.
35. Frederick Lee, M.D.
36. H.W.K. Batson,M.D.
37. James Dowling, M.D.
38. Charles Dunlao, M.D.
39. Jeffrey Peter Ellison, M.D., Ch.B.
40. Hannahs. Woody, M.D.
41. Norman C. Woody, M.D.
42. Khrishnan B. Chandran, D.Sc.
43. Mary Frances Argus, Ph.D.
44. Norman R. Kreisman, Ph.D.
45. JorgenU. Schlegel,M.D.
46. Melanie Ehrlich, Ph.D.
47. Dr. Larry P. Feigen
48. Paul Joiner, Ph.D.
49. Joseph Pisano, Ph.D.
50. William D.Postell, Jr., M.S.
64
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by Michael Katz
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, The drama, so long as it continues
to express poetry is as a prismatic
and many-sided mirror whicii collects
y;htest rays of human nature
I reproduces them from
f simplicity l>t|iiese elementary forms,
^and touches themSj^th majesty and heauty,
[multiplies all tlvat it reflects,
endows it with t^e power of propogating
its likewRETievfttit may fall.
A Defense of Poetry
Percy Bysshe Shelley
The cycle of steady growth, sudden collapse
and promised rejuvenation of theatre at Tu-lane
is a refraction of the social and academic
evolution of the entire university over the
past century. Shifts in taste, attitude, prior-ity,
affluence, and policy within the develop-ment
of Tulane University are reflected in the
chronicle of the school's changing dramatic
activity. 1975 brings the theatre at Tulane to
the threshold of a poj^lflially Saturnian
epoch. May this bg^||lre for the rest of the
liversity. TW|^'^3^fiia at Tulane is ready to
"l^gaiii^^^f^r^^rff^'Ssa leader within the aca-
^fr^^&trical community. Its faculty is de-
^^jajJpiJHiSpfrration within the close fratern-
Tt^it academic theatres. Its graduates are
JQHfljng increased success in both scholastic
jj^ie^ional theatre. For the past two
j,?ar^the Tulane Theatre Department has
hosjj^d the regional auditions for a league of
^jjy^igjoas institutions offering post graduate
work in professional dramatic training. Last
year it helped coordinate the Tulane Drama
Fest.
Since the grand exodus of 1967, the theatre
at Tulane has fought to regain a semblance of
its former pride and position. It is now be-ginning
to win the struggle. But, is the univer-sity
now capable of allowing the dramatic
arts to step across the threshold of new prom-inence?
Is the new administration doomed to
Jhe same mistakes as did the old? Will
ermitted to again fall on its face
at tHB^BftinnH^scendancv? The future of Tu-lane
Univfei^it^n^te is merely one shadow
from the blurt^ed proj^S||fljjiof the entire uni-versity.
Can either surviv^Knancially? Per-haps
a look backwards can offer Tulane and
its theatre a clue towards achieving a great-ness
which it deserved ten years ago.
A Brief ChronicJe
The first record of any organized dramatic
activity on campus is a roster of the "Tulane
Dramatic Club" of 1895-1896 published in the
first issue of the Jambalaya in 1896. Thus, un-til
1937, all amateur theatrics at Tulane were
the products of student organizations. And the
students most consistently interested in the
stage were, of course, the lovely young belles
of the college of Sophie Newcomb. From 1899
until the middle of the 1920's, the "Newcomb
Dramatic Club" was the only permanent
theatrical organization on the Tulane campus.
The first lasting male dramatic organization was the
"Tulane Dramatic Society" of 1922. With implications
more than prophetic, the club split in 1925 over parli-amentary
procedures into the "Tulane Dramatic
Guild" and the "Tulane Dramatic Society". The first
recurring motif: politics disrupts a healthy interest in
the dramatic arts at Tulane.
In 1935 not only did the students squash the civil
war, but the men of Tulane finally managed to fuse
with the women of Newcomb, giving birth to the "Tu-lane
University Players." This, in turn, set the stage
for the first quantum leap in organized dramatics at
Tulane.
From its inception, Tulane theatre found little dif-ficulty
in recruiting both faculty and students in its
expanding dramatic curriculum. The splinters in the
feet of those anxious to tread to boards, however,
was that there were hardly any boards convenient for
treading. The second recurring theme in the rise and
fall of Tulane dramatics is the lack of adequate facili-ties.
Until 1953, productions were rehearsed in lo-cations
with such exotic names as "the crypt" in the
basement of Newcomb Hall, the St. Charles Hotel,
the Carrollton Avenue Baptist Church, and the "Y-hut."
And, when the music department wasn't using
it, the theatre staged productions at Dixon Hall. Pos-sibly
from frustration over no place to call home, Dr.
Lippman, a faculty member of the Theatre and En-glish
departments, decided to affiliate Tulane theatre
with LePetit Theatre du Vieux Carre during the 1947-
1948 season. The inconvenience of distance and the
reduced chances of students securing important roles
soon put an end to this long-distance romance.
After a new faculty director named Paul Hosteller
produced a few plays in the dingy workshop located
under the stands of the defunct football stadium, the
university decided to convert the space into a perma-nent
proscenium playhouse in 1953. This facility is
still used today under the auspicious title of the Phoe-nix
Playhouse, a name optimistically bestowed upon
it after 1967. Only seven years raced by before Tulane
decided to offer the drama department another of-fice.
The next building provided the department with
its first permanent classrooms, workshop, costume
shop, and offices. In 1960, the old Bruff Commons
Cafeteria was converted into an arena theatre. Ap-propriately
enough, the first play performed at the
new modest theatre was Waiting for Godot. It was not
a smash hit in 1960. Thus, the two overused facilities
for theatrical productions available to Tulane stu-dents
of the dramatic arts are presently a converted
football locker room and a renovated cafeteria. Im-pressive,
isn't it?
The culmination of academic prominence for the
theatre at Tulane began in 1958. Dr. Robert Corrigan
was hired as a new faculty member by Tulane. He
brought with him the concept of preceding each ma-jor
theatrical production with a lecture by an eminent
90
dramatic scholar. Corrigan also brought the Carleton
Drama Review to Tulane. Those monographs deliver-ed
by invited scholars were compiled in a new publi-cation
called the TuJane Drama Review. During the
next ten years, it became one of the most respected
and innovative theatre journals in the United States.
Also within this decade, the Tulane Theatre Depart-ment
educated and employed some of the men that
directly influenced the completion of American Ed-ucational
theatre today. Thirty years after Dr. Mon-roe
Lippman instituted two courses in theatre within
Tulane's department of English, Tulane's Theatre
Department was world renowned.
What happened? What had been accomplished in
print the faculty wished to put on the stage. The motif
of second rate facilities returned. Also that old demon
politics came back to haunt the halls of the old cafe-teria.
The university was not rolling in cash in 1967.
A few years prior to this time, a good portion of im-pressive
English faculty had departed the Gothic
halls of St. Charles Avenue because of inadequate
monetary support. A similar situation saw the archi-tecture
department transplanted. Still, Tulane made
plans for building improvements. Learning this, the
theatre faculty, with laurels in hand demanded con-sideration
for a home to augment the two overused
converts. The administration had priorities. Theatre
was not one of them. Richard Scheckner, the new ed-itor
of the flourishing "T.D.R.," Dr. Lippman, and the
rest of the faculty left for more receptive and sup-portive
educational institutions. In the fall of 1967,
the Tulane Drama Review changed its name to The
Drama Review.
A Biased Conclusion
History doesn't repeat itself; the people who talk
about it do. The years from 1967 to 1974 were ones of
interrupted rejuvenation. Political power plays with-in
the Theatre Department's administration often
hampered its renewed vigor. Student polarization
based upon personality and philosophical clashes
also stunted its progress. And yet all these destruc-tive
tendencies, usually attributed to the revolution-ary
impatience of the late 1960's and early 1970's, could
not stop Tulane's dramatic establishment from prog-ressing.
The university now has the opportunity to correct
the blunders of 1967. If it throws its support in the
direction of one or two academic disciplines that
possess the potential to bring prestige and a returned
prosperity to this institution, Tulane can survive. One
perfect investment would be its Theatre Department.
The Dramatic Arts of Tulane University are the most
visibly promising priority the new administration can
support. And with its precarious financial future,
Tulane must make even its lowest priorities count.
^1
by Henrik Ibsen unh»™>, Th.^,,.
8:00 pm Ticket Information : 8656204 Arena Ttieatre
pteeentod by Tularte ^^/"^f" 7—1'^
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tulanearena-apr2l:i?-8pm
S^iff'jtoy-irfr'i'v^'
95
Madelaine Adams
Dale Allen
Mark Alexander
Steve Benzell
Pam Burton
Michael Britt
Diane Castleneuva
Stephanie Cochran
Sharon Conyer
Barry Corum
Susan Csillagi
Stella Curtis
Bill Dorris
Georgia Dupre
Amy Dyer
Randy Falk
Dixie Fields
Pat Galloway
Jim Goodwin
Clark Hancock
Adee Heehe
Lucinda Huffman
Heidi Junius
Michael Katz
Andi Kislan
Will Leckie
Patrick Lee
Abbe Levin
Gary Leviton
Ken Lowstetter
Julie Martin
Fred Mayer
Mary Anne Meadows
Trish Meginniss
Bernie Messar
Frank Moon
Peggy Moss
SabinaNegrea
Bob Newman
Rosemary Ozanne
Richard Paddor
Robert Paddor
Kathy Paul
Henrietta Perkinson
Pam Poole
Greg Ptacek
Claire Richardson
Mark Robinson
Eric Sarver
Mike Siegler
Mike Sullivan
Linda Lee Stump
Bob Swasey
Marcia Tietgen
Gemi Todd
Mary Beth VanOehsen
Claudia Vasilovik
Peter Webb
Wynne West
Frank Wilson
Julie Yuspeh
96
Tulane University Theatre
97
Calvin Hill
Dallas Cowboys
William Manchester
Historian
Jim McKay
ABC Sportscaster
Henry Duncombe
V.P., General Motors
Jacob Javits
Senator, New York
A. J. Meigs
Prof, of Economics,
Claremont College
98
DIRECTION 75
by Gerald Snare
It is somehow amazing that twenty different panelists in five programs on five
separate subjects should in a variety of ways address themselves to the same
problem: the myth of the American Dream. A New American Dream, as the dis-cussions
gave it shape, seems largely the Old one tattered and patched with new-er
attitudes which are, oddly, mythic in their own way. The DIRECTION staff
had a dream, equally tenuous though slightly different. They dreamt that such a
variety of views should somehow cohere. The dream came true. Whether it was
Calvin Hill debunking the myth of the sports hero, or Lawrence Altman remind-ing
us that "the old family doc" does not really give the best health care, we all
discovered that the old comfortable assumptions were not so comfortable any-more.
99
SPORTS IM AmklCA
Jim McKay began prophetically. He had an in-formal
ease about nim and a quiet enthusiasm
for sports' peculiar kind of heroism. His manner
itself accentuated a dilemma everyone spoke of
in the course of the evening: he had, after all,
reported the balletic excitement of Olga Korbutt
and the tragedy at Munich during the same week
of the Olympics. Which was this greatest of all
sports gatherings, a triumph of brotherly com-petition
or a high-priced chauvinistic extrava-ganza?
The answer didn't come easily. McKay
wondered which sports experience we would
really prefer, the calm and terribly British
sportsmanship of the London to Brighton antique
auto race, witnessed by more than a million
people, or the "dim and sordid view" of 21st Cen-tury
sport depicted in a new ABC special, "Roller
Ball," where the object of the game is the de-struction
of its participants. Calvin Hill, with a
manner which belied nis muscular frame, took
up another dilemma. "Whan we see sports per-sonalities,"
he said, "it bothers us to find they're
human." In what amounted to a plea, he compar-ed
the"pampered, amoral" super-stud image of
the football player to the flowed reality of his hu-manness,
something of the same distinction
Bruce Ogilvie noted in describing the sport-hero
as an essentially isolated man, trapped by the
myth of his own success. The comfortable myths
took a beating with Ogilvie's disquieting analy-sis:
Does sport help you with your manhood?
No. Does sport competition produce more re-sponsible
citizens? No. Does sport cultivate
honesty? No. Does sport release in an accepta-ble
way our innate aggression? No, it exacer-bates
it. We began to wonder about the value of
the whole enterprise. But Patsy Neal, in her
100
countryish sincerity, redeemed competition
as an "individual happening," a deeply personal
experience. Even so, tnat valuable part of sport
was seen to suffer with a change in attitude —
the demand to win. She descrioed the effects of
the new emphasis on women's sports as both
boon and bane. The element of play soon disap-pears
when teams must win, and winning costs
—
money for recruiting, money for athletic scholar-ships,
money for travel, money for television.
The old vision of sport as a part of the college
educational experience will soon have to accom-modate
itself to the harder realities of hits cost
and to the suspicion that college athletes are not
drawn into academic life but alienated from it.
Roone Arledge readily admitted that he had a
hand in the dilemma as President of ABC Sports:
"We have made a huge mountain out of sports."
Citing a hundred-fold increase in his own tele-vision
budget for sports over the past fifteen
years, he gave his own assessment of a disquiet-ing
problem. It is true, he said, that sponsors
want the best teams — one could smell money in
the air. But, he enthused, the television money
keeps many sports alive and encourages inter-national
rapport. There were anecdotes about
Olga Korbutt, about Averill Harriman and Ni-kita
Kruschev hugging each other as Valery
Brumel broke the world high jump record in
Moscow, about the American ping-pong team in
China. But we had the sense througn the discus-sion
that the dreamy myths had given way to an
amiable, though tough-minded, apprehension of
the realities. Perhaps that's what Ogilvie meant
to cultivate when he said, breathing health and
witty confidence, that sport is essentially a re-flection
of the value system of our society.
AW SOQAUZeO
MeDICINC
When Lawrence Altman began with a series of ques-tions,
one could sense that any answers might be
problematic. They were. John Veneman said as
much: "It is a mistake to think there is A Solution to
health care problems." The problems are essentially
political, he opined, and political problems are set-tled,
not solved. The evening's discussion seemed to
bear out the vexing rationality of Veneman's point of
view; indeed, the settlements proposed depended
wholly on the politics and social view of the proposer.
Malcolm Todd, President of the AMA, opted, perhaps
predictably, for the statusquo. Veneman was skepti-cal
of government meddling with private enterprise.
And even Ernest Saward, a champion of Health
Maintenance Organizations, thought that competition
would produce a more organized health care system
than government could. Only Jesse Steinfeld, who
was clearly outnumbered, would opt for the Ken-nedy-
Korman Bill and suggest that government might
help more than it hindered our present medical prog-ress.
Yet even with his quietly angry statement that
the "mechanism for payment has organized our
heahh system," his real bogey-man turned out to be
the American lifestyle. Todd chimed in: Society has
failed to provide much of what is necessary in health
102
I
VS"^
care. Saward agreed in observing that health
services change only when there is social change.
One could sense the panelists diplomatically
searching for a kind of settlement in vast ab-straction.
While everyone seemed to agree that
costs were high, the argument turned to who
should do something about it. The government
clearly took the worst of it, as we heard the vir-tues
of private competition generally extolled.
But if the panel preferred to let the profession
heal itself, one was left to wonder if that opin-ion,
like so many others offered during the week,
was also based upon a myth. Altman knew the
"old family doc" was not a Marcus Welby, M.D.
And Steinfeld knew that "the emergency room
is the place for the family physician" for one of
every five American families. Our assumptions
about who gives health care, who deserves it,
and who pays for it became somehow less as-sured.
And while there were specific proposals,
especially by Steinfeld, the discussion led back
to the questions Altman had first put. There was
one clear answer, however, and it was the same
as Ogilvie had given the previous night: health
care systems reflect the different values of the
country and so do the political medicines offer-ed
to cure their ills. Perhaps the over-concilia-tory
tone of the discussion was, after all, precise-ly
the attitude necessary for settlement. The con-fident
demand for positive answers had itself
become disquieting by the end of the evening.
103
THC eCOMOMY
Where there may have been tacit agreement
among the discussants on health care, there
was mostly disagreement among the panel-ists
on the economy. And the disagreements
went deeper than disparate opinions. One
had only to look at the demeanor of the
panel: Henry Reuss, perpetually smiling
or grimacing (one could scarcely tell which),
confident, ever quarrelous in debate, ever
adopting that sense of political moderation
that quiets a disagreement without really
settling it; Henry Duncombe, aloof and re-served,
assuming the unassailable position
of a quiet and reasoned response to the noise
of tax reform; Leonard Woodcock, with the
reserved agitation of one used to several
generations of labor wars; and Herbert
Stein, a professorial politician, urbanely
witty, able to quash an argument with a deft
turn of the hand. Over such demonstrable
disparities in outlook and deportment, the
animated and chatty A. J. Meigs had to pre-side.
The discussion began quietly enough
(
104
through some brief opening remarks before
the sparks flew: Reuss presented a panoply
of Congressional possibilities; Duncombe
preferred the virtues of self-reliance to gov-ernmental
problem solving; Woodcock re-minded
Duncombe the government had fed,
not eaten, private profits; and Stein ob-served
the flat economic ignorance of
Congress. Meigs leaned back. The sides had
been drawn.
After Duncombe had conjured up the
avaricious spectre of federal controls. Wood-cock
remonstrated with "Why are you al-ways
trying to scare us?" Stein's deft hand
came up and turned Woodcock's agitation
with a witty remark. To the complaints of
Reuss and Woodcock of the increased tax
burden on the lower 80% of Americans and
less to the upper 20%, Duncombe went back
to blame Washington with a "runaway ex-pansion"
of government demands and of its
appetite for a greater portion of tax money.
After the fire came the conciliation. Stein
supported the free-market system and want-ed
Congress to support it. Reuss, less than
willing to slaughter the sacred cow, agreed.
Even Stein and Woodcock approached har-mony
when they agreed on the dangers of
short-sighted and quickly conceived solu-tions
to the long-term problems of inflation
and recession. There was, then, something of
a settlement, as inspecific as it was, but no
solution.
One could not help but be annoyed at the
vagaries of the subject itself and of the un-pleasant
necessity of a slow-moving com-promise.
After what was said, only the most
hardy and optimistic could believe the old
American myth, that if there's a problem,
we can solve it.
105
PORGIGM /1FMIRS
John Stoessinger's opening remarks made
the perfect transition from Economy to For-eign
Affairs. The problems were here: Kiss-inger,
Indochina, the Middle East, detente,
NATO. But in the place of settled answer,
Stoessinger gave us a kind of warning: in
foreign policy decisions, the questions never
deal witn right and wrong, but with right and
right and wrong and wrong. In what could be
scarcely more unsettling, we were cautioned
to empathize with the problems rather than
to expect clear and workable solutions. The
practical man of strong opinions was in for
a time of it this night.
The note was thus sounded. And Stoessing-er,
with a flare for drama, heralded the new
Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: Oil, In-flation,
Famine, and Population. Perhaps
only Jacob Javits, with the practical hand of
the politician, would be able to deal with
such a colossal vision in less than apocalyp-tic
terms. He spoke about Congress assert-ing
its powers in foreign policy decisions —
the scope was comfortably limited. But Ar-naud
de Bourchgrave and Hans Morganthau
saw farther. For de Bourchgrave, one cannot
afford to deal with an apocalypse without a
fundamental change in attitude. And Mor-ganthau,
a little more pointedly, decried the
Metternichian attitude of America's constant
support of the world status-quo. To him, the
106
U.S. is always on the wrong side of history.
So the direction was established and the
specifics of world policy were to be discuss-ed
in this context.
Yet within the semi-accord about the
scope of the discussion, there was fiery dis-cord
about the particulars, especially Cam-bodia
and Israel. De Bourchgrave contended
that as all foreign policy is interlinked, the
abandonment of Cambodia would surely
result in a loss of confidence in U.S. policy
elsewhere. Stoessinger and Javits saw the
same. But Morganthau damned the enter-prise.
The fire soon got hotter. De Bourch-grave
began quietly enough, in his intense
and somewhat opinionated way, to report
that Arab leaders, principally Sadat and
Assad, admitted to him in private that they
didn't really care to dismantle Israel. The
quiet suggestion brought a warm reply. Mor-ganthau,
with the skepticism of his years,
pointedly suggested tne public and private
declarations of these men were at odds, won-dering
where they might be inclined to lie
more, in public or in private, or in both
places. Tne audience laughed. De Bourch-grave
didn't. He wondered if Morganthau
had traveled in the Arab world recently.
Morganthau allowed as how "some Jews
take more chances than other Jews." He was
convinced that the ancient animosity of the
two peoples was beyond repair. De Bourch-grave
demurred.
But while this interchange stirred the
audience and panelists the most, the final
statements, this time in agreement, should
have struck more ominously. When Javits
suggested that in this new world declarations
of war are passe, he had really touched on a
central issue which both Morganthau and
William Manchester, who concluded the
series the next night, saw as the most cru-cial.
National governments have not been
able to face, let alone solve, the problems
visualized in Stoessinger's Four Horsemen.
When Morganthau thus declared that the
nation state as a principal of political or-ganization
is obsolete, panelists and audi-ence
were silent. One could not escape the
feeling that we were all being drawn again
into that vast historical and apocalyptic con-text
which began the evening. The specific
proposals, and there were several offered,
seemed finally rather too confined to the
events of the past several weeks, almost too
mutable to be very effective. And one could
finally understand what Stoessinger meant
when he asked us to empathize with the
problems, to feel that curious anxiety over
choosing between right and right and wrong
and wrong.
107
At<\ai\CA IM PGRSPeaNG
William Manchester summed it up. It seemed as
if he had heard the dilemmas, the unanswered
and unanswerable questions, the myths, and the
anxieties of the previous evenings. He had
thought over a whole spectrum of opinion in a
comprehensive way. He had reflected. And in
his undramatic way, he tried to communicate the
inherent contradictions of our recent past with
his wordsmanship. One had to listen to the craft
of the man.
Perhaps his quotation from Henry Adams was
the point of his reflection: "The greatest chal-lenge
to the United States is the velocity of its
history." We are, Manchester noted, the only na-tion
to equate this high speed change with prog-ress.
And this satisfaction at progressiveness
has done a great deal to foster a curious kind of
delight in the rejection of nationalism and iso-lationism:
we were reminded of transnational
corporations, of our continuing support for the
United Nations, and of the nature of American
foreign policy in which, as de Bourchgrave re-marked
the previous evening, decisions about
any one country inevitably affect other countries.
108
And yet, Manchester went on, this progres-sive
attitude, this sense of "chronological
snobbery," ironically has likewise fostered a
chauvinistic nationalism in the nations of the
Third World, even in the "archaic national
tribalism" of the U.N. The ironies and con-tradictions
compounded as the evening went
on. We knew what Manchester meant about
the "bright star of technological promise
tracked by the dark star of global destruc-tion."
He paused. The inherent contradictions in
our sense of progress are, perhaps, a good
index to what he called the American Vis-ion:
an open society, sanctifying the right of
the individual to be different, "suffering
dissent to the last limit of sufferability." But
the American Dream, like progress, has two
sides to it. While we can contemplate with
pleasure the legacy of openness — mobility,
a passion for egalitarianism, a system sus-ceptible
to change from within — we can al-so
observe the other legacies, with regret —
violence, the loss of personal privacy, the
occasional demagogue, the vulcanization of
society. Where American visualize an
egalitarian society, they also discriminate by
sex, color, and religion, cultivate a "gen-erational
apartheid," and exacerbate clea-vages.
They visualize sex without secrecy
and guilt, and at the same time open the
privacy of the bedroom to research. Where
there is freedom to bear arms, there is also
the harvest of great, personal violence.
In his speech, as in all the programs, we
were constantly pressed to see the American
Dream not as a fraud, but as a particular,
partly-real fantasy, where the visions of the
good are always attended by the realities of
the bad. Perhaps Manchester was speaking
for all twenty of his colleagues when he
said, "If there has to be a Number One,
America is probably the best." The state-ment
meant more than met the ear. For in
the interrogative nature of DIRECTION,
we had, at the very least, met with a dia-logue
which would never allow us the com-placency
of dogmatism. And that may be the
better part of the New American Dream.
DIRECTION 75
Brian Zipp — Chairman
Alan Krinzman — Speakers
Lawrence Doyle — Vice-Chairman
Caro Uhlmann — Finance
Doug Hertz
Peggy Kaufman
Adee Heebe — Public Relations
Ernest Back
Phyllis Karsh — Secretary
Jennifer Lehmann — Treasurer
Annamerle Zwitman — Hospitality
Kenneth Katzoff — Administrative Aide
Katy Alley — Tickets
Carol Harkins
Frank McRoberts — Security
Lawrence Fleder — Special Projects
Jeff Turner
Neil Lichtman
Kathryn Kahler — Program Editor
Dr. Gerald Snare — Faculty Advisors
Dr. Stephen Zeff
109
110-
141
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113
MGWCOND POHGRY
Lamp base and lamp shade, with additional metalwork.
Pottery base with flower design outlined in black.
Decorator Esther Huger Elliott. 1901.
114'
Increasingly prized by museums, collectors and stu-dent's
of the field, Newcomb Pottery ceramics con-sidered
to be among the finest of the art pottery pro-duced
in this country during the span from 1896 to
1940. In the period when the Arts and Crafts move-ment
flourished in America, the Newcomb Pottery re-ceived
a host of awards at various national and inter-national
expositions. These awards include a bronze
medal from the 1900 International Exposition in Paris
and a gold medal award from the Panama Pacific
Centennial Exposition in San Francisco in 1915.
The Pottery was a semi-commercial adjunct to the
Newcomb Art Department. It was the only art pot-tery
of this era directly associated with a college.
When the Pottery was begun Newcomb College was a
scant decade old, and the Art School had been in
existence for only five years.
The idea of the Pottery was largely conceived by
Professor Ellsworth Woodward, then head of the Art
School. Woodward's ideas were rooted in those of the
late nineteenth-century Arts and Crafts movement in
England and America, ideas that focused on the beau-ty
of hand-crafted objects and the dignity of creative
work.
Throughout the entire period most of the designs
were based on the flora and fauna of southern Louisi-ana.
In some cases the representations were very
realistic; in others they were abstract and stylized.
Acacia, camphor berries, crayfish, freesia, jasmine,
laurel, rice, tobacco flower, willows and wisteria are
among the many natural forms used as a point of de-parture
for the designs. Though there was some varia-tion
in color, the two most favoured colours for the
body of the vases and pots were a soft green and a
muted blue. In almost all of the late work the bodies
of the vessels are glazed a rich, deep, matt blue.
The earliest designs were usually freely brushed on
in blue, green and yellow underglaze colours over the
natural cream colour of the clay. The whole was then
given a transparent glossy glaze.
By 1905 most of the designs had become more form-al
and abstracted, reflecting the taste for bold de-signs
characterized by the geometric phase of the
art nouveau. Outlines were defined by incised carved
lines which were filled with black underglaze.
Other underglaze colours were used on the deco-rated
area. The outside body was thus coloured
and the inside usually remained the colour of the
clay body. Again, a transparent gloss glaze covered
the whole.
In the period 1910-1920 low modeled relief de-signs
were introduced. These were often very
naturalistic. It was probably around this time that
Sadie Irvine introduced the evocative and much-beloved
"moon and moss" motif. It was around
1910, too, that matt glazes rather than the glossy
finishes were introduced. From this time on they
were used almost exclusively. The underglaze
colours were sponged on, often giving a soft stip-pled
effect.
Coffee pot with incised abstract tree or floral design,
matt grey-blue glaze. Decorator unknown, Joseph
Meyer potter. 1905-1915.
115
Vase, painted design of flowers,
jonquils, of colored glazes with
glossy overglaze. Decorator Amelie
Roman, potter Joseph Meyer.
1895-1905.
Plate, painted design of flowers,
probably violets. One of the earliest
pieces of the pottery collection.
Decorator Katherine Kopman. 1895.
116
I
By the mid-twenties, and into the nineleen-thir-ties,
some of the designs again were more abstract,
keeping step with the taste for the "moderne".
Some designs have the faceted and syncopated
feeling of Art Deco. In the late twenties and early
thirties some of the pieces continued to be modeled
in low relief, but these were left uncoloured.
Several of the people who had been responsible
for the direction of the Pottery had retired by 1940,
and few students trained in the Art Department
were joining the Pottery. New and different ideas
on the education of artists were being introduced,
and it was decided to close the Pottery.
For a time, the Newcomb Guild was set up to pro-vide
an outlet for both student and faculty work.
However, unlike Newcomb Pottery, the pieces of
Newcomb Guild pottery were each the work of a
single artist from beginning to end. Thus, the clos-ing
of the Pottery effectively marked the cessation
of production of the highly distinguished New-comb
ceramics.
(As a note of interest, the college's collection of
Newcomb pottery is currently on display in the Art
Building).
Jessie Poesch
'*^*»^-#'V,. ^ **.
Vase with abstract design in relief borrowed from
fireplace design in an "old Spanish mansion". Matt
blue glaze. Decorator Anna Francis Simpson, potter
Joseph Meyer. 1920. Small vase with abstract design,
blue matt glaze. Decorator Sadie Irvine. 1920.
Majestic Maya stucco head from Honduras.
I
118
MIDDLe /IMGRIC/iri RGSC/IRCK IhSTITUTG
Tulane's Middle American Research Institute cele-brated
its 50th anniversary this year. Founded in
1924 through a gift by the late Samuel Zemurray, a
member of the University's Board of Administrators
and President of the United Fruit Company, it is in-ternationally
known for its impressive record of re-search
and publications on the humanities and social
sciences of Mexico and Central America. It has sent
many major archaeological and ethnological expedi-tions
into the field and has sponsored field research
as well as archival and library studies in anthropol-ogy,
sociology, history, economics, political science,
geography, linguistics, art history, and language and
literature. Many Tulane students, along with students
from other universities, have taken part in these
expeditions.
The first expedition, under the direction of the late
Frans Blom, accompanied by Oliver LaFarge, later a
Pulitzer Prize novelist, covered 1200 miles of travel
by foot, horseback, and sloop from Vera Cruz to the
Tuxtla Mountains, to the later famous ancient site of
La Venta, then to ruins in Chiapas and across the
rainforests into Guatemala. The trip is described in
a Middle American Research Institute volume work.
Tribes and Temples. The second expedition, in 1928,
traversed nearly 1500 miles through highland and
jungle, following unmapped trails from southern
Mexico across tadorthern Guatemala and ending in
northern Yucatan. A Tulane student, Webster Mc-
Bryde, who later became a famous geographer, and to
whom Tulane in recent years awarded an honorary
degree, took part in this trek. This was long before
landing strips for aircraft or roads had been built in
the area; the expedition lived completely off the
land — hunting, fishing, and trading with the Indians — and they had almost daily adventures.
In 1930, Mr. Blom took two Tulane students in
architecture with him on an expedition to Uxmal,
Yucatan, where they made drawings, photographs,
and stucco casts of an ancient building to be repro-duced
as a museum at the Century of Progress Expo-sition
in Chicago.
On my return from the armed forces, we began to
plan another expedition, and in 1947, accompanied
by Ray Marino, a Tulane undergraduate in geology,
carried on excavations at Zacualpa in the remote
highlands of Guatemala. Ray and I lived in a dirt-floored,
windowless Indian hut in a valley inhabit-ed
by about eleven Indian families — without run-ning
water, plumbing, or electricity — boiling our
water and for a long time cooking our own meals,
washing our clothes, and keeping house in addition
to our daily excavations from sunrise to late after-noon.
We dug in an ancient city that had been occu-pied
for 15 centuries — from about 500 B.C. to the
sixteenth century A.D. — and established the first
archaeological chronology for this area of the high-lands.
Later we moved to Utatlan, the ancient capital
of the prehistoric Quiche kingdom in Guatemala, and
excavated there to fill out the archaeological record
up to the time of Alvarado's Spanish conquest. Some
of our experiences are recorded in a book, They
Found the Buried Cities.
In the 1950's excavations were begun at the ruins
of Dzibilchaltun in northern Yucatan, under the di-rection
of the late Dr. E. Wyllys Andrews IV, who had
joined the staff of the Institute. The project was co-sponsored
by the National Geographic Society and
supported by generous grants from the National Sci-ence
Foundation and the American Philosophical
Society. Digging continued for 15 years and revealed
the largest and longest-inhabited city ever discovered
in this region — occupied from long before Christ up
to the Spanish conquest in the 16th century. They
included extensive scuba diving in a cenote, or nat-ural
well, 145 feet deep in the center of the site, and
excavation, repair, and restoration of the now-famous
Temple of the Seven Dolls.
In 1968 excavations were shifted to the rainforest of
Southern Campeche in order to link the Yucatan rec-ord
with that of the prehistoric Maya in Guatemala.
Many Tulane students in anthropology, together with
students from other universities around the country,
took part in the explorations and excavations. Among
the exciting discoveries in Yucatan was that of the
Cave of Balankanche, where in long-sealed caverns
deep underground the field staff recorded an archae-ological
shrine of almost a thousand years ago, and
watched a native Indian ceremony to placate the
Rain God to whom the shrine had been dedicated.
Last year and this year we have been excavating
in the semi-desert state of Jutiapa in Guatemala.
These investigations are still under way. This is hot,
dry, cactus, cowboy country, where everyone rides a
horse and carries a lasso; it has been, until now,
almost unexplored archaeologically.
M.A.R.I, has published or has in press 41 volumes
of research reports, plus the 16 volumes of the en-cyclopedic
Handbook of Middle American Indians,
which it assembled and edited for the University of
Texas Press.
Under Blom's directorship, and with the aid of a
grant from the Rockefeller Foundation, the Institute
assembled an excellent library of Middle American
books and documents. Since 1942, aided by additional
grants from the Carnegie Corporation and the Ford
Foundation, this library has now been expanded to
include all of Latin America in what is now part of the
Howard-Tilton Library at Tulane; it is one of the best
collections of its kind in the world.
The Institute also maintains a small museum gal-lery
on the fourth floor of Dinwiddle Hall, and study
collections of many thousands of native Indian
archaeological artifacts, modern Indian costumes,
and other specimens of arts and crafts from many
parts of the world. These are used constantly by Tu-lane
classes in archaeology, anthropology, and prim-itive
art. In spite of the fact that there is usually at
least one article about it in the Hullabaloo every year,
relatively few Tulane students even know of the mu-seum
gallery or the Institute's program. Seniors and
alumni who happen to wander in by accident are
constantly expressing amazement that in all their
years at Tulane they did not know of the Institute's
existence. I hope that this short message will help to
correct that situation, and I cordially invite all Tulane
students and their families and friends to visit our
museum gallery.
I retire at the end of this year. My successor, Dr.
E. Wyllys Andrews V of Northern Illinois University,
is a veteran of many years of archaeological field-work
in Yucatan, Guatemala, El Salvador, and vari-ous
parts of the United States. For three years he
was Director of our program of research in Yucatan
and Campeche, Mexico. I am sure that he will wel-come
student participation in future expeditions.
Robert Wauchope
Director
Plaster cast relief from site of Palenque, Mexico
—Maya culture.
Native Maya costume from Guatemala.
120
Ceramic urn from Oaxaca, Mexico — Zapotec culture.
Reconstruction of tomb at Comalcalco — Maya
culture.
121
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135
lat^mOMBl^
ATHLETICS; GONE FOREVER?
By Nate Lee
Imagine you are an athlete. If you have gotten this
far, now imagine you are an athlete at Tulane Univer-sity
in Intercollegiate Athletics. There is a fond term-inology
for your kind. You are a jock. This rather
creative, metaphorical, nomenclature can have dif-ferent
connotations. The most common of which is
associated with Desenex. You are used by the school
or a certain body therein, under their own justifica-tion,
as a promotion for the school and a means of
keeping alumni close to their alma mater. You are
made to sleep, work and eat together with the other
jocks, and are blamed, just as a racial minority, or
any other group subject to prejudice, for the actions
of those associated with you as jocks. The mere as-sociation
is a loss of your own identity as a person,
student, or individual, but you are used to that, being
part of the team, the machine. You are sometimes
paid to attend school so you can entertain its students
with your weekend gladiatorial enterprises. If you
are lucky and perform well, you might get thumbs up
and you will be able to live . . . until next week.
Now imagine you are a student, not participating in
Intercollegiate Athletics. You might be wondering
how you ever got tickets for the BIG ONE with LSU.
You are probably disappointed that the same clique
of people up there that control athletics, moved your
football team downtown. And you wonder frequently
why the club sport which you like to participate in,
gets so little money compared to the sports which you
only watch.
The football team was something like Hurricane
Carmen. Its overwhelming power was talked about,
its furious arrival was anticipated anxiously, but all
that showed up around Tulane was a weak gust of
wind. A few freshman athletes at the beginning of the
year received some degree of publicity and a little
punishment as they took out their pre-game hyper-tension
a little too emotionally on some students in
Monroe Hall. This began discussion on abolishing the
athletic dormitory system and dispersing the athletes
around campus.
Instead of the previously held "first come, first
served" system for distributing tickets to the football
game with LSU, a new system of using a lottery was
established.
The move to the Superdome was an issue of contin-uous
controversy throughout the year. Most of the
students, did not, do not, and will not want to travel
down to Poydras Street to watch the Green Wave
splash around. The move even drew satirical com-ment
from President Ford.
Title IX was introduced to the campus. It merely
stated that Universities must also supply money for
women's Intercollegiate sports. However, decisions
weren't made, though as to whether this applied to
Newcomb and if so, where the money would come
from.
Intercollegiate athletics came under attack this
year for the amount spent on them as compared to the
amount spent on club sports. The 500 students in in-tercollegiate
athletics receive $2 million while only
$60,000 goes to the 4000 participants in the intramural
program. Club sports include canoeing, flying, la-crosse,
dancing, rugby, soccer, parachuting, and
sailing, along with various fraternity league sports.
In most of these club sports, it is not the victory,
money, or professional future that counts, it is the
superlative emotional qualities in separating from
ones' stomach in the flying club's airplanes, or sepa-rating
from everything in parachuting. The 'thrill' of
victory is had in the atmosphere of the spirited em-biding
of the Rugby club's postgame bashes.
Athletics is like a pair of sneakers. Though they
were the best you ever had, and made you feel good
while they lasted, they wore out too soon, and now
they'll have to go.
137
fOO\Mll
1974
138
139
140
141
1974 Record
(5-6)
Tulane 10 Mississippi 26
Tulane 17 S.W. Louisiana 16
Tulane 31 Army 14
Tulane 17 West Virginia 14
Tulane 10 Air Force 3
Tulane 30 Citadel 3
Tulane 7 Georgia Tech 27
Tulane 7 Kentucky 30
Tulane 3 Boston College 27
Tulane 22 Vanderbilt 30
Tulane 22 Louisiana State 24
142
£.^i^^«^v..'.'
143
Coming of a 9-2 season with 40 returning lettermen, the first
win over LSU in 25 years, and a schedule that looked like a laugh-er
on paper, 1974 was expected to be the year Tulane football
really made it big.
But something went wrong along the way. Like the 71 season
after the Liberty Bowl year, hopes and dreams were dashed by
reality.
The season opener against Ole Miss was postponed due to the
threat of Hurricane Carmen and was an omen of things to come.
The Green Wave then reeled up five straight victories over LSU,
Army, West Virginia, Air Force and the Citadel.
The Wave was not overpowering in any of these contests. And a
lack of offensive punch and a defense that was more porous than
it should have been, quickly appeared.
But the Greenies were still 5-0, and hope was still present.
But then on regional television the following week against rival
Georgia Tech, the loss of the game coupled with the loss of premier
quarterback Steve Foley started the Wave's slide downward.
The team went on to lose its remaining six games to Kentucky,
Boston College, Vanderbilt, LSU, and Old Miss to end Tulane's
final season in Tulane Stadium with a 5-6 record.
But there were some bright spots during the season:
Despite missing four games, Steve Foley ended his brilliant ca-reer
by becoming Tulane's All-time total offense leader.
Three Tulane players — Foley, defensive tackle Charlie Hall,
and defensive back John Washington were picked in the pro draft.
Rusty Chambers was later signed as a free agent with the Saints.
And the second half of the Tulane-LSU game was something for
all Tulane fans to be proud of. Down 21-0 at half, the Wave battled
back to lose a close 24-22 decision. And the Wave even had a touch-down
called back that could have made the difference.
So again, we look to next year. The Green Wave will have to rely
on youth, especially in the interior line, and someone to fill the
shoes of Steve Foley.
But with the Wave moving to the Superdome, with seven home
games in 1975, hope again rides high.
^f^^^!^^n
1974 Roster
10 Steve Foley 20 Artie Liuzza 33 Howard McNeill 43 Nick Anderson
11 Johnny Hubbard 21 Charles Cline 34 Dwight Chretien 44 Steve Treuting
12 Terry Looney 22 Bill Van Manen 35 Mike Loftin 45 Eddie Price
13 Martin Mitchell 23 John Washington 38 Arthur Green 46 Robert Brown
14 Jaime Garza 24 Tom Fortner 37 Kit Bonvillian 47 Charles Griffin
15 Buddy Gilbert 25 Wyatt Washington 38 Joe Jacobi 48 Bill Kramer
16 Mike Keeffe 28 Randy Cothran 39 Marc Robert 50 Brent Baber
17 David Falgoust 29 David Lee 40 Gary Rudick 51 Jim Andrews
18 David Bordes 30 Russell Huber 41 Mike Price 52 Kenny Quick
19 Jeff Smith 32 Miles Clements 42 Don Lemon 53 Rusty Chambers
144
54 Hank Tatje 64 George Bauer 76 Ed Mikkelsen
55 Jim Gueno 65 Mark Olivari 77 Paul Brock
56 Billy Nix 66 Cleveland Joseph 78 Brian Norwood
57 Jay McGrew 67 Jack GuUison 79 Charles Hall
58 Cameron Gaston 69 Mike Arthur 80 Chuck Lapeyre
59 Don Joyce 70 Nathan Bell 81 Zack Mitchell
60 Alan Baker 72 Dennis Delaney 82 Barry Morris
61 Mike Korf 73 Alan Zaunbrecher 83 Byron Keller
62 Brian Bourgeois 74 Rick Rutledge 84 Darwin Willie
63 JohnRonquillo 75 Harold Villere 85 Rene Faucheux
86 Bryan Alexander
87 Dick Pryor
88 Cliff Voltapetti
89 Blaine Woodfin
Bennie Eiiender, Head Coach
Don Jackson, Asst. Coach
Marvin Hagaman, Asst. Coach
Oscar Lofton, Frosh Coach
Joe Jones, Asst. Coach
Tony Misita, Asst. Coach
Billy Laird, Asst. Coach
D/1SKaD/1LL
1974-1975
4
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146
147
1974-75 Record
(16-10)
Tulane 78 Birmingham Southern . . .63
Tulane 97 Southwestern Memphis . .59
Tulane 78 LSU 80
Tulane 94 Samford 67
Tulane 82 LSU 84
Tulane 73 Ole Miss 93
Tulane 88 Louisiana Tech 65
Tulane 73 Northeast Louisiana ... .95
Tulane 84 SMU 80
Tulane 78 Citadel 57
Tulane 71 Kansas State 57
Tulane 85 Southern Mississippi . . .70
Tulane 76 UNO 61
Tulane 81 Illinois 69
Tulane 74 Ball State 98
Tulane 100 Southern Mississippi . . .86
Tulane 96 Southern New Orleans . .69
Tulane 83 Xavier 63
Tulane 79 Richmond 80
Tulane 83 UNO 81
Tulane 94 Dillard 96
Tulane 77 Georgia State 68
Tulane 69 Georgia Tech 74
Tulane 79 Valparaiso 75
Tulane 74 Stetson 99
Tulane 65 Marquette 73
r ^ fi
. 'OM
148
iV
^
A
M
149
Tulane basketball is on the move — upward.
1974-1975 was Tulane's first winning season in bas-ketball
since '66-'67, and its best record since the '56-
'57 campaign.
Led by Mr. Basketball at Tulane, Phil Hicks, coach
Charlie Moir's second season at Tulane was an excit-ing
as well as successful one.
After a slow 4-4 start, the team picked up steam and
won six straight games to stretch its record to 10-5.
The Wave cooled off a little and won 6 of their last
11 games to end the season with a 16-10 record.
Included in this eventful season were two wins
over crosstown rivals UNO who went on to the NCAA
college division finals.
Phil Hicks led the team in scoring with a 22.7 av-erage,
and in rebounding with a 12.4 per game ef-fort.
Hicks scored in double figures in every game of
the season.
Hicks ended the season with 1030 career points and
unless he goes pro, should easily break the all-time
Tulane record of 1501.
The future seems bright if Hicks returns. Tulane
started two freshmen, Pierre Gaudin and Tom Hicks,
for much of the season and their experience should
show next year.
The Wave will lose only one starting senior from
this year's club, and with returnees like Marty Pren-dergast,
John Bobzein, and talented junior college
transfers the Wave has signed, should insure a con-tinued
winning tradition.
I
150
1974-75 Roster
10 Tom Hicks
12 Pierre Gaudin
14 John Thompson
15 Marc Mirsky
20 Tony Beaulieu
22 Marty Prendergast
24 John Bobzien
25 Luther Strange
30 Paul Yungst
33 Phil Hicks
40 Steve Stanley
42 Richard Purtz
44 Greg Spannuth
50 Terry McLean
Coach Charles Moir
Assistant Coach Don Brown
Assistant Coach Johnny Altobello
151
MSGMLL
1975
-iaB*is«sk— -,- —*-
.v^iojlKtewMiaxuE
152
ise^scus-^
1975 RESULTS
(24-11-1)
Opponent TU OPP
Sprinj; Hill 9 1
Spring Hill 6 3
Western Illinois 1 2
Western Illinois 4
Middle Tennessee State 2
Middle Tennessee State 2
Iowa 4 15
Texas A & M 2 IJ
Texas A &M 1 1
Texas A & M 9 10
New Haven 4 2
Centenary 6 3
Centenary 1
Northwestern 5 3
Northwestern 9 1
Northwestern 6 1
Bradley 11 8
Wisconsin 17 3
Wisconsin 5 2
Wisconsin 1 5
Carroll College 4
Carroll College 6
South Alahama 8
South Alahama 5 6
Louisiana State 1 2
Southern Mississippi 10 5
New Orleans 1
Louisiana State 14 1
Miami 2 3
Miami 8 9
Miami 1 2
Louisiana College 11 4
Louisiana College 12 5
Louisiana College 6 3
New Orleans 7 5
Southern Mississippi 4 2
153
^:->^'^
154
Led by ace pitcher Steve Mura, the 1975
Tulane Baseball team finished the season
with a stellar 24-11 record — the most wins
by any Tulane baseball team in its history.
The feat is more notable when you take in-to
account the fact the Tulane Baseball team
fielded its first team in 1911.
First year coach, Joe Brockhoff used the
right combination of experience and youth
in guiding the Wave in tnis milestone season.
Sophomore pitcher, Steve Mura, led the
way with an overall record of 10-3. This was
the most wins ever by a Tulane pitcher in
one season.
The Wave played probably its toughest
schedule ever this year. It included three
games against Southwest Conference cham-pion
Texas A & M, three games against
Miami, the number two team in the country
last year, two games against number 9 rank-ed
South Alabama, and a pair of games
against archrival LSU, who went on to win
the Southeastern Conference champion-ship.
The Tulane record would have been even
better, but they lost a total of 6 one-run
games, LSU (2-1), South Alabama (6-5),
Texas A & M (10-9), and three unbelievable
one-run games to Miami (3-2, 9-8, 2-1).
On the positive side, the Green Wave
swept the two game series with cross-town
rival UNO.
The highlight of the season had to be the
14-1 shellacking of LSU. The Tigers went on
to win the SEC and advance to the NCAA
playoffs.
The Wave also got good performances out
of John Foto, Barry Butera, R. J. Barrios, John
Leblanc, Bryan Martiny, David Seay, and
others all season long.
This year coach Brockhoff lost some val-uable
players to graduation, but there
shoula be enough talented youth left over to
provide for another fine season.
^ ~*siS. -A ^'^-^^m^'^-.-i»tf
1975 ROSTER
Jeffrey Alvis
Chris Barnet
R. }. Barrios
Tony Beaulieu
Barry Butera
Doug Caldarera
Neal Comarda
Ken Cronin
Vincent De Grouttola
John Foto
Jim Gaudet
Barry Hebert
John Kuhlman
John Leblanc
Joe Liberato
Mike Loftin
RonMarcomb
Bryan Martiny
Steve Mura
Ralph Prats
Steve Pumila
Mickey Retif
Marlin Rogers
Gary Roney
David Seay
Mark Spansel
Frank Steele
David Zeringue
Pierre Gaudin
Joe Brockhoff, Coach
155
SWIMMIMG
Brian Beach
Brian Burke
William Bower
James DeLuca
Benjamin Goslin
Scott Handler
John Herlihy
William Kuhn
Georges Leblanc
John C. McPherson
David O'Leary
Terrance Owens
Thomas Perkins
Michael Reynolds
Philip Stagg
James Staten
Madelyn Treating
Frederick Wagner
Constance Walker
Manager: Debbie Darnell
Coach: C. Richard Bower
156
1975 TENNIS RESULTS
Opponent TU OPP.
City Park Tennis Club
Northwestern State
7
5
2
4
New Orleans Tennis Club
South Alabama
6
8
3
1
Western Illinois
Middle Tennessee
South Carolina
8
3
2
1
6
7
Clemson
Nichols State
4
6
5
3
Southeastern Louisiana
Southern University
McNeese State
Vanderbilt
8
Default
9
8
1
1
Mississippi State
Southern Mississippi
Northeastern Louisiana
Jacksonville
Rain
Rain
3
7
6
1
LSU
Final Record 13-5
3 6
TGhMIS
M'-MS^:"^;-:^
A^^ i
Duane Burley, Coach
Don Kerr, Coach
Jeff Smith
Rob Bunnen
Davis Henley
Bob Flippen
Charles Reed
Ed Gaskell
Randy Gregson
Mark Burnstein
Bruce Mertz
'. Steve Buerger
!m Clarence Rivers, Mgr.
157
GOLf
GOLF TEAM
Jim Hart, Head Coach
Alan Bartelstein
Mark Boyce
Gary Brewster
Ronald Bubes
Richard Gunst
James Joseph
Herbert List
Burke Madigan
Henry Mull
John Neblett
Barton Ramsey
Michael Rodrigue
- 0^SSa^,;8fc>?*y;'ii.^juV-'-i.*^5fi?-iiS?TS353S .
158
TRACK TEAM
John Oelkers, Head Coach
Keith Alexander
Nick Anderson
Jason Collins
Warren Chandler
Lenard Culicchia
David Delgado
Rohbin Duncan
Steve Foley
Phillip Gihbons
Jon Guben
Dennis Gordon
Don Joyce
Paul Kenul
MelvinParet
Quentin Phillips
Tom Pond
Jim Rickard
Mark Staid
Tom Stephenson
James Stoyanoff
Keith Wolfe
.^Ulu.v^.^.! V^M^
TR/^CK
159
SAILING CLUB
Jerry Jung
Chris Peragine
Bob Weber
Lee Shuman
Leonard Duncan
Toby Darden
Brian Zipp
Bob LaFrance
Kurt Weise
Robin Keefe
John Garth
Marion Hollings
Frank Collins
Augie Diaz
Doug Bull
S/^iLinc
160'
CKGGRLG/^DGRS
CHEERLEADERS
Joni Anderson
Adrianne Petit
Denise Butler
Christine Nielsen
Leslie Brupbacher
Toby Berry
Don Peterson
Charlie Calderwood
Lamar Warmack
Letch Kline
Gary Fitzjarrell
Bob Boese
Neil Barnes
Madeline Treating
Mary Tull
Sue Ragde
Denise Downing
161
MCROSSG
•nttt^tap^t-
^m^t0
LACROSSE CLUB
Rix Yard, Head Coach
David Matasar
Watts Wacker
Joe Dirty
Joe Lee, Co-capt.
Vic Barbieri
Jake Aldred
Phil Nidrie
Clark Haley
BobRaynold
Mike Mariorenzes
Paul Paganele
Andrew Holcombe
Mark Muller
Conrad T. Jones
John Macintosh, Co-capt.
Phil Rodgers
Clint Eastwood
Gary Pruto
Duncan Davis
Mark Weiderlight
Hank Spicer
Pat Chanell
Rand Ian
Denise & Cindy
162
.•T;T!.-"l''"g-'Baa iSS^I^i^!
We would like to extend our deepest appreciation to
Dr. Rix N. Yard for his efforts as Coach, friend and
confident to the Tulane Lacrosse Team. Rix Yard has
opened avenues of growth to all of us by his inspiring
example of devotion, hard work and fairness. We
have learned to be winners together, yet, with
dignity. We have learned to lose together, also. Most
of all, we have learned to compete with a spirit of
robust comaraderie which transcends winning and
losing.
Thank You Dr. Yard
The Departing Members
of the 75 Tulane Lacrosse Club
163
^v-..is^-^
.-ri... --^
SOCCGR
164
This year the Tulane Soccer Club fielded two
soccer teams due to the tremendous interest in soccer
during the last couple of years. Close to 80 players
registered with the club, but eventually we had a
working group of 40 players. The highlight of this
year's season was the Green Team's victory over
Georgia Tech in the finals of the SEC soccer classic
held in Atlanta.
Tulane held its first annual Spring Soccer Tourna-ment
this year. The University of Alabama at
Huntsville won handily but proved that soccer is a
great player and spectator sport in the South. The
Tulane Soccer Team wishes the best of luck to some
departing seniors: D. Diego, J. R. Davis, J. Mclnnis,
C. Leon, and J. Young.
SOCCER CLUB
J. Bolanos, Capt.
J. Mclnnes, Capt.
F. King, Advisor
Green Team
L. Pettigru
J. Bolanos
M. Gutierrez
M.Fell
C. Bowers
A. Parra
J. Walsch
S. Troxler
F. Woll
D. Diego
J. Beingolea
E. Young
C. Leon
R. Edwards
M. Mantese
J. J. deVidarrauzaga
J. R. Davis
BJue Team
E. Vamvas
D. Sommer
M. Nibbolink
J. de Pond
J. Young
C. Pinzon
J. Mclnnis
J. Ott
R. Knight
F. Stanley
L. Butler
D. Dearie
G. Long
T. Jobin
T. Ory
B. Boutte
R. Horseley
L. Linares
165
RUGBY CLUB
Tyrone Yokum, Capt.
Jerry Cave
Jack Adams
Laird Canby
Steve Bumbus
Ken Gutzeit
Bill Daniels
Andy Miles
Ron Quinton
Jim Richeson
Bob Preston
Bill Murphy
Lynn Parry
Doug Watkins
Chuck Collins
John Tabor
Vince Dobbs
John Walsh
Dave Taylor
Jim Summerour
Jim Beskin
Mike Smith
Doug Walton
Randy Wykoff
Hawkeye Deter
Bob Duff
Neal Dunaway
Ed Sheinis
Bill Schwartz
ChipWalshaw
Mitch Woods
Dan Anderson
Tad Daniels
Ray Hunting
Gary Hahn
Tom O'Neil
Mike Warner
Steve Carroway
Mark Rowe
.///
RUGDY
166
167
5;
^
o
s
s
A NOTE
TO THE
SENIORS
By Scott Wagman
What would you like to be when you grow up? I can hardly fathom the many times through-out
my life that I have been confronted with this rather simplistic question. Indeed, the ques-tion's
ramifications have obscured its intent to the point where the question becomes one not
of what or when, but if.
The high school senior entering Tulane experiences the transition of going from top to twit,
with nary a hope of regaining the stature that immediate post-pubescence offered him. To the
freshman, Tulane is but a hermetically sealed jar of milk and honey, appearing just as college
should appear; the professors polished in their specific discipline, the textbooks thick with the
wisdom of the world, the dorms buzzing with tales of limitless excess and connubial conquest.
Even the buildings emanate a feeling of truth and knowledge almost challenging to the
aspiring scholar.
The sophomore year heralds the inception of a kind of facetious familiarity with one's
surroundings. The professors are now somewhat less than eloquent, the textbooks thick but
very expensive, the dorms consumed with more excess of beer, grass and aspirin than the
favors of a certain friend. The days between tests grow long as the many flights of stairs to
the fourth floor of Newcomb Hall increasingly grate on one's nerves.
Enter the junior year, and concomitantly, upperclass status. Status? No, status comes later.
Meanwhile, back with the pre-meds, pre-laws, pre-business, and pre-generalists, that ever
important commitment, the major, is becoming ever more tangential to what you used to think
was your goal in life. You've become quite adept at categorizing the gumbo of professors,
courses, bars, etc., and rating them on neat scales of one to ten. Of greater concern, you have
begun to categorize yourself, as the spectre of LSAT, MCAT and GRE tests loom ever larger
on the horizon.
The neophyte Tulane Senior senses that he is at the beginning of an end, hopefully an end
that will lead to new beginnings. The confusingly paradoxical professor, it has been dis-covered,
seems to feel much less vulnerable arguing over a beer than at the rostrum. Cracks
have developed in the once seemingly solid walls of the academic structure; priorities that
were taken for granted now appear misplaced. Ultimately, the naive awe in which the Tulane
Senior once held his school matures into a more realistic, critical appraisal of university and
academic life. In many aspects the Tulane Senior bites the loco parental hand that feeds him,
but it is in no way a malicious bite, just a curious nibble. That the Tulane Senior openly con-fronts
that which he perceives to be less than right demonstrates that Tulane has fulfilled its
primary purpose — to sensitize the person to his environment and at least begin to equip him
to deal with it.
Regardless of the way in which the Tulane Senior occupies his future, he should be able to
look back at Tulane and laugh at that which was outrageous, chuckle at that which was per-plexing,
and smile at all that was significant.
It can now be seen that the Tulane Senior will never grow up, only out.
169
Keith V. Abramson
Norwalk, Connecticut
Arts and Sciences
David V. Adler
New Orleans
Business
Michael F. Adoue
Shreveport, Louisiana
Arts and Sciences
Mary C. Akers
Charlotte, N