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����ɫ��ҹ: The Early Years

Part 2: The “Depressing” 30s

By David Lein

Foreword: The following article is the second in a two-part series highlighting ����ɫ��ҹ University’s early years. If you missed the first article or would just like a refresher, please click on the following link (/history/history-history-department)! In any case, much of this information was sourced from my time at the Special Collections and Archives at the University’s library, although I’ve consulted several other texts as well, including Philip H. Shriver’s excellent book, titled The Years of Youth. This second article will focus on the courses offered by the history department during this period, as well as the professors who taught them. In addition, sections related to events that occurred at the university at-large, including student life, will be seen as well. My hope is that these articles will show students just how much blood, sweat, and tears were devoted into creating the university as it is known today. Without further ado, get ready to be transported back to the 1930s!

In the 1930s, ����ɫ��ҹ, along with its history department, underwent a “renaissance” of sorts, as the new focus on academics under the leadership of President James Ozro Engleman culminated in the establishment of a college of business administration and a graduate program in 1935. Yet, at the same time, the institution suffered greatly for most of the decade due to the ongoing “Great Depression,” best exemplified in the “building holiday” that put a pause on any new building projects until the decade’s close. ����ɫ��ҹ would also experience a brief scare in the early 1930s, as the state legislature attempted to convert the college into a psychiatric hospital, but the proposal eventually fell apart and was scrapped after much protest. While these and other issues would cloud the college (and later the university) for much of the decade, Engleman’s administration was able to keep the ship afloat through 1938, when he retired. Dr. Karl Clayton Leebrick would then become the university’s fourth president, leading students into the unknown as the United States was poised to enter World War II. Students who attended Kent during this period also fared badly, much of it related to the aforementioned “building holiday,” leading to the creation of “shantytowns.” For the History Department, the decade witnessed continued growth even in the face of the tremendous challenges that confronted the campus, the state, and the nation during the 1930s.  Under the leadership of chair A. Sellew Roberts, the department added several new faculty members during the 1930s, continued to diversify its course offerings, and, most significantly of all, began granting the MA degree.

Part 1 - The “History” of Kent’s History Department in the 1930s

The history department at ����ɫ��ҹ in the 1930s would experience a period of stability as Dr. A. Sellew Roberts, who became the head of the department in 1927, would continue to lead the department for many years to come, ultimately retiring in 1958. This section will therefore serve to highlight the four new faculty members who joined the department in the 1930s, the majority of whom obtained their degrees at very prestigious universities.

The first of the four professors hired in the 1930s was Louis A. Tohill. Born in Illinois in 1877, Tohill received the majority of his education in his home state, earning his teaching diploma from Eastern Illinois in 1908 and both his BA and MA from the University of Illinois in 1912 and 1914 respectively.  From there, Tohill went on to write a dissertation at the University of Minnesota on the fur trade in the US/Canadian borderlands.  Five years after earning the PhD, Tohill joined the ����ɫ��ҹ faculty, arriving on campus with a respectable eleven years of university teaching already under his belt, having taught history courses at the University of Minnesota for nine years (1920-1929), followed by a two-year stint at South Dakota State College.  Once on campus, Tohill left a lasting legacy through serving at the behest of President James Engleman on a committee dedicated to formulating the necessary requirements for students completing master's theses, following the establishment of a graduate program in 1935. Shortly thereafter, in 1939, Tohill would be chosen as chairman of the third division in the liberal arts college, which encompassed social science, philosophy, and psychology (The ����ɫ��ҹr, 17 February 1939). This was part of one of many initiatives taken by President Leebrick during his administration, more of which will be discussed in a subsequent section of this article. Tohill would continue to teach at ����ɫ��ҹ until his retirement in 1943.

The next faculty member to join Kent’s history department in the 1930s was Gertude Lawrence. Ohio-born in 1896, Lawrence’s appointment in 1935 was unique for several different reasons. For one, she was one of the few visible women working in a field that had been dominated by men for decades up to that point in time. Having earned the PhD in History from Ohio State University in 1929, where she had also earned BA and MA degrees, Lawrence was the only woman working at ����ɫ��ҹ during the 1930s to hold that degree. Notably, her 330-page dissertation on the history of the Sinn Fein movement would nearly equal the combined page lengths of the dissertations written by the three male faculty members hired by the History Department during the 1930s.  A specialist in Irish and British history, Lawrence taught for six years at two different universities before coming to ����ɫ��ҹ in 1935: first at the University of Cincinnati (1927-1928), and then at Milligan College (1929-1934). The long-time advisor of Phi Alpha Theta, meetings for which she hosted at her home on West Main Street in downtown Kent, Lawrence’s tenure at ����ɫ��ҹ would last for twenty-eight years, with her retirement occurring in 1963.

The third faculty member to be appointed, Henry Murray Dater, had the most impressive qualifications of the four who were hired in the 1930s and stayed at ����ɫ��ҹ the shortest amount of time. Born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1909, Dater would earn both his Bachelor's of Arts (1931) and Ph.D. (1936) at Yale University. Dater also spent a year abroad (1933-1934) studying at the University of Lyon, a visit that must have played a crucial role in his dissertation on ancien régime municipal governance in Lyon.  Upon his return to the U.S., Dater taught history at Yale for two years (1934-1936) before joining ����ɫ��ҹ as an instructor in 1936.  Within two years he would be promoted to associate professor, but his career trajectory stalled with the arrival of the Second World War.  In 1943, Dater joined the U.S. Navy, where he worked as an in-house historian for the Chief of Naval Operations in Washington, D.C.  Upon departing military service in 1946, Dater did not return to Kent or university teaching.  Instead, he parlayed his wartime experience into numerous postings as a civilian historian for federal agencies, most of which were connected to Department of Defense.  By the time of his death in 1974, his work in the federal government, particularly his accounts of the federal exploration of the polar regions, would bring him enough prominence to receive a full obituary in the New York Times (see the June 27, 1974 edition).

Finally, William L. Wannemacher would rounded out the complement of new faculty members joining the History Department in the 1930s.  Born in Ohio in 1907, Wannemacher would go on to received a BA degree from Capitol University in 1927, followed by an MA degree (1936) and a PhD (1940), both from the University of Michigan. Before coming to ����ɫ��ҹ in 1937, Wannemacher “taught history and Latin at the Mendon, Ohio, high school where he also had charge of the athletic and physical education program.” (The ����ɫ��ҹr, 8 April 1958) He would subsequently become an associate professor in 1940, and like Henry Murray Dater, he would also serve as a historian for the military during World War II.  In Wannemacher’s case, this entailed deployments as “base historical officer at Santa Ana air base in California and historical officer for the central Pacific Army, stationed at Fort Shafter, Hawaii.” (The ����ɫ��ҹr, 8 April 1958). Notable as well was the fact that Wannemacher would succeed Dr. A. Sellew Roberts as the second chairperson of the history department, with his tenure beginning in September 1958.  Wannemacher would ultimately serve in this role until 1961, at which point Henry N. Whitney replaced him and would serve as departmental chairperson until 1983.

Part 2 - An Overview of the Historical Courses Offered in the 1930s

The history courses offered at ����ɫ��ҹ during the 1930s continued the precedent set at the end of the previous decade of providing more “diverse” experiences that strayed from the established American/European/English dichotomy. This is not to say that the aforementioned “mold” was completely abandoned in the 1930s, but with the Great Depression occurring for most of the period, along with the first world war ending over a decade before, and the introduction of graduate courses in 1935, the classes offered during this time were nothing if not “eclectic.” Please note that the courses highlighted in the subsequent section will be solely focused on those that were introduced during the 1930s; for information pertaining to general courses and those offered in the 1920s, please refer to the similar section seen in the first article of this series, “����ɫ��ҹ: The Early Years Part 1: The “Roaring” 20s.”

Fifteen new courses would be added to the catalog over the decade, with the first two introduced in 1933: History 476 and History 480. The former class was subtitled “History of the Old Northwest” and would focus on the westward movement that began in the late eighteenth century that would see thousands flock into the territory that would eventually become the modern state of Ohio, along with parts of the upper Mississippi. Potential students would explore such topics as problems of public land, government, transportation, money and banking, and trade and industry. The latter class, subtitled “The Middle Ages,” focused primarily on the period from the fall of the Roman Empire (circa 476 AD) to 1500. Students taking the course would also review institutions of the late Roman Empire, with major attention given to the study of the medieval foundations of modern civilization.

Two years later, in 1935, the next set of classes would be added to the catalog for students to take. The first of these, History 390, was subtitled “The World Since 1914” and was focused on studying the underlying causes of the First World War. While prospective students would study some parts of the war, most of the course would deal with the post-war conditions seen internationally. The second class offered, History 395, was subtitled “Hispanic America." In this course, students explored the evolution of politics, society, and economics in the Latin American republics, with an emphasis on Argentina and Mexico. Finally, History 396, subtitled “History of Spanish Civilization," surveyed Spanish civilization, from the Roman period to the (then-)present day.  While there are many compelling reasons for history departments to offer surveys of Spanish history—surviving course materials indicate that a central portion of the course discussed the emergence of the Spanish empire, for example—from this late date it seems impossible to disentangle the creation of this course from the emerging Spanish Civil War.  Indeed, one wonders if the nature and intensity of classroom discussions in the “History of Spanish Civilizations” disturbed nearby classes in Merrill Hall, where most classroom instruction in History took place during the 1930s. 

As mentioned earlier, ����ɫ��ҹ’s graduate program was officially established in 1935, and in its first year, two graduate history courses were available for students to take. The first of these, History 570, was subtitled “The Constitutional Convention.” Potential students who took this class would conduct an in-depth examination of the aforementioned convention, which occurred in Philadelphia from May 25 to September 17, 1787. The potential topics for discussion include examining the conditions that led to the establishment of the convention itself, the political views expressed in either text or speech by those who attended the convention, and identifying any external influences that may have affected the formation of the Constitution of the United States. The second course, History 575, was subtitled “The Civil War” and was an in-depth study of the issues that would eventually lead to the aforementioned conflict. It is interesting to note that both of these classes focused on major events in American history: the creation of the Constitution of the United States and the subsequent war between the Union North and the Confederate South.

The following year, two more courses would be added, of which students who are currently majoring in history will be familiar or would soon be familiar with. The first of these courses, History 571, was subtitled “Historiography and Methodology” and was focused on studying “great historians,” along with historical method and bibliography. Students would first take this course, and afterwards, they would take the second part, History 575, subtitled "Seminar-Thesis Course." This “companion” class involved students working out some kind of historical problem of their choosing. If these classes sound familiar, it would be because they were the “prototype,” so to speak, of the current classes known as “Historical Research Methods” and “Senior Seminar,” respectively!

The year 1937 would see the penultimate set of classes added, the first of which was History 492, subtitled “The Old Regime in Europe.” Prospective students taking this class would examine the most noteworthy events that occurred between the period that saw the end of the various religious wars (circa 1648) and the rise of the French Revolution (circa 1789). An emphasis, however, would be placed on topics such as underlying issues regarding why attacks were made against the authoritarian state; the economic developments seen in the commercial, agricultural, and industrial revolutions; and a study of the social organizations and customs seen during the time. History 493, subtitled “The French Revolution and Napoleon,” could therefore be seen as a “complement” of sorts to the previous class, as potential students would analyze both the French Revolution and the resulting Napoleonic Regime that occurred in France and Europe in terms of their origins, developments, and consequences. Topics such as the creation of modern political ideas and reflection on the use of revolution to bring about social and cultural changes would also be studied.

Finally, 1938 would see the addition of the final four history classes in the 1930s, beginning with a pair of classes, History 397 and History 398, both of which were subtitled “French Civilization.” The former would be a survey course analyzing French institutions and culture, beginning with its creation through the start of the modern period. Prospective students would also study the backgrounds of French art, literature, and music. The latter course, then, would see students examining France from the modern period through the (then-)present day. The second pair of classes, History 460 and History 461, would focus on the two “great” rulers of the ancient world: Alexander the Great and Julius Caesar. The former class would involve students studying the life of Alexander, with an emphasis on how his death correlated with a transformation of the Greek world. Similarly, the latter class would focus on Caesar's career in relation to the Roman Republic’s fall; emphasis would also be placed on examining the social and economic conditions seen during the time of Caesar.

Part 3 - ����ɫ��ҹ at Large in the 1930s: Stability, but at What Cost?

The ascendance of James Ozro Engleman as president of ����ɫ��ҹ in 1928, coupled with the establishment of a liberal arts college in 1929, caused many to believe that the newly-established college would undergo a modicum of peace and stability after the previous decade saw chaos and strife. Yet, like John Edward McGilvrey before him, Engleman’s administration would experience some stability, but issues at both the national and state level would threaten to derail its course at any time. The first of these issues, or rather “disaster,” occurred on “Tuesday morning, October 29, 1929, … [when] the bottom fell out of the nation’s stock market, bringing an end to the ‘Coolidge prosperity.’” (Shriver, 124) Thereafter, the “Great Depression,” as it would later be called, would hang over the institution like a specter for the remainder of the decade. To make matters worse, Governor Myers Y. Cooper had personally promised Engleman at the latter’s inauguration in March 1929 that the state would provide ‘“adequate finance [for ����ɫ��ҹ].’” (Shriver, 123) In reality, the budget the state legislature agreed upon for the years 1929 through 1931 “would cut appropriations for Kent to place her once more in the fifth position out of the five state schools in terms of actual dollar support.” (Shriver, 124) This action would set a precedent for the economic hardships Kent would face in the 1930s, though other issues would unfortunately occur as well.

            Still, some optimism was felt at ����ɫ��ҹ in the first three years of the new decade. For example, in January 1931, Engleman “finally recommended an administrative division of the school into separate colleges by its own dean,” with Dr. Oscar H. Williams (College of Liberal Arts) and John L. Blair (College of Education) later named the first two academic deans since 1917 (Shriver, 121). Academic departments throughout the college would also get more defined during this period, most notably with the “unwieldy combination of history and social science[,] [which] was ‘atomized’ into the separate disciplines of economics, political science, and sociology, as well as history.” (Shriver, 121) In addition, the College of Liberal Arts, which had originally stated its purpose “was to provide ‘training for men and women who do not plan to enter the field of teaching,’” would later redefine its mission statement to instead “provide the fundamentals of a liberal education.” (Shriver, 122) Other academic highlights seen during this period included “the introduction of competitive scholarships for … [freshmen] in 1930, … a merit system for honor students … in 1931, … the inauguration of new and more demanding scholastic requirements in 1932 … [,] and … the establishment of ‘honors studies’ by Dean Williams in 1933.” (Shriver, 122) All these changes led to “the acceptance of ����ɫ��ҹ College into full membership by the Ohio College Association in April, 1932, and by the North Central Association of Colleges and Secondary Schools … in May, 1933.” (Shriver, 123) It was a shame, then, that all this goodwill would eventually turn to naught.

            In late April 1933, the unthinkable happened: “the Finance Committee of Ohio’s House of Representatives made public a report proposing the … [transformation] of one of the state’s four teacher training colleges (Kent, Bowling Green, Miami, or Ohio University) into a state hospital for the mentally ill.” (Shriver, 129) This was due to overcrowding issues seen in the existing psychiatric hospitals during that period, along with the fact that thousands of teachers were unemployed due to the ongoing depression (Shriver, 129). This, of course, did not go over well in Kent, and on May 1st, over a thousand students flooded into the college auditorium, where multiple speakers vigorously denounced the report and called on support from students and staff members (Shriver, 130). Following this, on May 4th, Representative William R. Foss, the chair of the Finance Committee, toured the Kent campus, having already inspected the campuses of Bowling Green, Miami, and OSU previously. At the conclusion of the tour, Foss stated “that since Kent had ‘the most modern buildings,’ it was 'most adaptable to welfare work.’” (Hildebrand, 62) The real kicker would come the next day, when, “back in Columbus, … [Foss] declared that one college campus looked as if it had been meant to be a mental asylum.” (Hildebrand, 62) These quotes only incited calls for a state-wide protest, but four days later (May 8th), another twist occurred: the Kent Board of Trustees released “a resolution that assured the community that ����ɫ��ҹ was in no danger of being ‘abolished or seriously impaired’ and called for a stop to all protests.” (Hildebrand, 62) Though the protests had caused the legislature to scrap the proposal, a new crisis would soon emerge.

            One month later, in June 1933, David Ladd Rockwell returned to the Board of Trustees after two years and immediately called for Engleman’s resignation, just like he had done with McGilvrey in 1929. Rockwell accused the Kent president of “being a ‘weak’ administrator: specifically, that he [Engleman] failed to maintain faculty support, keeping ����ɫ��ҹ from getting adequate funding; that he [Engleman] failed to handle the athletic department, contributing to the dismal record of the football program.” (Hildebrand, 63) What followed brought new meaning to the phrase “truth is stranger than fiction,” for while Engleman and three other members of the Board of Trustees (Superintendent E. L. Bowsher of Ashland, newspaperman C. E. Oliver of East Palestine, and former board member Charles W. Seiberling) all traveled to Columbus on June 29th in order to testify before a special committee regarding the reason for Engleman’s attempted firing, Rockwell was nowhere to be found (Shriver, 133). Or so it seemed, as it would later come to light, that on the same day that the board members were all testifying in favor of Engleman, Rockwell and his co-conspirators, board members John R. Williams of Lake County and Miss Alma M. Zinninger, “were holding a board meeting at the College that had been agreed upon on the twentieth.” (Shriver, 134) There, the three board members constituted “a majority, and thus a quorum, elected Williams acting president in Bowsher’s absence, then voted to fire Engleman and hire Berea superintendent Alfred G. Yawberg as president for four years (at a far lower salary than Engleman’s), beginning forthwith.” (Hildebrand, 64) One may be asking themselves, “Did Yawberg actually replace Engleman as president?” Thankfully, the answer is no, for once Engleman caught wind of Rockwell’s subterfuge, he declared that he would “‘hold the fort’ until he was forcibly removed from office.” (Shriver, 134) Ultimately, the plot failed, for once Rockwell arrived in Columbus, he was immediately arrested due to a “‘false check’ charge filed by Kent druggist Hale B. Thompson.” (Shriver, 135) At the same time, the state senate was conducting confirmation hearings, and upon hearing of his arrest, promptly “refused to confirm Rockwell by a vote of 16-1.” (Shriver, 135) All Rockwell could say was, “‘Where are my friends?’” (Shriver, 135) And so, with Rockwell replaced by Judge Carl D. Friebolin and Yawberg back in Berea, a familiar face would soon return.

After the Rockwell debacle, “a move was quietly launched by a few of the older members of the faculty, townspeople, and particularly alumni, to accord some long over-due recognition and honor to John E. McGilvrey as the first president of the College.” (Shriver, 136) In March 1934, the trustees “voted to change the name of the William A. Cluff Training School building to the John E. McGilvrey Training School Building, … and to name the gateway marking the entrance of the College campus … to the May H. Prentice Memorial Gateway.” (Shriver, 136) While Prentice accepted, with the dedication ceremony occurring in January 1935, McGilvrey refused the renaming, fearing that more controversy could erupt. In turn, in July 1934, the trustees “voted to name him [McGilvrey] ‘President Emeritus’ and to give him a position on the faculty beginning September 1, 1934.” (Shriver, 137) Though Engleman believed that McGilvrey’s return would help him win the support of the large alumni community, McGilvrey pursued two different goals insead: “first, hire a ‘coach of prominence’ who would recruit promising athletes by offering scholarships; and, second, make ����ɫ��ҹ College into a university with graduate programs leading to master’s degrees.” (Hildebrand, 66) The first goal would be achieved in February 1935, when Engleman announced that George Donald ‘Rosy’ Starn would be taking over as football coach for the recently-dismissed Merle E. Wagoner. Upon hearing this announcement, hundreds of ����ɫ��ҹ students protested, believing that Starn was a “nobody” and that Wagoner’s temporary replacement, Joseph W. Begala, was a far stronger candidate. However, after Starn stated his intentions of keeping Begala as line coach and head wrestling coach, outrage dissipated, and Starn would ultimately remain at Kent for eight years, where he was considered “an effective football coach and athletic director.” (Hildebrand, 67) As for the second goal, McGilvrey’s alumni organization was able to muster enough support that two bills, one for Kent and another for Bowling Green, were eventually passed in both Ohio’s House of Representatives and Senate. Thus, on May 17th, 1935, Governor Martin L. Davey signed the legislation into law, allowing both ����ɫ��ҹ and Bowling Green to officially become universities. A new era was finally upon the institution that was almost turned into a psychiatric hospital.

With the addition of a College of Business Administration and a graduate program, the dreams of a man once hailed as the “Meiklejohn of the West" and who was now president emeritus finally came full circle. Still, the transition of ����ɫ��ҹ from college to university would not be as easy as simply changing the name. While Engleman assured students that “Kent was already ‘prepared to give graduate work’ with a faculty ‘trained to do it,’” not everyone on campus believed this (Shriver, 147). Eventually, two “camps” emerged: “One held that subsequent development should be along the lines of the traditional arts-dominated universities of England and the eastern United States. The other maintained that the course to follow was that charted in 1910, the University to be an extension of the teachers’ college with its graduate instruction largely geared to professional education rather than subject-matter programs, and with liberal arts and business administration kept in subordinate roles.” (Shriver, 149) These divisions would not be solved anytime soon, especially under the current administration, considering the fact that the graduate committee put together by Engleman “moved cautiously by piggybacking onto select upper-level undergraduate courses in various departments, [including history,] denominating them as split-level classes and asterisking them to indicate graduate credit for extra work.” (Hildebrand, 69) A temporizing maneuver undertaken by a small institution with a faculty cohort that contained many individuals who did not hold the doctorate, the so-called “slash classes” would come to have a long life at ����ɫ��ҹ.  Indeed, through their inactivation and revision of “slash” classes, early twenty-first century History faculty members overseeing the curricular process continue to grapple with curricular decisions made during the Great Depression.  It would be the College of Business Administration, however, that would surpass all expectations, as by the 1950s, it would become “one of the nation’s largest and second only to OSU in the state.” (Hildebrand, 70) This growth would not only be limited to a specific college, as the New York Times hailed ����ɫ��ҹ as “‘the fastest growing university’ in the mid-thirties.” (Shriver, 151) This wave of students during this period would not only mean an increase in faculty members who carried doctoral degrees, but it also signaled “a significant shift away from normal schools and teachers’ colleges as sources for the faculty personnel.” (Shriver, 151-152) While this growth was important status-wise, the campus still lacked enough buildings to house all these new students; it would take an unexpected ally to solve this issue.

Before the 1930s, Engleman had dreamed of expanding Kent’s campus with new buildings and dormitories, but the ensuing Great Depression dashed any hopes of this occurring. The only “substantial” project completed in the early 1930s was a segregated dormitory for “colored women” called ‘“Summit Hall,’” which opened in October 1932 (Shriver, 126). Engleman had received flak for introducing segregation into Kent but did nothing; it would not be until the early 1940s, under the Leebrick administration, that segregation would finally be halted (Shriver, 126). In 1935, when Kent attempted to procure money for building expansion, the legislature instead reduced its budget to only $975, a mere pittance.  Earlier chroniclers of ����ɫ��ҹ’s history attribute this to political disagreements between Engleman and Governor Martin L. Davey, a resident of Kent, as well as legislators’ concerns that Davey would give “special treatment” to ����ɫ��ҹ (Shriver, 152). As such, neither the state government nor the federal government would be of any help, the latter due to Engleman’s fierce opposition to the New Deal, an opposition that extended to federal construction funds (Shriver, 154). As a result, Kent campus construction would remain stalled until 1937, when “Herman D. Byrne, head of the political science department, who had been elected to the Ohio Senate in November, 1936, introduced a bill ‘to authorize the Board of Trustees of ����ɫ��ҹ University to construct and operate buildings as dormitories.’ This would enable the board to secure loans for dormitory construction which could then be amortized through student room rentals.” (Shriver, 155). After the governor signed the bill into law in May 1937, Kent’s trustees then voted in August 1937 “to issue notes in the amount of $300,000 to construct a women's dormitory and to build another addition to Lowry Hall.” (Shriver, 155) Notably, the new dormitory would be named after President Engleman himself. Engleman, however, had had enough and delivered his “resignation to the trustees on March 16, 1937, ‘to become effective at the pleasure of the board, but not later than July 1, 1938.’” (Shriver, 154) With Engleman no longer an issue, the trustees secured two federal grants; the first in 1937 would go towards a “host of campus improvements, principal of which was the conversion of the old college farm into a football field, baseball diamond, and parking areas,” while the second in 1938 was “used … for the construction of a new science building for which the Ohio legislature had already appropriated $650,000 on March 2, 1938.” (Shriver, 156) This money was only provided to Kent, however, “after a lobbying campaign orchestrated by McGilvrey had deluged the Statehouse with letters, petitions, telegrams, and phone calls.” (Hildebrand, 73) It would be the final fight that the president emeritus would be involved in at Kent, and as a thank you for his long service, the trustees “voted unanimously to name the new science building McGilvery Hall.” (Shriver, 157) With both Engleman and McGilvery bowing out, the university would soon gain a new vision from a new president.

In the final two years of the 1930s, a new leader would be seen in Dr. Karl Clayton Leebrick, who was chosen by the trustees in February 1938, though he would not officially assume office until July 1st, 1938. At his presidential inauguration on October 21st, 1938, Leebrick made clear his intent for ����ɫ��ҹ in a long speech, declaring “to make liberal arts, rather than education, the ‘backbone of the University’ and to expand the graduate college quickly so that it would offer doctoral degrees in a dozen fields.” (Hildebrand, 74) The resulting changes that would occur under Leebrick’s administration would later be dubbed the “Leebrick Revolution” by those studying the history of ����ɫ��ҹ. The most prominent change seen during this period was Leebrick’s reorganization of the entire university, as he “arranged all twenty-two departments and their faculties into three collegial divisions: the College of Education; the College of Business, which included secretarial science; and the College of Liberal Arts, which housed all other programs.” (Hildebrand, 74) Notably, the history department would be grouped into the third division under the College of Liberal Arts, “social science, philosophy, and psychology;” the other three divisions would be “language and literature,” “natural science and mathematics,” and “fine arts and practical arts.” (Shriver, 161) Conversely, the College of Education suffered the most under the reorganization, as Leebrick “not only took away one of its bedrock courses, psychology, he then bunched its twelve faculty members into three divisions—kindergarten-primary, elementary, and secondary;” in addition, “the vulnerable two-year diploma program was discontinued in 1939 after 7,643 had completed it since 1914.” (Hildebrand, 75; Shriver, 163) Other changes seen during Leebrick’s administration included the return of the quarter system after nine years, “the inauguration of the school’s first four-year scholarship program ‘to compete more effectively with other colleges for the best seniors in the high school graduating classes’; … and the replacement of the retiring Dean of Women Blanche A. Verder by Dr. Mary L. Smallwood.” (Shriver, 163-164) The final, and possibly most significant, event that occurred during this period was “the burying of the hatchet of discord by the five Ohio state universities through the creation of the Inter-University Council in January, 1939.” (Shriver, 165) By doing this, the other four universities would be able to stand up against OSU, especially after “it attempt[ed] to persuade the other four schools to promise not to offer doctoral degrees or to set up professional schools, [which] the Inter-University Council effectively resolved.” (Hildebrand, 76) Overall, the “Leebrick Revolution” accomplished much in two years, although the next decade would bring serious challenges,  most notably global war and rapid fluctuations in student enrollment, to Kent’s doorstep.

Part 4 - ����ɫ��ҹ at Large in the 1930s: Student Life

The sweeping feelings of exuberance and cheer that undercut the 1920s were all but gone once the Great Depression came, replaced instead with sheer survival. In the early 1930s, many “students found part-time jobs almost non-existent,” especially due to their parents being unable to find work (Shriver, 138). Fees were levied especially hard during this period, as “the registration fees were raised from $15.00 to $20.00 per quarter to prevent faculty salaries from tumbling still lower in 1931;” two years later, “a special fee of $25.00 per semester for out-of-state students was inaugurated.” (Shriver, 138) Furthermore, “the cost of dormitory meals [was reduced] to $4 a week, but that was still too high for many students, who ended up dining on coffee and stale crullers or care packages from home.” (Hildebrand, 61) After the closure of banks in 1933, students began to be more resourceful, as “a student exchange of books by barter was begun by the Y.M.C.A. that same month.” (Shriver, 128) Notably, a shanty village, commonly known as a “Hooverville,” first “appeared [at ����ɫ��ҹ] in 1931 when some hard-up students moved into a tumbledown outbuilding once part of the old Kent farm in the woods behind Moulton Hall.” (Hildebrand, 61) After ten students “had lived in this ‘Bachelor Hall’ over the winter of 1931-32, it was razed as a fire hazard in May, 1932, by order of the president.” (Shriver, 168) Sports-wise, the wrestling team won multiple collegiate and interstate bouts throughout the period, under the leadership of coach Joseph W. Begala; Begala also “directed the school’s first golf team to an undefeated season in 1934, bringing Kent its first Ohio Conference championship.” (Shriver, 141) By the decade’s end, students were once again celebrating “spring’s greening by singing and dancing about the maypole on Campus Day;” the Sadie Hawkins Day and Dance tradition also began at this time, giving “women a socially acceptable opportunity to ask men for dates.” (Hildebrand, 77) Though many students barely survived through the depression, the call of war would soon rear its ugly head in the 1940s.