From Still on the Move

by Dr. Ronald Matthias

C.H. Becker was the last son of the Iowa Synod to serve as president of Wartburg College.  But he was the first to leave to his successor a college with a reputation extending beyond the confines of church and community.  During the Becker years, Wartburg entered the mainstream of American higher education.  And it did so without compromising the historic commitment of “preparing young men and women for Christian living and for full-time service in the Church as well as in the various professions and vocations.”

Becker’s successor, John W. Bachman, came to Wartburg College in 1964 from Union Theological Seminary in New York – a move he described as “a decision to desert the east bank of the Hudson for the west bank of the Cedar River.”  Bachman’s roots were in the Ohio Synod; a distinguished teaching career had taken him from Capital University in Ohio to Baylor University in Texas and then to Union, where he served as Professor of Practical Theology and Director of the Center for Communication and the Arts.  

As president, Bachman reaffirmed many themes of the Wartburg tradition: faith and learning, life in community, and even the Wartburg “GQ” (guts quotient) which, he said, “predict[s] the ability to stick to a task when the going gets rough.”  He insisted that “Wartburg make no apologies for including in our curriculum some provision for professional and pre-professional preparation…The sharp separation which often appears to exist between ‘making a living’ and ‘learning to live’ reminds us that we have not yet realized Luther’s sense of vocation through occupation.”

But there were also unmistakable changes in nuance and direction: “Students should not be attracted to Wartburg College merely out of loyalty or sentiment; we want them to come in the conviction that they can experience here the highest possible quality of education.”  Academic standards ought to be higher; the distinctive relationship of faith to scholarship should be reflected in the academic enterprise.  Wartburg’s location and size were “conducive to conversation and contemplation,” and could facilitate a “lively interdisciplinary exchange within Christian community.”  At the same time, it was essential that Wartburg be “opened to the world beyond Waverly”; the college ought to resist becoming “a pious haven for culturally retarded adolescents.”

Bachman’s enthusiasm for the life of the mind proved to be contagious.  Before long student publications were quoting Kierkegaard and Bultmann; Wartburg Players began presenting plays by Albee and Ionesco; the honors program was reshaped to include student-faculty colloquia.  Weekend cultural excursions took students to galleries, concerts, and plays in Minneapolis and Chicago.  Cooperative programs, as well as student and faculty exchanges, were established with other colleges and universities; a steady stream of speakers and performers – many of the international – brought to the campus, in Bachman’s words, “exposure to the life and thought of the world.”  At his suggestion, interdisciplinary faculty “groups” replaced the traditional faculty divisional structure.  Since faculty quality is “the single most important factor in the quality of a college,” Bachman gave high priority to improving faculty salaries.  And in 1968 the decades-old dream of a faculty sabbatical leave program finally became a reality.

The most substantial – and durable – academic innovation of the Bachman years was the implementation in 1967 of the 4-4-1 calendar (Fall, January, and Spring terms) because of the potential for extending the May Term experience into the summer.  Once in place, the new framework set off an incredible burst of faculty creativity – especially in the creation of new courses, both on and off campus, for the May Term.  Whole programs, such as foreign languages, came to be built around the distinctive possibilities of the 4-4-1 calendar.  A “capstone” course in “Problems of War and Peace” was introduced as a requirement for graduation.

The new calendar and curriculum did not exhaust the possibilities for innovation.  Under the leadership of Ronald Alexander, a faculty-student committee proposed creation a “satellite college” to make available to Wartburg students an alternate educational experience.  Administrative support was strong; by 1972 the new program – dubbed “Chrysalis” – was in place.  It offered selected first and second-year students residence-centered learning, cross-disciplinary studies in the humanities and social science, and an opportunity and responsibility for shaping their own education.  Students and program were housed in Wartburg Hall; course work took the form of seminars and independent study.  Under the leadership of directors K.D. Briner and Herman Diers, Chrysalis created a “a different style of education” – separate but not isolated from the rest of the college community.  For many students, Chrysalis worked well.  Those who completed the program tended to be enthusiastic about the experience.  More than a few, however, dropped out along the way – often finding the heavy dose of student responsibility more than they were ready to assume.

Chrysalis was never without its critics, but even detractors were willing to give it credit for enhancing the quality of intellectual discourse on campus.  By the late 1970s, however, general enthusiasm for the program began to wane.  Fewer students seemed willing to make the necessary commitment; the college budget was tight; faculty members were preoccupied with the development of a new program in general education.  No one was arguing that Chrysalis had failed; more than a few, however, were ready to suggest that perhaps it had run its course.  At the best of the Chrysalis experience came to be incorporated into a new “Wartburg Plan” of general education – thereby making it available to all Wartburg students – the case for continuing Chrysalis as a distinct program no longer seemed compelling.  The decision to discontinue it came in 1980 – during the final months of William Jellema’s presidency.  A year later Chrysalis was gone.  No one rejoiced in its death; the faculty pledged to find ways of keeping alive its spirit.

John Bachman’s passion for ideas and reasoned discourse was severely tested by the general disruption of American life and society during the years of his presidency.  The events of the 1960s – especially the war in Vietnam and the struggle for civil rights – spawned a youth culture determined to correct the ills of American society – and to do it now.  On college campuses everywhere, faculty members were drawn into prophetic roles; students found themselves moving from initial skepticism to outright rejection of inherited traditions and values.  Many were convinced that it was necessary not only to “stop the war” in Vietnam, but also to “change the system” – on campus as well as in Washington, D.C.  Protest became a mechanism of choice for change.

This new world of student (and faculty) activism took root slowly on the Wartburg campus.  During the first few years of Bachman’s presidency, the college community dealt with great issues of the day in traditional academic fashion: discussion and debate, editorials and letters to the editor, distribution of printed materials, silent vigils.  Despite frequent complaints about student apathy, the campus was substantially engaged; but almost always that engagement found expression in tones of civility and respect.  When in 1967 a Wartburg-Community Committee to End the War in Vietnam was formed, it made clear that it had no interest in the tactics of protest.

In 1969, the fabric of community on the Wartburg campus began to fray.  African-American students cheered for the opposition at a basketball game.  Shortly thereafter, a burning cross appeared on campus; anonymous phone calls told African-American students that it was intended for them.  One of the candidates for student body president ran (and lost) that year on a platform of “student power.”  In the fall came a passionate though unsuccessful attempt to cancel classes for a Vietnam Moratorium Day.  Large numbers of students and faculty participated instead in an on-campus teach-in and a march to the county courthouse for a memorial service.  The day ended with the planting of a “tree of life” on the campus.

Early in 1970, “Concerned Students for Change” presented a list of “recommendations” for broad expansion of student rights.  They asked for an immediate response from the college so that students could “make plans for next year accordingly.”  A few months later came the tragic deaths of American students at Kent State and Jackson State.  Student fury led many colleges and universities to close down before the end of the academic year.  Wartburg students settled for dyeing the fountain red (“the blood of Kent”) and for a week of mourning during which the American flag was lowered to half-mast (thereby infuriating local veterans organizations).  Commencement was held as scheduled; some faculty and students used it as an occasion to publicly protest the awarding of an honorary degree to the publisher of the Waterloo Courier.

Student discontent with the world – and with the “power structures” of the college – intensified during the early 1970s.  The great issues of the day – poverty, race, student power, the draft, the war – were played out in the nation and on the campus.  In the minds of some, Wartburg College was not only a candidate for change, but also a launching pad for reform of the larger society.  For a few it was a convenient laboratory for confrontation.

Strategies and tactics varied from issue to issue, and from month to month.  Marches on the local draft board office and sit-ins reflected a commitment to peaceful persuasion.  Efforts to physically hold hostage the board of regents – or, on another occasion, the president – as a way of securing capitulation to demands did not.  At one point the college quietly developed plans “to evacuate in case of threatened sabotage.”  And in the spring of 1972, the Wartburg Trumpet published a letter from a faculty member suggesting that “sometimes it takes violence on the part of protesters to expose the violence done by the authorities in Vietnam, Waterloo, Waverly, and Chicago.”

Despite what sometimes seemed to be a “crisis of the month,” Wartburg came through the traumatic days of the early seventies quite well.  Much of the credit belongs to John Bachman.  It was Bachman who set the tone for responding to campus unrest; most members of the faculty and board – and many students – pitched in.

Believing that Wartburg’s commitment to the faith should make it possible to “transcend disagreement in acceptance of one another and in growth together,” Bachman welcomed unrest to the campus “if its purpose was to improve rather than destroy.”  And in calling for “reasonable deliberations within a community of the concerned,” he reminded the campus that “ultimate victories…are not won over persons but over ignorance and evils.  If we cannot see beyond victory over blacks or whites, doves or hawks, hippies or Establishment, we will only share in defeat.”

Bachman's determination that the college experience "thaw some minds...within a community of the concerned" was matched by a commitment to institutional change. The corollary was a resolve that "changes...are not hastened by attempted coercion." Early in his presidency he began taking steps to increase substantially the presence of African-Americans in the life of the college students, faculty, staff, board, curriculum. It was not easy. Efforts to designate scholarships for minority students created a backlash among white students. Even as their numbers grew, African-American students invariably found Wartburg less than hospitable; they grew weary of being "used" to educate others. And often they regarded efforts on their behalf as superficial at best. Nevertheless, Bachman persisted. So did many members of the faculty and staff. Some minds were opened; some good things happened. In 1971, when an African-American woman, Ruth Owens, was elected Homecoming queen, everyone understood that Wartburg was changing-certainly not enough, but changing. When Bachman left the college in 1974, he and his wife, Elsie, were invited to become honorary members of the Wartburg Afro-American Society.

Bachman was also more than a little responsive to one of the consistent themes of student activists: that the college encourage and permit students to take more responsibility for their own lives. Student membership on college committees was expanded; student leaders were invited to meetings of the faculty and board of regents. Individual housing units were given authority to establish hours. Men and women began living together in the same buildings-on different floors-and were permitted to visit in each other's rooms. When the State of Iowa lowered the drinking age to eighteen, the college agreed, subject to certain limitations, to permit alcohol in the residence halls. Hard drugs and marijuana were another matter; Wartburg ( and local law enforcement officials) steadfastly refused to countenance their presence on campus. The college, however, did encourage and support efforts to make drug counseling available.

None of this happened without controversy. None of it came without problems. But where it counted most, it worked. Wartburg College came through the Vietnam years with its institutional integrity intact, its sense of community enhanced. It was, of course, a different kind of community: no longer "entire of itself," but continually involved in the world. For most, the experience was life-changing. Members of the Wartburg community never stopped talking with each other; only rarely did they stop listening. Despite anger and outrage, there were no injuries, no facilities destroyed. Bitter antagonists often remained friends. Bachman's faith in "continuing deliberations among people who know each other well" was regularly tested; it was never forsaken.

Not everyone, of course, saw it this way. A few members of the Wartburg community continued to regard Bachman and his administrative team as reactionary "tools of the Establishment." On the other hand, more than a few-both on and off campus-were disappointed by his unwillingness to crack down on student dissent and professorial arrogance, and by changes in student life which they regarded as an "experiment in permissiveness." In addition, it was deceptively easy to connect the college's policy decisions with a decline in enrollment from a record 1,450 students in 1968 to a disappointing 1,290 in 1973.

Nevertheless, even critics were willing to give Bachman his due. When he resigned in 1974 to accept a call to serve in the national office of the American Lutheran Church, most recognized that Wartburg had indeed moved "from level to level of excellence." Faculty and board had been strengthened. Creative academic programs brought national recognition. The campus had been expanded, and a half-dozen buildings or major additions had been completed. (Along the way, North Hall mercifully fell victim to the wrecking ball!). Bachman and board chair Harry Hagemann opened doors to resources in nearby Waterloo by enlisting leaders of that community into the service of the college. Though few recognized it at the time, Bachman was an architect of the Iowa Tuition Grant program-which over the years has delivered $40 million in financial assistance to Wartburg students. For all these achievements, however, nothing was more important to the life and future of Wartburg College than the leadership he demonstrated on the long, difficult walk through that valley of American life called Vietnam.

By the end of Bachman's presidency in 1974, Wartburg had come to know the world. The world, however, did not know Wartburg-at least not very well. Despite efforts by both Becker and Bachman to enlarge the constituency of the college, the connections that counted were still mostly identified with church, and alumni, and locality.

Ronald Matthias. Still on the Move. Cedar Rapids, Iowa: WDG Pub., 2002.

Ronald Matthias has been a student, professor of history, academic dean, vice president for administration and finance, and Artist Series director at Wartburg College.