A Little College on a Hill

One evening in early November, 1927, Dr. Harry Hefner Price stood in the old Chapel Hall of Westminster College and addressed a convocation of students, alumni and friends of the institution.  Westminster College sat atop a limestone bluff in Tehuacana, Texas, a town you have never heard of, and the old Chapel Hall was in a handsome three-story building made of stone quarried from that very hill.

I came upon this building quite by accident in the course a recent ramble, and was suitable astonished.  It is not the sort of thing one expects to find upon turning a corner in a tiny and down-at-heels Texas town.

The occasion of Dr. Price’s address was the installation of a new college president, the Rev. Dr. George Olin McMillan, and this installation was fraught with interest because the assembled had seen Westminster “pass through a period of trials and difficulties which many times threatened its very existence.”*  Indeed, three institution of higher learning had taken up the struggle on that hilltop since 1852.  The first failed with the Civil War.  The second moved to San Antonio in 1902.   And the third, Westminster College, had been battling ignorance and the bill collectors for twenty-five years.

Dr. Price had come all the way from Pittsburg, Pennsylvania to deliver this address, and we may suppose he made the journey because he loved Westminster College.  In 1927 he was pastor of Pittsburg’s South Side Methodist Church, but he was a graduate of Westminster, and a former faculty member.  Indeed, the newspaper tells us that there was a time when Dr. Price was the President, Janitor and Gardener of Westminster College, and that he was “at the same time teaching 35 classes a week.”*

Evidently Westminster’s financial problems were not due to deadwood on the payroll.

Dr. Price seems to have been a man of good sense as well as of abundant energy.  The substance of his address was that a college should “develop the fourfold nature of man, moral, mental, physical and religious,” and that “the very bigness of some institutions destroys a real cultural program.”*  He said that the great dangers faced by American higher education are that it is “engaged too much with the mechanics of life,” and that it deals “too much with the mass and not enough with the individual.”*

“I believe one of the great disasters will occur when we standardize our entire education system.  Education will become a machine taking in students at one end and turning them out at the other, all alike.”*

These extraordinary notions may have come to Dr. Price while he was mowing the College lawn, or perhaps sweeping the Chapel Hall floor. He may have been furrowing his brow over the accounts book in the President’s office, or was perhaps taking a sip of water between one of his thirty-five weekly classes.  Whatever the circumstances of their appearance, they seem like eminently sensible notions to me, and I would like to give Dr. Price a minute of silent and belated applause.

Hail, good sir.  Well done!

Technological advances have placed Dr. Price’s level of efficiency well beyond the reach of a modern academic.  We are not told the details of Dr. McMillan’s job description, but I fear he may have added a janitor to the staff, or cut his teaching load to thirty classes a week.  Whatever happened, Westminster College was forced to close in 1950.  The stately stone building housed a small Bible college for twenty years, and appears to have been empty since 1970.

So the little College on Tehuacana hill was at last abandoned, rather like Dr. Price’s extraordinary notion that American higher education should be something other than a vast, impersonal and materialist machine.

*) All quotations from, “Crowds Gather at College to Welcome Chief,” Mexia Weekly Herald (Nov. 4, 1927), p. 1.

5 thoughts on “A Little College on a Hill

  1. It would reduce immensely the cost to taxpayers of my state college if the tenured professoriate and the administrators were assigned, half-time, to janitorial work. The members of those communities could then speak authoritatively about the condition of the laboring classes. Of course, the janitorial people would be unjustly penalized by such an arrangement. It would be better, perhaps, to have them serve half-time as teaching staff, and let the tenured professoriate and the administrators find useful work elsewhere. I doubt whether the janitorial staff enthuses about those issues in which the tenured professoriate and the administrators so fanatically enthuse. Maybe they would teach students about the necessity of work and the wisdom of balancing one’s checkbook. If so, it would be a boon for the students. The ethos of Mao’s cultural re-education program, which is what the Left wants to impose on everyone who belongs not to the Left, makes moral sense when applied to the Left.

  2. If the janitors and professors swapped tasks, the lectures would be cleaner but the lecture halls would be a health hazard.

  3. JMSmith,

    These sorts of discussions always make me sad. “Back home” all I see is Little Such-and Such’s on a Hill dead or dying. As my own parents age – they are hardly “old” – the tiniest beam of sadness is in their eyes as they look out from their beloved porch of their own beloved little house onto the vanishing Little Houses all around. The only way I can make much sense of it is to have faith the Lord is reminding my family our eternal Little House lay elsewhere. The Church Militant, yes. But the Little College on a Hill Militant? Apart from living and raising one’s family among the ruins, I’m not sure it’s possible apart from the Great Reboot. It is the stuff curmudgeons are made of.

    • I like that phrase “little college on a hill militant.” I might cal it unsentimental nostalgia. It’s unsentimental because it live in the present, but it is nostalgic because it knows somethings have been lost. There are many things to be said for life in the early 21st century, but it sure does not beat the past hollow on every score.

  4. Pingback: Cantandum in Ezkhaton 08/04/19 | Liberae Sunt Nostrae Cogitatiores

Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.