Chronicles of Fairfield University (1942 - 1992). Book 4: Building Years: Change and Development.

              CHRONICLES
//
FAIRFIELD UNIVERSITY
BOOK FOUR:
By
Vincent M. Murphy, Ph.D.
Fairgeld, Connecticut
1992
The six Chronicles of Fairfield University are being published in
conjunction with· the observance of the 50th Anniversaty of
the founding of Fairfield University and Fairfield College
Preparatoty School.
The booklets are published under the auspices of the
Anniversaries Committee which includes:
Rev. Vincent M. Bums, S.]. Rev. John J. Higgins, S.].
Lawrence F. Carroll Stephen P. Jakab
Mrs. Patricia M. Danko (Sec) William J. Lucas
George E. Diffley (Chair) Dr. Maty Frances A.H. Malone
Murray Farber Mrs. Clarissa Sinagulia
James D. Fitzpatrick Mrs. Maty Spiegel
Rev. Victor F. Leeber, S.].
Alphonsus J. Mitchell (Chair)
Mrs. Elizabeth G. Hoagg
The Histoty Subcommittee, which served as the editorial board,
includes:
Dr. William M. Abbott
Paul Davis
CHRONICLES
!Y
FAIRFIELD UNIVERSITY
By Vincent M. Murphy, Ph.D.
Humandevelopment, some would hold, is marked by a series
of stages, each characterized by a crisis to be solved, and each solution
developing the capabilities to face the next crisis. Thus the school aged
youngster, experiencing a surge of unrefined mental and physical skills,
is faced with a crisis in which the alternatives are competence or
inferiority. He or she must acquire the specific skills that school requires
or be reduced to feelings of inferiority that will impede the solution of the
next crisis of adolescence: achieving a stable sense of identity. It is upon
that stable sense of identity that one is positioned to engage maturely his
or her world.
If Fairfield University's growth is thought to parallel human devel­opment,
then the ceremony conducted on September 21,1973, can be
considered to be a rite of passage. On that date, the Rev. Thomas R.
Fitzgerald, SJ., was installed as the University's fourth President. A faculty
arrayed in academic finery looked on as David]ewitt, the chainnan ofthe
Board of Trustees, invoked a ritual borrowed from a liturgy by which
Anglican bishops are invested and Fr. Fitzgerald was greeted by
representatives ofthe faculty, the student body, local government and the
region's religious communities. In his person, Fairfield University was
welcomed into its adoleseence. Under Fr. Fitzgerald, the University was
to consolidate its growing potentials and prepare for a maturity that was
at that time clouded by uncertainty.
J 1
Despite the confrontations of the late sixties, the University had
weathered the crisis of competency. The all-male College of the Arts and
Sciences had descended from its treehouse and become coeducational.
The student body's entrance credentials ranked within the top fifth of
their high school classes. A competent young faculty had been recruited
and they had seen their efforts reflected in a stream ofgraduates applying
to and accepted by graduate and professional schools. Well over 2,500
other students were numbered among the alumni ofthe Graduate School
of Education and ~ere making significant contributions as teachers,
administrators, and professionals in the neighboring school systems. The
University had set out upon its task to develop liberally educated nurses.
The first 50 graduates of the School of Corporate and Political Commu­nication
had received their degrees.
Physically, the campus had developed. At one time (during the
student strike in 1970) described as a "student center surrounded by
parking lots ...," the campus had taken on a degree of suburban grace.
Its rolling hills had seen the addition of the Bannow Science Center and
the Nyselius Library; two new dormitories had been erected in the
southeastern corner of the property; and a strange new structure called
"the Central Utilities Facility" now stood to the south of Berchmans Hall.
Beyond this picture of prosperity, however, there lurked a number
of challenges to the University and its new president. For one thing, the
construction of new facilities had involved the acquisition of a burden of
debt. Fairfield's financial plight had indeed been recognized by its
advisers as well as the wag whose graffito greeted the academic
procession on Commencement Day in 1970. Printed in giant letters upon
the facade ~f the Campus Center was an inscription "in hoc fer plenti."
For at least two years in the late sixties, the University had operated at
a deficit. Even in the first months after his arrival early in the spring of
1973, Fr. Fitzgerald learned ofthe need for revisions in the current budget.
Revenues for graduate programs had come in below expectations, gift
income had not met its goals; and room and board fees had fallen by
$36,000 as students had opted for the joys of life at the Fairfield shore.
An increase in tuition in 1973 would have to be followed by another jump
in the next. year - and the national economic picture was less than
encouraging. The federal government had been wrestling with a
stubborn inflation problem and the fall would see the first Arab oil
2
boycott, together with the shortages that would plague the next year.
With the spectre of inflation and possible recession, who would dare
predict enrollment trends in a school that depended upon student tuition
for its operating income?
Long range planning would be even more frightening. In 1973, the
total enrollment in American schools dropped for the first time in 28 years.
In ten years colleges would experience the enrollment dip that would
threaten any school that relied on student income for its continued
existence.
Finances aside, there were other problems that the University had
to face. It had survived the threat of the Tilton vs. Richardson confron­tation
at the possible cost of its Catholic identity. How could it call itself
Catholic while feeding at the public trough? And if it could not claim that
designation, what would be its appeal to a Catholic population?
And what of its programs? Would they be colored by its Catholicity
or would they reflect rather the academic revolution that was taking place
in the nation's schools? Riesman and Jencks had detailed how the
direction of the university had fallen into the hands of the professoriate
whose identification was more with their several academic specialties
than with some apostolic purpose. Further there was a question of the
faculty's readiness to handle its administrative responsibilities. Although
the faculty's academic credentials were unquestioned, it was a young
group (the average age was 41), some of whom had been attracted to
Fairfield as a stopping place in their careers in academe, having planned
to move in due course to more prestigious institutions. Still others were
products ofthe school's early years in which a paternalistic administration
hired the faculty members, determined the course assignments, ap­pointed
chairpersons, and protected them from the business of serious
decision making. Would this group be prepared to assume the respon­sibilities
for its own governance?
STIJDENfS
Fairfield's central problem in the early seventies focused on students.
As Fr. Fitzgerald had noted"... we operate on gate receipts ..."Ifnumbers
diminished, the institution was threatened. Although the change to a
coeducational structure had enlarged the potential candidate pool, it was
by no means sure that the University would be able to attract a consistent
3
number of female applicants. There was even a problem with attracting _
any candidates. Despite the fact that the previous year's graduating class
from high school had reached an all-time high number, it seems that some
of the bloom had left the college-going rose. Pressure for college
admissions had lessened, so much so that the fall of 1974 saw the first of
the "college fairs" as admissions officers were drawn to New York City's
Coliseum so that they might entice applicants to their institutions.
Admissions was becoming a buyer's market.
With many other schools, Fairfield looked to new sources. Fr.
Thomas Lannon had developed the "Center for Lifetime Learning,"
conceived as a college-level program that would appeal to the older
student or returning students hoping to complete their studies. Again,
although the numbers attending were encouraging, there was little
assurance that the group offered a reliable long-range student source.
There was little promise either in the Graduate School of Education.
There, Dr. Robert Pitt was faced with threatening demographics. The
demand for teacher-training programs had lessened. Much of his recent
success in attracting students had rested on the ability of specialized
faculty in special education, counseling and psychology to appeal to
teachers who were upgrading their skills as a road to advancement in the
public school system. But the school population had peaked. Moreover,
school budgets hadcomeunder pressure as a recfssionmade Connecticut's
suburban commuters cautious in their plans for expansion. The School
would have to gamble on the appeal of broader programs such as an
American Studies concentration and perhaps the newly developing
concentration in what was then being called "Master of Arts Degree in
Instructional Computer Science." In any event, records showthat the 1973
enrollment of 676 students was a peak never again to be achieved by the
School.
")
It seemed evident that financial survival would be tied closely to
enrollments in the undergraduate College of Arts and Sciences and the
School of Nursing. And this problem of enrollment was not an uncom­plicated
one.
The enrollment problem had a number of dimensions. First, the
actual number of students was but a single consideration. Fairfield was
committed to a quality education for able students. It had begun, in the
mid-sixties, to attract applicants who were typically in the top fifth oftheir
4
high school classes. The entering class of 1973 had average SAT scores
of 536 verbal and 558 math. The programs were geared to talented
students.
Beyond this, the school wanted not only a capable student body but,
moreover, one that represented the broader regional population. Even
then, cultural diversity had been a desideratum of those who directed the
school. The push to diversity had been one ofthe elements that prompted
the change to coeducation, to the founding of the School of Nursing, and
to attempts to appeal to social and ethnic minorities with programs like
the five-year path to a degree.
Although the school had only a slight premonition of its challenges
in the next few years, all these elements - numbers, quality, and diversity
- could be compromised. The administration was well aware that the
college-going population would peak in the early eighties. It was not then
able to forsee the ten-year decline in College Board scores. It did not
know that public education funds, both national and State ofConnecticut,
were being eyed for cuts by budget planners. If the affordability of a
college education were to become an issue, one could forget about
diversity. Attendance would be the privilege of the affluent.
At any rate, there was a more immediate numbers problem facing
the new administration. For at least the last four years (and who would
predict the future?), almost a third ofthe entry class had failed to graduate
within the minimal four-year sequence. The loss of talent was itself a
calamity. Its implication for fiscal planning was more than a passing
nuisance. True, the attrition problem could be met by attracting capable
transfers. But what were the implications for academic planners? Was it
possible that college education itself was losing its appeal? Should the
school be re-examining and revising its programs?
Astudy of Fairfield's attrition problems was revealing. The academic
qualities of withdrawing students differed not at all from those who
remained. Even in a recession year finances were almost an insignificant
factor. Rather, just as students had come to college for a variety ofreasons,
their departures had been prompted by a number of undefined or
personal reasons: "I wasn't ready for college," "Another school offered a
major that Fairfield did not," "I wanted something else."
The school, strangely eno~gh, was dealing with a student dimension
that had perennially been its concern. It had for years spoken of its care
5
for the whole person. Close faculty-student relations had weathered the
sixties. Values, attitudes, and interpersonal relations had always been the
kind of thing associated with a Jesuit university. Could it now be that the
University had been misreading the affective dimension of its student
body?
The fact is that the University had to some extent achieved the
diversity that so many had sought for the school. But the diversity was
not quite what had been expected. While the intellectual capabilities of
the undergraduates, had remained homogeneously strong, the new
students were beginning to show marked differences in attitudes,
interests and personal needs. These affective aspects of the students
forced institutional responses that hastened the school's transformation
from what had been a small, liberal arts and sciences college to the
institution that it has become.
Actually, it is impossible to characterize the student body with
precision. There was a mix of students and a variety of groups that posed
a variety ofchallenges. First there were the remnants ofthe years just prior
to Fr. Fitzgerald's installation. While it was true that hostilities of the late
sixties and early seventies had diminished, and the politically motivated
activists had failed to empower themselves with a new university
constitution, there did remain a residue of antipathy. And some students
had learned that they did have the power to influence, and even at times
upset, University policy. They had learned too that the power of the
institution, formerly buttressed by its entrenchment "in loco parentis,"
had become as compromised as the power of the parents themselves.
There was another group of young people who were reacting to an
adult world that was embarassing itself with sca~dals in high places and
with the nation's painful disentanglement from its adventures in South­east
Asia. Their responses were frequently self-indulgent and manifested
in alcohol and substance abuse. In these years, others made a physical
escape in the early "spring breaks" in Florida.
Even the planned efforts in diversification offered problems of their
own. The advent of women students was expected to help tame some
of the excesses of their male predecessors. Although in many cases their
civilizing influences had the desired effect, coeds clad in jeans spoke in
a language that made them indistinguishable from their male counter­parts
(some of whom were wearing their hair longer than the girls).
6
Nor did the University have a clear understanding ofthe needs ofthe
minority youngsters it had attracted. The first group that had come in
response to the Five-Year Program (which was aimed at educationally
and financially disadvantaged students - who incidentally had been
predominantly African-Americans) had been the recipients of a variety of
accommodations in academic programs and counseling support. But
they had been followed by others whose admission had been based not
on financial need but rather upon recognized capability and achieve­ment.
To offer these young people the accommodation enjoyed by their
predecessors was almost patronizing. People like Sam Harvey and Lou
Campbell, minority admissions counselors, became key figures in
sensitizing the school's administration to the changing needs of these
students.
There were other paradoxical attitudes among the students. Some
focused upon their membership in community; they eschewed public
signs ofelitism. Attendance at Dean's Recognition programs at graduation
fell off. On one occasion, a group protested a posting of their probable
honors achievement at commencement. Applications to graduate school
began to diminish. Behavior at commencement, while not completely
rowdy,. was something other than decorous, as champagne bottles
popped during the ceremony.
But countering the leveling attitude suggested by these actions was
a strange emphasis on the appearances of recognition. There was a
notable increase in the number of requests for grades of "incomplete"
when work was not completed by term's end. And when they fell behind
in a course, more than a few were approaching the deans with requests
for withdrawal from courses "so that my cumulative average will not be
affected" (this was a particularly disturbing visit for a dean confronted in
early April by a sun-tanned youngster just back from his or her spring
break).
Then there were problems undreamt of but a decade ago. The
infirmary found itself dealing with disorders that had never arisen in the
treehouse days of the sixties. More and more cases of anorexia and
bulimia were in evidence. Students had become aware of their rights of
privacy and the University found itself confronted by outraged parents,
sure that the school was conspiring with their children in an effort to
conceal information to which their paid tuition bills entitled them.
7
The arm of the University that was first forced to react to these
changes was the Office of Student Services. That entity had come a long
way from being an extension of the historical disciplinarian, the Dean of
Men. Successively it had become the coordinator of non-academic life,
the supervisor of recreation, the coordinator of food services and
eventually the campus innkeeper. During the mid-seventies, William
Schimpf and Henry Krell oversaw the first concrete evidence of the
school's new comprehensive nature.
Student Services was instrumental in the fonualization of student
activities when it arranged for an activities fee to be assessed on all
undergraduates. The collected fees were to be used by the Fairfield
University Student Association to underwrite the projects of the several
student organizations. The activities fee was itself a reaction to student
pressure for greater independence and self-management. As a palliative
for student unrest, it did achieve its immediate purpose. Students were
conducting their own programs and managing their own enterprises. A
pattern was being established th~t has continued to the present day. As
a student organization planned an event or undertook an activity, the
student association would arrange the necessary funds and allow the
responsible group independence in the conduct of its affairs. A student
newspaper could, under these circumstances, become truly independent
, but nevertheless responsible to the community.
But responsibility could involve hardships for those who failed to
take it seriously. In the mid-seventies, for instance, the president of the
student government himself and two of his advisers, found themselves
suspended when they mismanaged the receipts of an on-campus event.
Differences in role were having their effect on student behavior. If
students did not have to answer to an administration acting in the place
of their parents, they found themselves, nevertheless, answering to
internal restraints that took on a greater clarity.
As matters such as these played themselves out, the University was
well aware that there was a need to create an ambiance in which possible
clashes between institutional Ego and student Id,could be resolved. Fr.
Fitzgerald had noted that "Our life here tends to be Spartan." Fuel
shortages cooled student showers and hair dryers (both his and hers) had
boosted the University's utility bills. Room damage in the donus became
a matter of administrative concern and the resulting charges for repairs
became matters of even greater and painful student distress.
8
Fortunately, a great deal of student energy was siphoned off by the
University sports program. Fred Barakat's basketball team suddenly
jelled as one of the powers of the East. Visits to Madison Square Garden
and bids to th~ National Invitation Tournament gave birth to "Stagmania"
as students and alumni crowded the gym and gave evidence of a fervor
that intimidated visiting athletes. Not to be outdone, the women's
basketball team fashioned an undefeated season in 1975 and Dr. John
McCarthy's hockey team asserted itself in Bridgeport's Wonderland of Ice
and on the rinks of regional colleges and universities.
The enthusiasm that greeted the success of intercollegiate athletics,
while valuable in itself, underlined the need for a physical outlet for the
remainder ofthe student body. Except for outdoor facilities for intramural
sports and, somewhat later, for tennis, soccer and rugby, the University
lacked an indoor site where students could engage in physical activities.
Several suggestions had been made to fill the gap. Friends of the
school, for instance, capitaliZing on the success of the hockey team, had
conceived of a community-sponsored rink on campus, which, iffinanced
by fees paid by non-University users, could provide recreation for the
student body. That plan was abandoned when the prospect of increased
road traffic struck terror in the hearts of the neighbors. Others suggested
"bubbles" for all-weather tennis facilities; but these, on examination,
seemed to be too specialized a response to a general need. What was
required was. a comprehensive recreational center.
The financial implications of undertaking a project of such a size
_were daunting, but whether it was because the president h~d seen the
success of a similar project at Georgetown, had recognized the immensity
of the local need, saw it as an attraction to aid admissions recruiting, or
simply conceived it as a means of reducing the "Spartan" nature of
Fairfield life, he departed from his own Spartan fiscal lifestyle and sought
approval for construction of the "Recplex."
To grasp the extent of that departure, one had only to check the
t recent financiaL history of the school. On Fr. Fitzgerald's arrival, it has
already been noted, the normal state of the annual budget was
precarious. Fr. Fitzgerald's first annual budget was balanced by artful
economies like reduced fa~ulty and administrative travel, a watchful eye
on the costs of empty dormitory beds (which became more attractive as
fuel costs threatened life at the beach) or the provost's continued attempt
9
to boost faculty "productivity" (i.e., class-hour load). By whatever means
he succeeded in generating the modest budget surpluses of his first year,
he was able to reestablish the University's credibility as a money manager.
His success in this respect allowed the construction of the School of
Nursing building (dedicated in 1978), financed by the federal government
and other sources led by the Kresge, Dana, Culpeper, and Pope
Foundations. Atop this there had been the school's ability to attract the
externally supported Center for Financial Studies, the construction of
which was to beg~n in 1978.
These successes emboldened one more step. Fr. Fitzgerald secured
the permission ofthe trustees to begin construction of a recreation facility
to be supported and self-liquidated by user fees and to be underwritten
by the issuance of tax-exempt bonds. Perhaps more than anything else
that the University had undertaken, the Recplex moved the institution to
the relief of the behavioral "malaise" that had characterized much of the
student behavior in the mid and late seventies, first by the prospect of its
completion and secondly by its actualization in 1979. In some ways its
construction communicated to the student body the reality of the
institution's commitment to a wide palette of student concerns.
OTHER CONCERNS
Other areas of student concern had not been addressed quite so
obviously. In the academic sphere, there had not been a great revolution
of knowledge. Aside from the School of Nursing where the new program
was developing, the undergraduate programs showed little change.
Finances had delayed the development of the Fine Arts major, but
enrollments there were minimal and it was not until 1976 that the
Undergraduate Curriculum Committee endorsed the offering of an
interdisciplinary major in American Studies. After the Core Curriculum
revision in 1969, little alteration had taken place. In fact, one could be
excused if he or she saw the Core as little more than a device to govern
the distribution of class responsibilities among a number of academic
departments jealously defending their own turf. Major faculty concerns
were the size of the class loads, their reluctance to adopt a course
evaluation scheme, the protocol to be observed in the designation of
departmental chairmanships, and the qualifications of those who were to
teach within a given department. Most changes in course content were
10
departmental matters; the curriculum committee seemed to focus on
those offerings that had interdepartmental implications. Minutes of the
academic council showed major attention to matters of governance and
watchfulness lest the programs of the College of Arts and Sciences be
contaminated by what was being taught in the evening program.
Meanwhile, disturbing things were happening in the undergraduate
college. Students were beginning to shy away from some courses that had
been popular in the past and were gravitating towards others. The
numbers majoring in English and history were beginning to dwindle;
especially popular were business courses and the pre-engineering
programs. Applications to graduate schools began to diminish as more
and more students elected to apply to law schools and graduate business
schools. A 1977 study of Graduate Record Examination scores revealed
a senior level ofperformance markedly below that which had been noted
in a similar study in 1969. And undergraduate grade averages were
climbing. Clearly, the self-study conducted in anticipation of the 1977
accreditation review could serve a valuable purpose.
It did; but strangely not for the reasons it was undertaken. What it
succeeded in doing was to focus individual faculty members engaged in
the self-study on problems of the University as a whole. In some ways
it enabled them to grasp the growing comprehensive nature ofthe school
and thereby prepare themselves for the changes that were soon to
eventuate. Participation in the self-study was, in effect, a major element
in the faculty development process that was, in the eighties, to see the
faculty responsibly engaged in university planning, in development of a
mission statement, in the setting of University goals, in determining its
governance, and in genuine curriculum review.
KEY CHANGES
The years 1977, 1978, and 1979 witnessed a series of personnel and
institutional chan~es. InJanuary of 1977, growing interest in the offerings­of
an already successful business department was augmented with the
arrival of Dr. John I. GriffiJ' the former dean of Baruch's Graduate
Business Program. In June, David Flynn was engaged to direct the
admissions program. The following January, Fr. James Coughlin an­nounced
his intention torresign his role as Academic Vice President and
Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, and to return to teaching. In
11
May the New England Association of Colleges and Secondary Schools
issued a positive report on its reaccreditation visit July saw the opening
of the long-sought recreation complex.
By September, Dr. Nicholas Rinaldi had begun to serve as the acting
dean of the College of Arts and Sciences; Dr. William Murphy was on
board as the Director of Continuing Education; and Dr. Griffin had been
appointed Dean of a new School of Business. They joined Dr. Phyllis
Porter in Nursing, Dr. Pitt in Graduate Education, and Fr. Thomas Burke
in the Graduate School of Communications as the cadre that would direct
an increasingly complex, comprehensive university.
To cap these changes, Fr. Fitzgerald resigned the next spring (1979)
to become President of St. Louis University and Fr. Aloysius P. Kelley
succeeded him in office.
Although each of these events was critical in its own way, none was
quite as significant as Fr. Coughlin's decision to retire from the adminis­trative
wars and to return to the classroom. He had been an overpowering
academic presence on campus. Early in the sixties he had served as the
Dean of the Graduate School of Education. In 1966 he became the Dean
of the College of Arts and Sciences and, as Academic Vice President, the
chief academic officer of the University. He had been the product of a
system that invested in "the dean" the ultimate academic authority in the
school. An older faculty had dutifully deferred to that authority; new and
younger faculty had found him, with his withering command of logic, a
person with whom one would contend almost at personal risk. He had
a grasp of what he was about, and he "was about" the total landscape of
administrative functioning. Invested with the authority of the Dean,
Academic Vice President, and ex officio membership on a half dozen
committees, he was indeed, as one faculty member asserted, Fairfield's
counterpart to The Mikados Poohbah. Like the citizens of Titipu,
administrators, staff, faculty and student body continually found them­selves
encountering him in one or other of his roles. But in deferring to
his leadership, it may well have been that others had not allowed
themselves to grow as they should. Thus, his departure from office,
though disquieting to many, served as a challenge to administrators ofthe
evolving comprehensive University to depend upon theirown efforts and
expertise.
12
In the years that followed, the new committees of the faculty and
administration found themselves replicating in their evolving policies and
procedures, the thought processes that had guided his administrative
functioning. In any event, Fr. Coughlin's return to the classroom broke
an administrative logjam and permitted the development of a managerial
structure that Fr. Fitzgerald would pass on to his successor.
Fr. Fitzgerald could look back upon a six-year period in which he
had seen Fairfield face the challenges of finance, faculty development,
accreditation review, student recruitment, and administrative reorganiza­tion.
He could, in his last "Dear Colleague" letter, say: "The future is rich
in promise for the University and for the Prep. Each is flourishing, being
blessed with a very competent staff (teaching and non-teaching), strong
pools of applicants, and with finances firmly in balance. Each, like
virtually all human enterprises, has its problems, but these problems are
f~ir1y generally recognized and can be dealt with."
, To deal with these "problems" would be the role of Fr. Aloysius P.
Kelley, S.]., another classicist turned administrator who left his position
as Georgetown's Academic Vice President to minister to Fairfield. Among
the problems he would face would be some that lingered from Fr.
Fitzgerald's administration, others that had been created by Fr. Fitzgerald's
successes and a .number that even the most prudent of men could not
have anticipated. There would be the continuing problem attendant
upon the academic revolution that was still working itselfout in American
higher education. Howwould the faculty engage in responsible direction
ofthe University? There would remain the task ofconducting the activities
ofthe several colleges, each with its own mission, but all ~perating within
(the Jesuit tradition of liberal education. There was in addition the
continued challenge to redefine what Fr. Fitzgerald had spoken of as the
Catholic character of the University. Finally, as ever, there were the
students. The University had succeeded in attracting a capable student
body. There were prospects of a continued supply ofsuch s~udents. How
would Fairfield respond to the intellectual and personal needs of what
l now would be a consumer{conscious population?
THE FACUL1Y CHAllENGE
Fr. Kelley's predecessor had been well aware of the nationwide
trend for faculties to engage themselves in the direction of their
13
institutions. I1e recognized the trend by which the demands of individual
disciplines were beginning to determine course offerings at other
schools. He realized, as well, that with a program of "steady-state"
staffing, future modification ofFairfield's curriculum would be monitored
by the young faculty he had inherited in 1973. Accordingly, he had looked
to prepare them by engaging them more fully in the direction of the
school. He attempted to foster development by involving them in the
revision of the faculty handbook, by urging their participation in the
reaccreditation self-study and by active committee work in the areas of
course evaluation and curriculum development.
Fr. Kelley would continue that process by involving faculty in
governance problems that arose from the school's new complexity.
Specifically, with a new School of Business and the prospect of additional
programs, the University would have to balance faculty interests in their
own schools and disciplines against the general aims of the University
and its across-the-board commitment to the liberal arts. The next decade
would see the faculty become more and more involved in the overall
direction of the University.
One of its first tasks would be another revision of the Faculty
Handbook. The previous revision had spelled out a design for faculty
governance that had focused upon the college faculty and its relationship
to the trustees. The newly transformed institution had five, and at times
six, schools, each with its own governance problems and a committee
structure that certainly did not coincide with, and frequently did not even
parallel, those ofthe general (liberal arts) faculty for whom the handbook
had been written. Older faculty members will recall the meetings at which
the changes were addressed. Their numbers were legion and to some it
seemed that academic life was nothing other than a series of committee
meetings. One person likened the University and its many committes to
a refrigerator that was "all doors."
But committee work was not without its achievements. In 1980
it was clear to Fr. Kelley that an old statement of purpose, "Objectives of
Fairfield University," needed to be updated. In the year 1981-82, he
enlisted the University Planning Committee in a review ofthose goals that
eventuated in the submission of a new mission statement, first to the
Academic Council, then to the general fac'-;llty, and finally to the trustees.
In that process emerged a strong statement endorsing the historical Jesuit
14
In their presidential terms, Fr. Thomas R. Fitzgerald (left) and
Fr. Aloysius P. Kelley dealt with changes that gave the faculty
greater responsibility for direction ofan increasingly more
complex University.
roots ofthe University, its commitment to foster in its students both ethical
and religious values and a sense of social responsibility. Notes on the
review process show that the strength of that statement reflected the
cooperative efforts of several elements in the Fairfield community,
participation by Dr. Vincent Rosivach as a spokesman for the faculty and
Frs.Joseph MacDonnell and Vincent Bums as representatives oftheJesuit
community.
The importance of this community-developed Mission Statement is
hard to overestimate. It was to become the reference point by which the
University Planning Committee established by Fr. Kelley (again involving
faculty participation) was to develop a long-range plan to guide
institutional growth and development. The plan, in tum, together with
concrete recommendations' for implementation, limned out the steps in
fund-raising and in construction that set the priorities that were to guide
University growth in the l~st five years. In setting these priorities,
significant ·contributions were made by that threatened young faculty of
the early seventies, which needed so much goading during the mid­seventies,
reviewed its role during the early eighties, was leavened by its
15
additions of the mid-eighties, and which now plays so significant a role
in the responsible direction of the University's activities.
Looking now upon the University faculty, we see it engaged in
curriculum development, as witnessed by the core review ofrecent years,
in University management in the monitoring of academic standards, in
self-management as it revises the Faculty Handbook, and in self­improvement
in its participation in cooperative programs with Yale and
N.Y.U. It has maintained its professional credentials, demonstrated its
productivity, and reaffirmed its acceptance of its educational mission
within the context set by its Ignatian roots, its liberal commitment and its
devotion to service.
CAlHOLIC CHARACIER
Among the challenges inherited by Fr. Kelley was the continued
need to profess the religious foundations of the University. Formally, the
acknowledgment of Fairfield's Jesuit and Catholic orientation is to be
found in the University's Mission Statement adopted early in Fr. Kelley's
administration. That statement, forged by Jesuits and laypersons, and
adopted by faculty and trustees, has helped insure that the development
of the University would not compromise its heritage to the sole influence
of the ,discipline-oriented professoriate. It was, in effect, Fairfield's
bulwark against being swept away in the academic revolution that has
beset so many other schools.
But defining what Fairfield's "Catholic character" actually involved
had been a challenge ever since the nation's Supreme Court had ruled
that, as it was viewed in Tilton vs. Richardson, it did not infringe upon
the religious freedom of its student body or faculty. The last 25 years has
seen Fairfield try to work out the way it would be Catholic andJesuit, even
as Catholicism itselfwitnessed the changes ofVatican II; the United States
saw the development of a resistance to, if not a revolt against, Paul VI's
Humanae Vitae; the University had separated the incorporation of the
school and the Jesuit community; and the Society of Jesus itself had
experienced a significant downturn in its membership.
During the late sixties, the Theology Department had changed its
designation to the Religious Studies Department and taken on a more
ecumenical appearance. The required religious observances and retreats
had gone their way. Even the appropriateness of celebrating mass in
16
government funded buildings was questioned. Increasing numbers of
laymen were occupying academic positions that in another era had been
reserved to Jesuits.
Fr. Fitzgerald had addressed the problem in his first report to the
University's trustees. He observed that Fairfield was not subject to church
control. It was not church owned. With reference to- state aid, it did not
offend against the establishment clauses <;>f the Constitution's First
Amendment. It fully subscribed to the concept of academic freedom. It
welcomed both believers and non-believers to its teaching faculty and
student body. Many students were taking programs which did not include
courses identifiably Catholic. Given these facts, he asked whether the
institution still had a Catholic character in any recognizable sense.
He answered his question by observing that ultimately the school's
religious character would depend upon the faith posture of the commu­nity.
The posture would be different for each member of the community
and the way he or she witnessed to the belief that God had intervened
in human history. Specifically, he challenged the Catholic to ask himself:
"Do those who encounter me find me radiating in my life God's love for
man?" For the non-Catholic, the question might be: "If I do not believe
that God has intervened in human events, do I at least respect the witness
of my colleagues?" In brief he was stating that the Catholic nature of the
school would rely upon the personal orientation of the individual
members of the Fairfield community. "Fairfield will have a religious
character insofar as we are bound together in a sharing of belief . . . in
God's presence in human affairs."
The question, of course, would be just how that belief might be
fostered and communicated. F~. Fitzgerald took personal responsibility
for leadership. He reorganized the University's structure so that Fr. Robert
Paskey, the campus chaplain, would report directly to the president.
Religious observance would not be by way of academic instruction; nor
would it return to be a matter of discipline. Rather, it would be effected
by way of the University's facilitation of the opportunities for the
members of its community to evidence their witness. The Campus
Ministrywould be an element in this process, so too theJesuit community;
and finally, the administration itself would make a contribution.
The manner in which the Catholic commitment became reinforced
in the Mission Statement in 1982 testifies to the extent to which the Jesuit
17
and Catholic identity remained a hallmark of the school. The ministry,
both before and after that event, was playing an important role. It was
successful in the persons of Fr. Paskey and later Fr. Denis Como in
establishing a focus for campus religious life. They were approachable
counselors, generous with their time. They were able to tap the
willingness of young people to offer themselves in service to others.
Campus Ministry continued its support ofthe annual Appalachian student
sorties to help the underprivileged in West Virginia. They encouraged the
established contribution of student time and effort in tutoring programs
and soup kitchens in Bridgeport's inner city.
Loyola Chapel became a center for liturgical functions that students
attended voluntarily. Student retreats regained a measure of popularity.
Particularly in the mid-eighties and early nineties the Campus Ministry
helped sensitize undergraduates to poverty and injustice both in Central
America and at home. They sponsored summer field trips to Ecuador,
Haiti and Jamaica where students could experience first-hand the
economic and political trials of a world with which their contacts had
been restricted to news reports in the media. Nearer home, it was through
the Campus Ministry that Fairfield's students came to see the difficulties
in Bridgeport's inner city. Students volunteered for neighborhood clean­ups,
service in soup kitchens, food bank and community center. On
campus in their "cardboard cities," they could gain a little of the
experience of the homeless.
The Jesuit community as a whole demonstrated its witness in still
other ways. As residents in dormitories, individual Jesuits found them­selves
sought out by the young people in their buildings. Sunday nights
the corridor masses were well attended by students returning from the
weekends. The community in its new residence, St. Ignatius Hall, offered
hospitality to the non-Jesuit community. Fr. Joseph MacDonnell devel­oped
what might have been called a faculty apostolate. He arranged
periodic visits to the Jesuit residence where lay faculty and administrators
had their spiritual life enriched by retreats directed byJesuits. And beyond
the religious apostolate to their colleagues, the Jesuits each year made it
a practice to make a monetary contribution to the University itself as a
portion of their teaching salaries were returned to University coffers.
The University administration found its own way to evidence its
witness to the Jesuit heritage. Reminders of the heritage are seen in the
18
names given to the University buildings. Campus events recall the
Ignatian roots of the school. The Bellannine lectures attract audiences to
hear invited scholars discuss matters ofreligious concern. The Bellannine
Medal of Honor recognizes persons who have made notable civic contri­butions.
A Campion Medal pays tribute to outstanding undergraduates.
Recent years have seen as a prominent piece in the University's
building program the endowment of the Egan Chapel of St. Ignatius
Loyola and Pedro Arrupe, S.]. Campus Ministty Center. Opened in 1990,
it has become the focus of campus ministty activities. The building itself,
the liturgies conducted within it, and the social service activities which
it facilitates are all witness to the University's commitment to a vibrant
religious heritage.
STIJDENTS AND THEIR NEEDS
If much of Fr. Fitzgerald's concern had been to insure that there
would continue to be a sufficient supply of students to generate the
necessaty tuition funds to operate the University, his concern had not
been numbers alone. He had also been aware that there was a need for
the students who did come to be strong students, capable of responding
positively to a demanding program. As he left, he could perceive
evidence that he had succeeded.
David Flynn had been able to expand the recruiting horizons. He
had been able to describe a school that was tailoring its offerings to meet
the perceived needs of the college-going population. A business school
was in place. Recreational facilities had been developed. A viewbook
could offer pictures of happy undergraduates living in modem donnito­ries,
and at work in first-rate laboratories and an attractive libraty. His
marketing enterprises did bring aboard more than a sufficient supply of
students and in 1978 there were more freshmen than beds to accommo­date
them in the donnitories. For several weeks, at the beginning of the
tenn, students were housed in Bridgeport's Holiday Inn, and others
shared facilities in converted donnitoty lounges. Though he made no
statement, the president must secretly have longed for a hasty return to
the attrition figures that had concerned him so recently. If the school was
to attract bright students, it would have to provide for them, not only with
appropriate housing but also with student services and appropriate
academic programs. Failure to do so could easily trigger morale problems
19
and more of the malaise that was manifesting itself in discourteous
student behavior and noisy dorms. Worse, any temporary gains that may
have been achieved by more intense recruiting could be wiped out if the
customers were dissatisfied. The undergraduate schools were entering
upon an era in which the student was a consumer. Much of Fr. Kelley's
efforts in the next decade would be directed toward meeting the needs
of a generation of bright consumers.
Some of tho~e needs were elementary. Students did need places to
live and the school set out to provide them. Beach residency had been
a housing option for the Fairfield undergrad; and although a number of
students enjoyed the freedom of living off-campus, their beachfront
neighbors had some difficulty adjusting to a collegiate lifestyle that might
include late hours and perhaps more than an occasional loud party. The
University was cognizant of the strained relations.
Thus Fr. Kelley and his advisors decided that Fairfield would have
to increase its on-campus dormitory facilities. It was in keeping with that
decision that the first block of townhouses was constructed in 1982 and
was followed by another group in 1987. These facilities, in which groups
of students managed their own housekeeping and meal arrangements,
became a significant feature of campus life. The addition of traditional
housing facilities has continued over the years. Acquisition ofthe convent
property adjacent to the campus in 1988 was another element in the
attempt to increase housing space. That same purchase now permits
additional dining space for students.
Student needs were also instrumental in the construction in 1982 of
a Faculty Office Building, now Donnarumma Hall. In addition to faculty
office space, that facility offered additional classrooms for student use.
The construction of the Egan Chapel of St. Ignatius Loyola and the Pedro
Arrupe, S.]. Campus Ministry Center freed up the space in Loyola Hall
formerly occupied by the chapel and campus ministry offices so that
studio space could be developed for students in fine arts.
Over the same period, building continued throughout the campus
and most of it was prompted by an awareness of student needs and
convenience. Even the developing road system was conceived as a
device to meet student security needs.
Response to student cultural needs became visible through the
eighties. Until then the nearest thing to art work on campus were the
20
decorations on the facade of Canisius Hall, the Gregorian chant brick­work
on Gonzaga, and the bas-reliefon the facing of the Campus Center.
Suddenly in 1982, the school was loaned and then gifted with the abstract
VEE I that was assembled in the plaza between Canisius and what is now
Donnarumma Hall. The piece, an angular configuration of aluminum 1­beams
was the work of Larry Mohr. He dedicated the piece in memory
of Catholics who had assisted Jews during the Holocaust. An additional
metal sculpture, Rotating Universe by Giulio Agostino, replaced VEE I in
the plaza as a gift from Dorothy Rudkin, daughter-in-law of the founder
of Pepperidge Farms. Although the sculptures are vulnerable to student
pranksters who found that their light weight permitted their surreptitious
transportation to other than their proper locations, Campus Security has
seen to it that they continue to soften the campus landscape. Other
sculptures now surround the Quick Center and St. Francis ofAssisi feeds
his birds in front of the chapel.
Inside campus buildings, the Gallery in the Center for Financial
Studies has become the site of traveling art collections; the Walsh Gallery
serves both as an instructional gallery and home for additional visiting
collections; and the walls of Loyola are decorated with student murals.
Music has had its place at Fairfield over the years. The Glee Club of
earlier years had at one time made its "Klein Concert" in Bridgeport the
centerpiece of Fairfield's musical life. It has now merged with the
women's chorale to bring their artistry to a~new generation of students.
Astudent chamber orchestra offered its first concert in 1988 and it, in tum,
has been followed by a jazz ensemble.
The Campus Center through the last 20 years was another location
for musical enrichment at the University. Evenings of Music and a variety
of concerts were frequent in the Oak Room. In 1980, the Evenings of
Music became a subscription program. Its venue now has moved to the
new Regina A. Quick Center for the Arts, opened in 1990, that now stands
as witness to the University's sensitivity to the cultural and artistic needs
of its modem students.
Recognizing that Fairfield has maintained a Fine Arts department
since the time ofPalko Lukacs, over the years it has enhanced the school's
recognition of the importance of the arts. It has taken some doing,
however; in the seventies financial constraints would not permit the
school to engage Igor Kipnis, the noted harpsichordist, as a contractual
21
"artist in residence." Still, in 1989, composer-conductor Leonard Bernstein
would receive an honorary Fairfield degree as he addressed the graduates
at commencement and in 1992 the acting dean of the College of Arts and
Sciences is a musician, Dr. Orin Grossman. It has been a great leap since
commencement day in 1950 when a V.F.W. drum and bugle corps played
"Onward Christian Soldiers" as the graduates received their degrees.
Attention to more personal, social and recreational needs became a
matter of greater concern to the Division of Student Services. Students
coming to Fairfield have normally applied to five or six other schools.
They become aware of the extracurricular supports elsewhere and
Fairfield is now expected to provide similar services. The division now
meets the housing needs of some 500 more students than it did in the
seventies. As efforts to attract a more diverse student population have
succeeded in attracting minority students, the Division ofStudent Services
has lent its support to minority-oriented organizations like UMO]A and
SALSA, both of which strive to improve relationships within the increas­ingly
diverse student body. In addition, the last ten years are notable for
the expansion of tutorial services to all who have evidenced special
academic needs.
Recent years have also seen changes in the school's placement
services. Much of the growth here has been related to the increasing
occupational concern of the undergraduates. The Dolan Campus,
another of the building projects that marked the late eighties, became the
site of a Career Planning Center that now coordinates student part-time
employment services, long-range career planning, assistance in resume
preparation, and the facilitation of interviews with industrial and com­mercial
recruiters.
Health services have expanded to meet increasing student need. No
longer the domain of an infirmarian, its complexities match the compre­hensiveness
of the school. Psychologists, social workers, and consultant
psychiatrists augment the medical services which are themselves ex­panded
to meet gynecological, preventive, and health education needs.
Through the eighties intercollegiate athletics have remained an
important part ofstudent life, but they too have seen changes. Basketball's
"golden years" seemed to have come to an end in 1980when Fred Barakat
announced his resignation, but the "Stagmania" that had attended his
successes found itself expressed in somewhat more tempered form in a
22
new setting. In 1980, Fairfield entered the Metropolitan Atlantic Athletic
Conference, competing against teams from schools with standards like
its own and with a program that balanced the varsity sports for both men
and women. Now, in 1992, students are active in 17 varsity sports, nine
for men and eight for women; eight other teams engage in club sports.
And student enthusiasms have again been tapped as the men's
basketball team won MAAC championships in 1986 and 1987 and the
women fought their way to MAAC championships and NCAA tourneys
in 1988 and 1991.
ACADEMIC NEEDS
Meeting the academic needs of a new generation of students
presented problems for each ofthe University's schools. It was with some
reluctance that the general faculty took to the new School of Business.
Dean Griffin found himself faced with a general faculty jealous of their
investment in the liberal arts. They insisted that the new school continue
its commitment to the humanities and that the time-honored core be
maintained. He, on the other hand, had developed a plan for another
core, a business core, to be pursued in each of the major business
concentrations. Acceding to both these strictures placed a burden of
rigidity upon the curricula of the students. They found, for instance, that
their choice in the social science areas ofthe core was restricted to courses
in economics, that the recommended philosophy option became an
ethics course, and that their total obligation for graduation was three and
in some cases seven credits greater than it was for their colleagues in the
liberal arts. The new students, however, responded well to the challenge.
In 1983, for instance, Carol Jean Murphy, an accounting major, was the
University recipient of The Bellarmine Medal for the highest four-year
academic average.
In the School of Continuing Education, the heterogeneity of the
student body virtually forced accommodation. It was in that school that
credit by examination became established. It was there, too, that the
University was led to award the Associate in Arts degree as a device to
provide an intermediate goal for students whose part-time evening
studies might extend over a period of years. In another vein, the wide
interests of the evening school students and the unavailability of the day
school faculty to meet many of those needs, allowed the University to
23
employ a group of adjunct instructors whose own spectrum of skills
brought a richness to the campus.
Perhaps the most notable among the innovations in Fairfield's efforts
to selVice the more mature student was the FACES program. As the
school's administration, Dean William Murphy and his associate Vilma
Allen, dealt with students returning to school. They recognized the
urgent need ofmany students for counseling and career exploration. The
reaction to the need was the establishment of the Fairfield Adult Career
and Educational SelVices, a program which has gained national recogni­tion
as a model of its kind.
The Graduate School of Education has historically been responsive
to student and community needs. In some ways that very responsiveness
has been productive of difficulties. As the regional public and parochial
school systems grew during the fifties and sixties, Fairfield became the
institution where many oftheir teachers received their advanced degrees.
The University attracted a faculty that was distinguished by its capability
and productivity. By 1972 it had tenured members in programs ofteacher
education, special education, school psychology, school administration
and counseling. The school was meeting both general and specific needs
of neighboring school systems.
Teachers found that their school systems would reward the receipt
of advanced degrees, additional study credits, or the certificate of
advanced study with salary increments that made continued graduate
study financially worthwhile. But during the middle years of the
seventies, a variety of forces came to bear upon the educational world.
The school population peaked; a recession had its effect on school
budgets; system expansion came to a halt and the need for teachers began
to diminish. The problem was compounded by state pressures to seek
alternate routes to teacher certification and advancement. In-selVice
training and "continuing education units" became vehicles by which
advancement was achieved. Under these circumstances, some prospec­tive
teachers found it easier to gain employment if they lacked the credits
that would place them in a higher pay category; an advanced degree
could actually be a deterrent to a job!
Graduate enrollments began to suffer and faculty were hard-put to
provide offerings that would attract a student population whose tuition
fees could underwrite University salary expenses. For a time, specialty
24
areas, mandated by the state, would be able to maintain themselves. But
they were specialties and their number limited almost by definition.
Faculty did support themselves with monies supplied by successful
grant applications for programs aimed at meeting the special needs of
minority groups. But they, again, were aimed at a limited population
whose tuition support would be temporary and whose continuation in
studies could not be counted upon. It was becoming apparent that the
educational system alone was insufficient to maintain a graduate
program.
It was this realization that prompted the administration to broaden
the population to which it offered its services. The program in educational
psychology provided insights that could be ofvalue to persons in related
fields in commerce, industry, and the professions. Counseling was a skill
that had applications not only in the schools. Community agencies and
public facilities are in need of persons who can relate one-on-one to
clients looking to resolve dilemmas or gain greater understanding oftheir
behavioral options. As its scope expanded, so did its title, now the
Graduate School of Education and Allied Professions. In its present form,
then, it still seeks to provide for the fundamental training ofteachers while
at the same time it explores new areas in which its specially skilled faculty
can contribute its insights.
In 1990, the Graduate School of Corporate and Political Communi­cation
closed. Its 25-year history had been a remarkable one, one thatmay
be instructive in demonstrating how student needs can change. It had
never been conceived as being a practice-oriented professional school.
R~ther, its founder, Fr. Thomas Burke, had hoped that it would be an
instrument by which an educated person could develop an understand­ing
ofthe manner in and degree to which the communication process has
come to permeate the modem culture. It would be a challenging exercise
in thought.
The school's first students came from a variety of settings, few of
which were formally identified with the communication process. Some,
indeed, were writers, others in advertising, and still others in public
relations; but some were simply people looking to see how an under­standing
of communications might enrich their intellectual lives. They
found, however, that the insights yielded by their coursework allowed
them to function more knowledgeably in a spectrum of career fields.
25
In the early eighties, however, there was an influx ofstudents whose
goals were more pragmatic. They were seeking programs that would
provide entry into the communications field itself. When it became
apparent that the focus'was not in fact career training, many of these
students discontinued study and presented the school with a significant
attrition problem that threatened its financial stability. In a brief span of
time, Fr. Burke and his successor, Fr. Lynch, died; and their successor, Dr.
George McLeo~ who was unable to project their vision of the school's
purpose, found the enrollment sinking to an unstable level.
It was about that time that an undergraduate interest in communi­cation
arts reached its height. The University reasoned that much of the
graduate program could be modified in such a way as to graft its
contributions upon the humanistic orientation of the College of Arts and
Sciences. Accordingly, the graduate school was closed as the under­graduate
college established its new, interdisciplinary Concentration in
Communication Arts.
UMDERGRADIATE ACADEMIC NEEDS
During the last 15 years, the initiation of a new communications
major was only one of a number of academic developments that a
changing undergraduate student body witnessed. These changes were
the outcomes of not only what was happening at Fairfield but also in
schools across the country.
Nationally, great hopes had been invested in higher education. It had
long been noted that there existed a statistical relationship between
educational level and occupational level. Attainment of a degree
unlocked the door to a more satisfying and remunerative career. A
degree, in tum, was something to which anyone is entitled. As a result,
a number of schools opened their doors to an unselected population and
found ways to award them degrees.
It did not occur to some that if everyone were to receive a degree,
then the statistical relationship between degree and career success would
vanish. To those who recognized the fact, there would be need for some
other device to distinguish the more capable person from his less capable
colleague. Among such devices were the grades that one received on the
way to the degree. But at Fairfield, and a number of other schools as well,
grade inflation had made its impact. The average quality point had risen
26
to 3.02, a gentleman's "B." Somehow, comparative achievement needed
another 'Yay to be recognized.
Dr. Nicholas Rinaldi, acting dean after the college was separated
from the School of Business, initiated a practice that is still observed. He
arranged for faculty in the College of Arts and Sciences to nominate for
recognition those students who, by reason of some artistic or literary
achievement, had distinguished themselves. Then on an April evening he
acknowledged these achievements in an Arts and Sciences award
evening in the faculty dining room of the Campus Center. A year later,
Dean Stephen Weber secured funding for a similar, expanded evening
in the Oak Room. A visiting speaker was invited, as were all students
performing on an honors level, and prize recipients were publicly
recognized for their handiwork. Here was an answer to grade inflation,
a public indication of excellence.
A further form of merit recognition came with the activation of the
Jesuit Honor Society, Alpha Sigma Nu. During the eighties, at the urging
of Fr. Kelley, it became the practice to select a group of new members,
chosen not only on the basis of their academic grades, but also on their
history of service to the University or the community. These juniors and
seniors would be installed at a ceremony conducted each year during the
fall Parents' Day.
Further in-house recognition of academic excellence came in 1982
with the establishment of an interdisciplinary Honors Program. Eligibility
required not only a record of academic excellence but, in addition, a
participant would have to attend a special series of lectures and, under
the mentorship of a faculty member, produce a research paper of
recognized excellence.
If students need feedback within the institution, the school itself
found a measure ofvalidation ofits excellence from several other sources
during the last decade. One ofthe first was its inclusion in Fiske's College
Guide, published by TbeNew York Times, in 1982. The positive evaluation
made in that publication was followed later in the eighties by high stand­ing
in the U.S. News and World Report issue that annually reports the
ratings of colleges based on their nomination by officials of a panel ofhigh
level academic administrators. Again in 1988, Fairfield found itself listed
in Barron's among the 300 most selective institutions in the United States.
27
CONSUMER COllEGIANS
The new, consumer collegians of the eighties could take satisfaction
that they had elected a recognizably good institution, but as most
consumers do, they would make further demands. After all, they had
sUlVeyed other schools and they had preferences about the way the
product was equipped. They were well satisfied with the new American
Studies major that dated from 1978. They were attracted by an interdis­ciplinary
program in Communication Arts (although the school resisted
their pressure to make it a hands-on, production-oriented program).
Computer Science became a major in 1984, just at the beginning of the
era of the personal computer.
Previous to the establishment of the Computer Science major, the
school had anticipated the computer needs of its undergraduates by
establishing a computer applications minor as early as 1978. It had also,
in 1981, installed a state of the art mainframe that permitted the
construction of computer stations available for student use at strategic
locations across the campus.
A look at current catalogues suggests that despite the addition of the
communications concentration and the development of the computer
science major, the essential scheme of Fairfield's course offering remains
constant. The commitment to a core of studies is still a central feature,
even though the emphases within the core have shifted.
Within subject areas, there have been modifications. Course titles
may be a bit more contemporaneous in their statement: "Women and
Fiction: An International Perspective," "The History of Terrorism,"
"Gerontological Psychology," "Nuclear Ethics," and "Feminist Theology."
Physics now considers the laser and digital electronics in their relation­ship
to communication technology; Biology addresses the current
concerns in ecology, and offers field work in coral reef ecology in the
Caribbean itself. In Fine Arts, students can visit Florence to view the
masterpieces of western painting and sculpture.
On a superficial level, students have been entranced with packaging
devices like double minors or joint majors as they attempt to develop
resumes that are designed to catch the attention offuture employers. And
the "learn by doing" approach of John Dewey is expressed in an
increasing focus on process rather than content. Internships flourish;
credit is earned for studio art, for aural/oral courses in language, and for
28
computer-assisted writing (in addition to the traditional literary ap­proach)
in English.
To look at a modem transcript might puzzle a latter-day Rip Van
Winkle. But it is essentially the same as it has been through the years.
Beyond its computer print-out and its novel course titles, it is still a record
of a student's journey toward the truth, and the University remains his or
her Vergil in that journey.
In some ways the recognition of that student-mentor relationship is
a key to understanding the process that has taken place during the last
20 years. Famield's adolescence has been not so much a development
of an identity but rather a manifestation of its identity.
For two decades, first Fr. Fitzgerald and then Fr. Kelley have piloted
the University by the compass of their understanding of both its role and
its purpose. They have stayed the course through the shoals of changing
social climates and the gales ofeconomic uncertainty. At times even their
theological charts were blurred. But as we approach the 21st Century,
Fairfield enters the open seas in a tight vessel manned by a competent
crew, delivering its passengers and cargo to destinations still beyond the
horizon.
Looking back, these chronicles do not document change over the
years; rather they record a commitment to the teaching task at hand and
the purpose for which it was undertaken. That purpose it still shares with
generations of Jesuit-inspired institutions:
Ad majorem Dei gloriam.
Dr. VincentMurphyjoinedthe Universityfaculty in 1960asAssistant
Professor ofPsychology. He taught undergraduates as well as graduate
students in the Graduate School ofEducation and Allied Professionsfor
30yearsandfor much ofhis careersewedasAssociateDean ofthe College
ofArts and Sciences. He retired in 1990.
29