anniversary luncheon address - William H. Whyte '35 A question has perplexed many of us. We know St. Andrew's is a great school. Why don't many others? What is it that we should be discerning? Or changing? Or calling attention to? I would like to offer a few thoughts. This is a time to celebrate, to be sure; but it is also a time for candor. In looking over the dif ferent aspects of the School-student body, curriculum, and thus-one denominator keeps recurring. St. Andrew's is a school that is somewhat out of step. Location. To many people it is clear that St. Andrew's is in the wrong place. It is not in New England. It is not on the edge of a great metropolitan center. It is in Mid dletown, Delaware. In actual miles, Middletown is not so very far from the city. Psychologically, however, it is isolated. The area around has no national identity. It is in fact, right on the dividing line between two cultures-the easy going, fun-loving culture of the Eastern Shore and the more ascetic, striving one of Southeastern Pennsylvania. But there are blessings to be counted, and not the least of them is the fine expanse of countryside that is the School's. It is not only intact, but larger than before. Elsewhere, campuses are being encircled by develop ment. Not here, and as time goes on we may come to appreciate more our pastoral in sularity. And Middletown, it is not quite the ar chetype of the American small town, but it certainly looks like it. Actually, Middletown has changed much; with many "new people" and kinds of people, but physically it has changed remarkably little. It's wonderful for aging alumni; you come back and it's the same, not a year has been added. Religion. St. Andrews is a church school. It is very much so. It has remained faithful to the vision of the founder. It has not watered down its chapel, its observances, its religious courses. By not doing so, it has become the
more removed from the secular society beyond. Size. St. Andrew's is a small school. We know the disadvantages. A small school can have trouble fielding teams that win games. There just isn't a big enough universe for the law of averages to give you huge tackles, and there isn't a big enough universe to give you a huge alumni corps. But there is an advantage. Since there are never enough highly talented people to go around, you have to fill the bill. At St. Andrew's you are needed, to play tackle, for example, even though you wouldn't be allowed on the practice field at some other school. Our primary talents we usually get a chance to exercise, it's the secondary ones you also get to exercise at St. Andrew's. Many of us look back on this with some fondness-the chance to act, badly perhaps, but to act; to politick, to run, to row. And, praise be, St. Andrew's wins too.
"Out ofstep? Perhaps, but not out ofstep with needs. Those of us who have been the course know that the core ofSt. An drew's education is unremitting emphasis on individual, in dependent work. " The School has always been congenial to self expression and the tradition started with Walden Pell. He was strong for us doing things of our own devising. He was also quite tolerant. I remember that Chester Baum and I conceived the idea of a witty, scintillating revue that would parody School life. Since we were very amused with each other's jokes, we elected ourselves as the producers and broached the matter to the Headmaster. He was delighted. And how did we repay his support? By making him the principal target-there was a skit, I recall, on cooking up overlong ser mons. He laughed the 'loudest of all. In this good climate St. Andrew's became a hotbed of entrepreneurial activities and new ventures. A busy place it was, and the tradition has persisted. I quote from the report of the visiting Evaluation Committee of 1977. With what seems a mixture of awe and exasperation the report states: "It appears to the Committee that almost everyone at St. Andrews is heavily involved almost all of the time." Community. St. Andrew's is a community and a rather close knit one. Here, too, there
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are disadvantages. Even with all the open air and country about, one sometimes gets a feeling of claustrophobia. But one does learn to live with other people, in close, knowing proximity. People know you at St. An drew's. So do the masters. To put it baldly, they are on to you. They are hard to fool-much harder, often, than one's parents. The shrewdest know when you are bulling about an assignment not done, are covering up something you shouldn't be-or, at least, they imply that they do. The best at this cat and mouse game was Howard Schmolze. Whatever it was you had done, or hadn't done, he would look at you with a funny smile, as if to say, I know very well what you've been doing, but I'm a good hearted fellow and I'm going to let it pass. How did he know, you wondered. Or did he? It was very unsettling. But there is another side. The students get on to the masters, too. Education. Compared to most secondary schools, St. Andrew's is conservative in its curriculum and teaching. Some would say antediluvian. I showed a St. Andrew's catalog to the superintendent of a large midwest school system. He was appalled. Why so few electives? Why the emphasis on languages? Where were the life skills courses? Out of step? Perhaps, but not out of step with needs. Those of us who have been the course know that the core of St. Andrew's education is unremitting emphasis on in dividual, independent work. Many confuse lots of electives, super contemporary sub jects, and such, with independent work. This is not what I'm referring to, or even the Miniterm, valuable as it may be. I'm referring to such basics as the essay; to the discipline of taking blank pages of paper,
"Again, I pinch myself. Fifty years. Those little saplings are now great tall sycamores. I am an alumnus-a trustee, indeed. Dignified. And yet, one gets a funny feeling that nothing has changed. " ordering one's thoughts and setting them down in some coherent fashion; of learning that it is through this hard work that you achieve that splendid end, the simple declarative sentence. The other part of the equation is a rigorous taskmaster; someone who won't let you talk it out, but forces you to re-write, and re-write again. And with little sympathy