Chapter 29: The Impact of Pearl Harbor

Clouds of conflict gathering across the globe in the late 1930's and the return of international anarchy stirred lively interest and concern in University circles--students, faculty, administration--in substantial contrast to the relative apathy on the campus during the months preceding the involvement of the United States in the First World War. Once started, discussions and polls bearing on American foreign policy persisted in undergraduate publications until the malevolent Japanese raid upon Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941.

Early in 1935 a Campus poll showed majority student sentiment favorable to American entry into the League of Nations, yet even more strongly averse to large expansion of seapower or participation in another major war. A second test of opinion revealed heavy support for the so-called neutrality legislation, though a high percentage of students would readily enter military service if the United States were actually invaded. A Rochester branch of the "Veterans of Future Wars," a nation-wide anti-war organization, was established, its adherents wearing a small blue lapel button. One respected undergraduate provoked considerable controversy by a glowingly sympathetic report on conditions in the Germany of Adolf Hitler as he had observed them in 1936 during a summer tour.

Faculty men, the historians above all, offered their interpretations of the larger eruptions in Europe like the Nazi occupation of the Rhineland and the Spanish Civil War. A student group despatched modest material aid to the Spanish Loyalists, and John Field, 1935, a mild-mannered youth, enlisted in the anti-Franco forces and perished fighting on the barricades. By a slight majority student opinion backed a 1938 Congressional proposal for a constitutional amendment requiring that the United States could only go to war if a national referendum decided for intervention. On this issue the undergraduate mood paralleled that of Congress itself.

For the most part, expressions of view in the Tower Times duplicated the attitudes set forth in the Campus. The public press was accused of whipping up war hysteria and exaggerated nationalism: students should agitate constructively, it was urged, for the preservation of peace. Japanese depredations in China evoked calls for a total boycott on the purchase of goods made in Nippon. Yet after the Nazi annexation of the Czech Sudetenland in 1938, "Stop Hitler" served as the Tower Times watchword and the Führer was roundly denounced for persecution of the Jewish people.

Campus editor Burnett F. Anderson, 1940, initiated a "Union of Collegiate Newspapers for American Peace," which won support from the Atlantic to the Pacific. To drive home the point that the world was in topsy-turvy disarray, an editorial on that theme was printed upside down. Animated debate on the desirability of forming a defensive alliance with Great Britain engaged the pens and tongues of professors and students alike. "Young men have no burning desire to act as receivers for machine-gun fire," a Campus editorial of April 21, 1939, declared. The writer, Robert H. Zwierschke, 1939, was the first Rochester alumnus to lose his life in the Second World War, going down with the aircraft carrier "Lexington" in the May, 1942, Battle of the Coral Sea. 1

Following the outbreak of hostilities in Europe, September 1, 1939, the tempo of concern on the campuses intensified. Faculty men, returning from abroad, proffered first-hand accounts of their observations and reflections; for instance, Professor May, after seven months of study and travel in 1939 which took him from Great Britain through the swollen Nazi Reich, Poland, the Soviet Union, the Baltic Republics and back again, reported in detail on what he had seen and heard, though he declined to commit himself on the course the United States should pursue.

Predicting an "intense barrage of propaganda" on behalf of intervention in the war, the Campus iterated and reiterated that Americans would not fight on foreign soil. When in the spring of 1940, German arms crashed into Western Europe and overwhelmed France, some student voices wanted economic assistance dispatched to the Allies, above all to beleaguered Britain, but not military support.

At an all-University Convocation on October 25, 1939, President Valentine contended that intellectuals had a solemn duty to keep America neutral. Pleading for "reason and tolerance," he interpreted American participation in the First World War as folly and futile. "The ideals of a University," he stated, "are the ideals of peace;" warfare would not be considered "a holy crusade unless intellectuals make it one." Judging by the fervor of the applause, the audience generally shared the stand voiced by Valentine. Subsequently, in a baccalaureate address of June 16, 1940, the President disclosed that his pacific Quaker heritage had taught him that "the use of force is in itself wrong and provides no solution." Given the global conditions, he advocated "rapid, intelligent, efficient defense," though "to send American troops to fight in Europe or Asia is pure mid-summer madness." Needless to say, the line pursued by Valentine did not elicit universal acclaim, neither in the University community nor in the city of Rochester. On the other hand, the President formally offered all the University resources for national defense and appointed a committee of leading professors to puzzle out what could be done if the summons came.

Debate in the student mind, bewilderment as to what constituted wisdom in the unprecedented situation, grew more pronounced after the passage on September 16, 1940, of a Selective Service and Training Bill which obligated males over twenty-one to register. On request, undergraduates might be deferred to the end of the current academic year; directives that poured out of Washington on deferment were divergently interpreted by local draft boards, which aggravated undergraduate uneasiness. The only certain thing about the future was uncertainty.

During the presidential campaign of 1940, rival clubs on the campuses for Franklin D. Roosevelt and Wendell Willkie churned up excitement over the election. In "straw votes" male under-graduates indicated a definite preference for FDR, but the women strongly upheld the Willkie interest, and petitions circulated in the faculties likewise revealed a decided preponderance for the Republican aspirant--and loser. It has been earlier related that Valentine, on leave, became a key personality in a luckless Democrats-for-Willkie movement. A little later, testifying before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, the President spoke out vigorously against adoption of the Lend-Lease Act; he felt, however, that a majority of Rochester professors favored enactment, as the men students had done in a poll.

Teachers responded appropriately to appeals for contributions to funds for war prisoners, Greek relief, and an ambulance for Britain. Within faculty circles, the historians and the political scientists, not surprisingly, were the most articulate both at the colleges and in the city press on the subject of foreign policy. Taking his stand with the non-interventionists, Professor May collected a set of newspaper articles in a pamphlet, "This Bewildered Democracy," which provoked instant and well-reasoned rejoinders from colleagues and townsmen who leaned toward intervention in the ongoing conflict. "The tradition of the stoic calm of professorial intellects in the face of world realities," the Campus told its readers, "is slowly being discredited."

In the meantime, the University, under varied auspices, presented a stream of lecturers, some on topics related to the war, some not. The National Director of the Polish Y.W.C.A., Paul Super, described conditions in Poland after the Nazi invasion, and Frederick Hoeing, son of the late dean, gave a thrilling account of his experiences as a member of the British-American Ambulance Corps. The case for non-intervention in the European struggle was explained by Oswald Garrison Villard, and for unflinching pacifism by Abraham J. Muste, eloquent clergyman., President William H. Cowley of Hamilton College described the evil consequences, as he saw them, of intensive student specialization in German universities. Spokesmen on more academic themes were Felix Morley, president of Haverford College, Howard Thurber, Negro educator, George Sarton, Harvard historian of science, and the eminent mathematician, Lawrence Hogben of Scotland.

Just when Western Europe was reeling under the hammer blows of the Nazi legions, in early May, 1940, the University staged a great three-day conference on "New Frontiers in American Life," which was designed to probe vocational opportunities for undergraduates. More exactly, President Valentine explained that the purpose of the experiment was "to determine where America will find substitutes for the vanished physical frontiers...for the ambitions and energies of American youth;" only slightly, he observed; was the conference "a publicity stunt."

Invitations were extended to leaders in business, journalism, education, and labor to take part in round table clinics, luncheon sessions on both college campuses, and large public meetings in the evening at the Eastman Theatre. And the response, except in the case of a spokesman for labor, was highly gratifying. Among the well-known personalities who participated were Owen D. Young, honorary chairman of the board of the General Electric Company, Hortense M. Odlum, president of the Bonwit-Teller store, Henry R. Luce, publisher of Time and Life, David O. Selznick, motion picture producer, and Frank P. Graves, commissioner of education for New York State. Speakers sounded distinctly optimistic notes and dismissed the theory that "the New Deal" spelled doom for the American economy. It was intended to circulate the addresses and talks, which were taken down by stenographers, in book form, but that was not actually done.

Vocational guidance counselors at other colleges and an assortment of special guests--three hundred in all--attended the sessions, which were extensively commented on in newspapers of national stature. A flood of letters acclaiming the values of the conference swept across the President's desk. "The objectives were achieved with surprising success," the Campus editor remarked, while Trustee Raymond N. Ball interpreted the conference as "a great credit to the University and to the city as well," Affairs of this sort, he felt, "cannot, fail to bring a closer relationship between the University and the business interests of the community." 2


At the University as in the country at large, the infamous Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor silenced the great debate on foreign policies. Three days before the opening of hostilities, the Campus observed, "Beside the muddy, turbid Genesee, it has been a dull week, not a major ripple on the placid surface of Men's College life." But in the next issue the newspaper lamented that the coming of war had brought "the ivory tower tumbling down about the youth of this generation." President Valentine declared that previous "differences of opinion are now past history." The University, he said, "will not fail in meeting its responsibilities," and he counseled the undergraduates to carry on as usual, until summoned into military service. Faculty tongues, hitherto at odds, spoke with a single voice on waging the war to a victorious conclusion. In the main, undergraduates faced their ever more beclouded future calmly and with sobriety and pursued their accustomed scholastic rounds. For the most part draft boards allowed the men to continue their studies for the current semester, but except for pre-medical, pre-theological, and specialized engineering students, it was extremely doubtful whether undergraduates could complete their college careers before being called by the Selective Service.

For the University, the four years after December 7, 1941, formed a strenuous, tumultuous chapter, replete with unprecedented strains and adjustments. Assigned responsibility for civilian defense at the University, Carl W. Lauterbach, 1925, vocational counselor for men, picked lieutenants on each campus to work with him. Specially designated "spotters" kept on the lookout for enemy aerial raiders and incendiary bombs. 3

City-wide "blackouts," in preparation for possible air attacks and for their psychological effect, were heralded at the River Campus and the Medical Center by a whistle on the powerhouse and the tolling of the Rhees Library Chime. Each building had its security warden, and, when an alarm sounded, students with first-aid training dashed to the Gymnasium, firefighters converged upon the Library basement, and all others sought shelter in the handiest building, where lanterns and other basic necessities were at hand.

Early in January, 1942, President Valentine attended a meeting in Baltimore on cooperative action of higher education and agencies of government, which drew representatives from about a thousand colleges and universities. The conference pledged "the total resources and strength" of the academic institutions to win the titanic struggle that lay ahead and then to win in the peace settlement. That promise was presently reaffirmed at a gathering of higher education executives of New York State.

Students gave up their rooms in Crosby dormitory to some eighty Navy men who were being trained as photographic technicians at the Eastman Kodak Company. On the campus from December, 1942, into June, 1943, these trainees ate two meals daily at Todd Union and made use of the college athletic facilities; before they departed, a detachment of thirty-four Army aviation cadets was quartered and drilled at the college. Their everyday routine, as seen by the Campus, read: 8 to 12, bomb Tokyo; 12, lunch at Hotel Yokohama; 2:30 to 5:30, bomb Tokyo; 6, dinner with Adolph [sic] ; 7, bomb Berlin; 9, kill Hitler.

Rationing of food and gasoline created certain minor handicaps. Setting standards for his colleagues in gasoline economy, the President pedaled a bicycle to his office--and locked it; a few younger teachers followed suit, pushing their wheels up the steeper hills along the way. En route to address a school of nurses in Pennsylvania, Valentine missed a war-disrupted train connection, but by hitching a ride with a suspicious farmer he managed to arrive at his destination in the nick of time.

University personnel, undergraduates, professors, librarians devoted weekends to tasks related to the war under the overall direction of a College War Effort Council. They collected and sorted scrap. "North Africa Day," "Solomon Islands Day," responded to emergency calls for labor in industries, and helped to harvest apples, potatoes, what not. When a delegation of women librarians presented themselves for work at a tomato farm on which faculty men had previously worked, the farmer eyed them warily and blurted out that "he didn't know whether he ought to allow the ladies to gather his crop, because all the workers before had been Ph.D's!" To aid a drive for scrap metal, the President battered down an iron fence near the Eastman House with a sledgehammer. Selling war bonds, donating blood, addressing patriotic rallies, presenting summaries and interpretations of war news over the radio were other activities in which University people busied themselves.

To meet its own needs for workers, at a time when labor turnover had soared, the University set up (1942) an employment office at the Medical Center where non-technical and non-professional employees were hired. As part-time advisor and coordinator of all aspects of wartime activity, Trustee Herbert S. Weet, 1899, was engaged and carried on to the close of the war. When Armin N. Bender, 1933, resigned from the Office of Public Information to enter the Navy, the post was assumed by Charles F. Cole, 1925. Aside from press releases and special bulletins, Cole planned war-oriented radio talks and edited University catalogues, which reached eleven by the time the war ended. In conjunction with the Rhees Library staffers, he directed a War Information Center which, among other things, organized an outstanding film collection with titles, on civilian defense, industry and agriculture, Latin America, and the United Nations. Movies and book lists were freely distributed to interested groups; by October, 1943, an estimated 60,000 had watched educational films circulated by the University.

Cooperating with Rochester civic leaders, the University sponsored (1943) a comprehensive study of the downtown area of the city in readiness for a possible post-war urban renewal program; Valentine acted as cochairman of the undertaking.


Wartime urgencies demanded drastic alterations at the River Campus in the academic calendar, curricular offerings, and related matters. During the Christmas recess of 1941, the senior faculty, alert to the consequences which calls to the colors would have on the student body, voted to compress four normal college years into three; in other words, three terms of work could be taken in a calendar year, so that it would be possible for a man, if he chose, to graduate in two and two-third years after matriculation. While acceleration was optional, undergraduates concentrating in an area of science or in engineering and other disciplines closely connected with the war effort were urged to adopt the speeded-up schedule.

The current second semester ended in May of 1942 and was followed by an "Intersession" and "Summer Session," running from mid-May into August. For 1942-1943, two full terms were decided upon together with an "Intersession" and a "Summer Session." Men in the class of 1943--the Juniors--would be able to earn their degrees by the end of 1942 or early in the following year. In 1943 qualified applicants were admitted in January, May, and September, and it was announced that three dates of entrance would be maintained throughout the war emergency.

It was voted, too, that all men should take physical education, which would emphasize a commando type of conditioning--contact sports, boxing, wrestling, and obstacle races. Every student, had not only to demonstrate ability to swim on the surface and underwater, but also to keep afloat for at least an hour; Seniors received instruction in first-aid and in group leadership. Course examinations were temporarily cut from three hours to one and the Senior reading period and comprehensive examinations were discontinued. For undergraduates who departed for military service, appropriate arrangements were made to allow them credit for study completed when they were called up; if recommended by their department of concentration, Seniors drafted in their second semester would be given degrees. College credit, moreover, would be granted for acceptable courses offered under military auspices and scholarship holders, called into national service, were assured of reinstatement.

Prospective dentists were placed on the same footing as pre-medical students; which is to say, they would be awarded a bachelor's degree for the equivalent of three academic years at the University and one year of satisfactory performance at a dental school.

A very high percentage of the undergraduates opted for the acceleration schedule. For many, accustomed to a more leisurely approach to learning, the speeded-up agenda had less than happy results. "Classes are having the lowest attendance on record," the Campus commented on December 4, 1942. "Work is being done sketchily, if at all, and students seem to buckle under their load at the slightest pretext..." Administrative officers, on the other hand, were convinced that a large majority of the undergraduates, aware that they were in college "on borrowed time," conscientiously prepared themselves for whatever national service they might be called on to perform.

Responding to the urgencies of the hour, instruction in meteorology, spherical trigonometry, photometry, biostatistics, and special aspects of economics was brought into the curriculum. Shortly before Pearl Harbor, in fact, the economics department had been refashioned as the department of economics and business administration, and vocational subjects like marketing and foreign trade were introduced. Instruction in typewriting and stenography might also be taken, though without credit for a degree. Prior to that, Cornell University had proposed a joint School of Business, and consultations on the plan ensued, but in the end the U. of R. decided against a combination with the Ithaca institution.

Quite logically, undergraduate preference for such standard subjects as engineering, mathematics, and the sciences increased substantially; with funds and equipment furnished by Rochester industries, teaching of metallurgical engineering, leading to a B.S., was initiated. Beyond that, beginning in May, 1943, men under eighteen might enroll in a two-year basic program in arts (which could be finished in sixteen months), receiving a Certificate of Arts at the end; credits might later be applied toward a bachelor's degree. When planning this innovation, University administrators paid heed to recommendations by representatives of the armed forces on the content of education most practicable for potential officers. Teaching of religion was integrated (1942) with philosophy; considering the University's heritage, it seemed "curious" to the President that "no chair or endowment for religion" had ever been created. In another direction, he expressed the hope that one day the University would undertake to equip men for city planning. 4

In the meantime, the "desirability and feasibility of seeking a military training unit for the River Campus had come under review. Before Pearl Harbor, the idea of having a Reserve Officers Training Corps (ROTC) was frowned upon in administrative and student circles, but on December 16, 1941, the executive committee of the trustees authorized an immediate investigation of what was being done at comparable colleges.

Recruiting officers from the several military services signed up undergraduates as officer candidates, leaving vacant chairs in college halls. When in November, 1942, a revised draft law empowered the government to conscript men between the ages of eighteen and twenty, the likelihood that classrooms would soon be emptied turned into stark reality. Happily, however, the following month it was revealed in Washington that the Army and Navy would use selected institutions of higher education to provide a steady flow of college educated personnel. Not only did that announcement resolve uncertainties in the minds of puzzled and perplexed undergraduates, but it foreshadowed prompt and drastic readjustments for institutions chosen to participate. The more specialized Army program gave less consideration to general education than the Navy V (Volunteer)-12 scheme, so that the latter possessed greater attractiveness for Rochester policymakers.

It was prescribed in the V-12 plan, which superseded older naval training projects, that undergraduates, professional students, and secondary school diploma holders who passed tests on academic ability, physical fitness, and leadership potential would be inducted into the armed forces as apprentice seamen or marine privates and stationed in colleges and universities. There, under military discipline and routine, they would combine academic studies with naval instruction, and they were guaranteed at least four college terms, longer if they were to be trained in engineering, medicine and dentistry, or theology. Moreover, they would be given tuition, food, lodging, uniforms, and medical care gratis, and active duty pay. Upon the completion of their studies, qualified V-12ers would proceed to Reserve Midshipmen Schools principally, while failures would be transferred to camps for general duty. Whatever special advantages universities may have detected in the V-12, the Navy Department officially thought of only one goal: a constant supply of officer material equipped for more specialized training. As a matter of fact, the program, which enrolled a national total of over 50,000, was started too late to be of much help in winning the war.

The University authorities took steps to secure a V-12 corps. Naval representatives who surveyed the U. of R. facilities were favorably impressed with what they found, and on April 29, 1943, assurances were given that the University would be awarded a unit. In June, University officers were briefed in New York City on the particulars of the V-12 program, the campus was hurriedly put in readiness to receive the initial complement, and the commanding officer, Lieut. Commander William M. Neill, came to Rochester. 5


The administrative and teaching forces of the colleges may be divided into two categories: those who joined the armed services or shared in war oriented investigations and similar activity away from Rochester, and those who remained to carry on research or instruction--on the principle that "he also serves who teaches;" many of the latter group took part in civilian tasks on the homefront.

Among the immediate costs of the war must be reckoned the emasculation of the teaching staff; while scholars in nearly every branch of intellectual work were drawn away, "kidnapped," scientists, understandably, were urgently needed in larger proportions than their colleagues in other disciplines. Physicist Lee A. DuBridge and chemist W. Alfred Noyes, Jr. departed before Pearl Harbor, and they were followed by younger teachers of science like Quentin D. Singewald, Winston D. Walters, Sidney W. Barnes, Joseph B. Platt, and Robert E. Marshak. Attached to the National Defense Research Council, DuBridge directed the researches of a staff of four thousand at the Radiation Laboratory at M.I.T. The largest single scientific team ever assembled anywhere, the workers concentrated on radar and achieved remarkable results, such as radar devices for guiding fire against "buzz" bombs and ground approach radar for landing aircraft. Noyes not only conducted studies related to chemical warfare and acted as adviser to the Office of Civil Defense Planning, but administered defense researches in chemistry at more than a score of universities. As chief technical aid in Great Britain of the National Defense Research Council, the former Rhodes Scholar, Frederick L. Hovde coordinated Anglo-American scientific activities. While economist Frank P. Smith served as consulting accountant in the Office of Price Administration, his colleague William E. Dunkman worked in the division of civilian allocation in the Office of Production Management.

By October of 1942 the Office of Scientific Research and Development in Washington had contracted with the University for over one hundred investigations by faculty men at Rochester, in the Institute of Optics especially, but likewise in chemistry and physics, in biology and psychology, and at the Medical Center. Professor Brian O'Brien leading the Institute of Optics functioned exclusively as a research laboratory, being awarded government contracts in the amount of a million dollars. In the first year after Pearl Harbor, the Institute staff multiplied by ten times; a very large part of its work was assigned high security classification and not all that was accomplished was revealed even after hostilities ceased. All personnel connected in any way with the Institute were thoroughly investigated, given distinctive badges, and finger-printed--even employees in the treasurer's office responsible for contracts and reporting on the work underway.

Optical scientists pursued research on infra-red sensitive phosphors and devised a viewing instrument--an infrared telescope--called a metascope which enabled troops to operate against the enemy across pitch black terrain. From the Institute also came the icaroscope (originally a bit of humor inspired by the mythical Icarus), a little device for visual search in directions very near the position of the sun, an ingenious infrared lamp for use in aerial photography at night, a night sight for airmen in combat, and a special type of goggles. Valuable in the war, these inventions also possessed significant peacetime potentialities. 6

While Professor J. E. Hoffmeister supervised a unit of the Army Map Service, University psychologists handled a testing program for the Civil Aeronautics Administration, and Professor Walter Campbell directed physical education for Air Corps trainees in the city. Either on gardens attached to their homes or on plots belonging to the University, teachers went in for raising vegetables--or that at least was the objective. On a tract to the east of Rhees Library some two-score "Victory Gardens" were blocked out and intensively cultivated into 1946. An informal organization purchased seeds, fertilizers, and tools cooperatively and even issued a mimeographed newssheet, The River Campus Gardener.

Under the acceleration schedule, teachers were committed to classroom duties for eleven months of the year, for which they were paid modest additional compensation; an emergency faculty committee, in consultation with the administration, reduced (1942) the college budget by ten percent. To plan for the post-war period, a faculty committee set to work (1943); especially to negotiate with foundations and industries on research projects, an office to co-ordinate research was created (1943). 7

Following the untimely death of Dean W. Edwin Van de Walle in September, 1943, J. Edward Hoffmeister was named dean of the college for men, and when he was promoted to the newly-created position of dean of the College of Arts and Science, Lester O. Wilder, 1911, assumed the deanship at the River Campus.

During the war years several faculty appointments of long-term importance were made. In 1942 Kathrine Koller (Mrs. William E. Diez) began her twenty-five-year tenure in the English department. Wise, gracious, and inspirational in the classroom, she also shared her learning with educational and civic groups in the city and for a time captivated audiences as a television personality. For research in the poetry of the English Renaissance, more particularly, she was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship and other honors; along with contributions to professional journals, she was the author of a book dealing with death and neo-stoicism in Renaissance non-dramatic literature. In recognition of her exceptional abilities Professor Koller was appointed (1946) chairman of the English department, the first woman in the University's history to preside over a major discipline. Three years before that, Margaret Denny commenced a seventeen-year teaching career at the University; a specialist in American literature and keenly interested in science, she published articles in learned journals.

Coming to the U. of R. in 1939 as an instructor in physics, Robert E. Marshak, after a wartime interval on atomic research, rapidly established himself as a scientist of international stature. For discoveries in theoretical nuclear physics and astrophysics he received numerous prizes and citations, and he lectured on his specialties in leading American, European, and Asiatic universities. A member of several national and international committees on science and of the editorial staff of scientific periodicals, he was honored with election to the elite National Academy of Sciences. Marshak also organized a series of Rochester Conferences on High Energy Nuclear Physics, wrote Our Atomic World (1948), and parts of Meson Physics (1952). Small wonder that he was the youngest man to be given the coveted title of "Distinguished University Professor." 8

Joseph B. Platt, class of 1937, joined the physics faculty in 1941 and, except for a wartime leave of absence, taught until 1956, when he became president of Harvey Mudd College. An accomplished teacher, he also carried on investigations in nuclear and meson physics and x-ray spectroscopy. To the Institute of Optics came (1941) Robert E. Hopkins, who was involved particularly with wide angle and curved field lenses and optical design; as director of the Institute of Optics from 1954 to 1964, Hopkins fortified the worldwide prestige of that component of the University.

After fifteen years of classroom teaching, mathematician H. Pearce Atkins, whose research interests lay in fractional derivatives of univalent functions and bounded functions, moved into the chair of dean of men; in 1958 greener pastures beckoned him to the University of Richmond. His colleague Dorothy L. Bernstein taught at the University from 1943 to 1959, specializing in the general area of analysis, more exactly measure theory and probability, and author of Existence Theorems in Partial Differential Equations (1950). For two years Ernst W. Caspari offered instruction in biology, then withdrew, but returned in 1960. A scientist of broad intellectual interests--linguistics for one--he made authoritative contributions, published in European and American professional journals, to knowledge on behavior genetics and physiological-developmental genetics, and he presided for a term over the Genetics Society of America. 9

Trained as a statistician Morey J. Wantman came to the faculty of education in 1941, applied his expertise in war-connected research, and then concentrated on statistical problems in education and on student testing and counselling along with administrative responsibilities. Resigning in 1957, he turned into a sort of global missionary in the educational sphere. Earl L. Koos devoted a decade (1943-1953) to instruction and research in sociology at the University; the challenge of urban culture appealed strongly to him, but his chief interest was family life, a subject on which he clarified ideas in several books.

Finally, in 1945 G. Richard Wendt, 1927, returned to his Alma Mater as professor of psychology and strengthened his standing in the profession as a departmental administrator unusually astute in picking able colleagues, as a member of editorial boards of learned journals, and by research. Carrying forward earlier experiments on motion sickness, Wendt wrote many papers on the subject of vestibular physiology as well as on the psychological effects of drugs. 10

Throughout the war era, Rhees Library, thanks especially to the unsung heroines on the staff, operated in a manner that President Valentine proudly described as smooth and efficient. "Our libraries and librarian," he rejoiced, "have a national reputation." Against the possibility of bombing raids the choicest volumes were stored in a capacious basement vault. The library served as an official War Information Center and collected books in a great Victory Book Campaign.

Notable wartime acquisitions were 5,000 volumes, not a few of them rare first editions, from the research collections of Ira S. Wile, 1898, another batch from the widow of Charles A. Brown, 1879, and a third from the business office of George Eastman; the management of the Kodak company responded negatively to a suggestion that the personal papers, of Eastman and the unused records of the firm might be deposited in Rhees Library for safekeeping. The Thurlow Weed collection was enriched by eighty letters written to his political ally, William H. Seward, and valuable letters once owned by the late trustee Edward Mott Moore were acquired. Use of documentary films increased steadily and the stock of microfilms was enlarged.

Among the exhibits in the library during the war period was an array of illuminated manuscripts from the famous Pierpont Morgan Library collection and a second showing devoted to China. Regulations adopted by the trustees in 1942--and never, rescinded--defined papers of any kind or description emanating from university offices as university property, and ordered that they should be entrusted to the University Archives, unless the University Librarian recommended their destruction. The archives staff was instructed to preserve papers and records turned in and to produce them on request. A mass of documents with historical value was handed over (and others kept coming in), though, alas and slack, not nearly everything a historian needed. 11


Counting credit and non-credit courses, 1,507 students--more men than women--were registered in 1939-1940 in the Extension Division, a considerable proportion of the 5,366 attending all parts of the University. Attendance fell off somewhat in the following year and then resumed its upward march. The division offered new courses in Latin American history, the Spanish, German, Russian, and Chinese languages, and entomology; the trustees authorized (1942) the division to grant a B.S. with a major in general studies. Courses directly related to wartime requirements were also introduced, notably work for men who might be called into national service. Additionally, federally financed instruction in engineering attracted (1942) over one thousand students and in radio communication more than two hundred. And workers in war industries who wished to improve their skills received training in engineering, science, and managerial methods. Once started, this program lasted for four and a half years, and when hostilities ceased about 6,300 workers had been given instruction. Meanwhile, the Extension Division organized intensive ground training for contingents of civilian aviation pilots and about sixty-eight navy and army cadets. But the instruction had to be discontinued because of the excessive burden on the depleted engineering staff and a critical shortage in living quarters. The decision of the administration to drop the program provoked sharp criticism of the University in the Rochester press. 12

Candidates for graduate degrees declined sharply after Pearl Harbor, falling in sixteen months by thirty percent for the University as a whole and substantially more than that at the Eastman School. There was, however, a signal piece of compensation: the University accepted (1942) an invitation to affiliate with the prestigious American Association of Universities, which was restricted to thirty-three institutions of higher learning, "outstanding in graduate teaching and research," out of nearly one hundred that granted the doctorate at that time.

As the sequel to this authoritative recognition of the high quality of graduate work being carried on at the University, the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences, soon renamed the Graduate School of the U. of R. replaced the Division of Graduate Studies. Although the School had neither a separate budget nor a faculty of its own, the administrative structure was brought into conformity with that of the other major components of the University. The history department was authorized to train Ph.D's, but five years elapsed before the first candidates were enrolled. 13


A Rochester merchandising executive, Gilbert J. C. McCurdy, accepted a seat on the board of trustees in 1941, and two years later Marion W. Fry (Mrs. C. Luther Fry), a member of the Advisory Committee of the College for Women, whose late husband had been a professor at the University, was elected. The inclusion of a woman on the trustee body represented, of course, a radical departure from a custom dating back to the very foundation of the University. To shatter "a troublesome tradition," commented one trustee, required "courage and diplomacy... in overcoming opposition by certain of his traditionalist minded fellows. A second trustee remembered, "The general feeling was" that this would be a particularly fine move, especially in view of the fact that Marion Fry by her experience in the business world and her contributions up to that time would be a very important addition to the Board." 14

Comparatively small sums passed to the University treasury to promote its varied functions of teaching, research, and public service; far the larger number of gifts was earmarked for engineering, medical research, and scholarly aid. For example, Mrs. Charles Hoeing set up a fund in the name of her late husband to purchase unusual books for the Rhees Library Treasure Room, and Martin F. Tiernan, 1906, gave $25,000 to found two loan scholarships to be assigned preferably to undergraduates earning part of their college expenses, and the beneficiaries were expected to reimburse the University for the help they received. The Henry C. Buswell Memorial Fund, exceeding $800,000, was designated for research in urology. A Henry T. Noyes Fund of $10,000 was to be used for lectures in city and regional planning and a lesser sum was donated to the department of fine arts. By the will of Mary M. Condon over $300,000 was bequeathed (1942) as the John P. Munn Fund.

Wartime conditions inescapably accentuated the perplexities of the University treasury--a situation common to independent institutions of higher learning--and nourished a mood of caution in the administration. Declining male enrollment curtailed tuition revenues at the very time that wages of the non-academic staff and the cost of supplies surged upward. Valentine flatly warned (1940) that financial problems were "certain to be difficult for a few or many years to come" and that it might be necessary to lower faculty salaries and departmental budgets. In almost the same breath the President warmly praised Treasurer Raymond L. Thompson and his associates for astute management of University resources. At a town and gown dinner in 1941, the President said: "If Ray Thompson had been University treasurer back in the 1850's we would still have that half-dollar which was used as the original University seal!"

Coming to the financial staff in 1941 as assistant treasurer, Hulbert W. Tripp remained in office until 1965 except for a leave of absence for naval service during the war. Particularly involved with the investment portfolio, Tripp handled this important sector of University affairs with remarkable skill and success and came to be ranked with the foremost university financiers in the entire country; to his side he drew a brain trust of full time research analysts. Promoted from time to time, Tripp was appointed in 1954 vice-president of the University in charge of finance. Although he resigned that post in 1965 to become senior vice-president of the First National City Bank in New York, he continued to oversee the management of University funds as chairman of the investment committee, an arm of the finance committee of the board of trustees; in 1966 he was elected to membership in that body.

A survey in 1941 of University resources disclosed assets of about $87 million, of which $31 million were represented by buildings and equipment. Some 1,500 names stood on the payroll, which amounted to around $3 million annually. Of the total operating expenditures for the year, $1,023,000 was spent for the two colleges, $1.7 million for the Medical Center, and $677,000 for the Eastman School. On an average, a college undergraduate then paid about 47. 9% of the cost of his education, a student at the music school 37%, and Thompson said he never had the courage to figure out the small proportion of the expense paid by a person being trained in medicine. Endowment income covered somewhat more than half of University expenditures, yet the yield in percentage terms had fallen considerably over the previous ten years. 15

Budgets in 1942 were cut by ten percent without, however, reducing faculty salaries. "We have been carrying on from week to week," the President informed (1942) the trustees, "but next year we may be carrying on from day to day." In his next annual survey, Valentine reported that financial uncertainties in 1942-1943 had been as formidable as ever and he again lauded Treasurer Thompson and his diminished staff for bringing off a miracle; in spite of all the troubles, the President believed each division of the University was sound financially as well as educationally. Operating expenditures of the University jumped by nearly $300,000 between 1940-1941 and two years later, reaching $4,634,000. The trustees voted to raise $1,000,000 from industry by the end of the war, and the income generated would be applied to research purposes in order to ensure the return to the faculty of scientists who had been drawn into national service. By the end of 1942, endowment resources of $6,000,900 were invested in United States government securities.

The coming of the V-12, with the prospect of a student population of at least normal dimensions for the duration of the war, blew away the monetary clouds that hung over the River Campus, and an enlarged registration yielded like consequences at Prince Street.

Because of academic acceleration, charges for tuition required restatement. Undergraduates would pay no more than $1,600, exclusive of special class or laboratory fees, for the equivalent of the conventional four years of college. Wherever necessary, tuition costs would be computed on the basis of the credit-hours taken. Financial assistance, whether in the form of scholarships or loans, was made available equally to students in the accelerated or in the normal curriculum. Many undergraduates who under ordinary circumstances would have earned part of their college expenses by summer work found it necessary, if they attended Intersession or Summer Session, or both, to apply for financial aid. To meet this emergency, the University substantially increased the outlays for scholarships and loans, and appeals for help were addressed to Rochester business firms and civic organizations. Needy accelerating students in chemistry and engineering obtained small loans from government sources.


Two valuable parcels of real estate were dangled before the University authorities. The Ellwanger and Barry family offered to donate an extensive tract on Mt. Hope Avenue, provided that the horticultural treasures on the land would be maintained. But the expense of keeping up the property deterred the trustees from accepting the generous proposal; it was acquired by the University in the 1960's.

It was announced in the Rochester press in 1943 that Trustee Harper Sibley would present his commodious residence at 400 East Avenue, just west of Prince Street, and the adjoining land extending to Alexander Street to the University. That offer opened fresh vistas for the physical expansion of the College for Women, for the trustees decided to convert the house into a dormitory, for the duration of the war at least, and to use the spacious acreage as playing fields. However, these plans had to be abandoned when the sons-in-law of the Sibley family entered national service and the daughters with their children moved into the East Avenue residence. Transfer of the property to the University was postponed indefinitely, though the President assured the Sibleys that the University would "very gratefully" accept "the beautiful property" at any time. Actually, the Sibleys decided to retain the house as long as any members of their family might need it, though under certain conditions they might consider making part of the land available for the Women's College; but that never came to pass. 16


During the first year after the opening of hostilities, enrollment on the River Campus decreased only slightly, standing in the autumn of 1942 at 639 compared with 660 in 1940 and 647 in 1941; but the Seniors, the class of 1943 200 strong as Freshmen, had dwindled to 117. By March of 1943 registration was down to 483; about one-third of the 1946 class had by then gone to the armed forces, some of them leaving without so much as bidding good-bye to administrative officers. Under the wartime admissions policy, twenty-two Freshmen entered the class of 1946 in February 1943, yet at the close of the term the entire male student body did not exceed 220. Before it was known that a V-12 contingent would be assigned to Rochester, it was estimated that in the autumn of 1943 there would not be more than 250 men in the college, possibly as few as 200.

In the trying months after Pearl Harbor undergraduate morale and discipline were generally good and the health record was the best ever. President Valentine admonished the students to "hitch up your belts and work your heads off while you have the chance to prepare yourselves for service." Although extracurricular affairs and purely social events were somewhat reduced, the pre-Christmas Boar's Head festival was held in 1941 and 1942--then discontinued--and the Dandelion Dinner at which awards for extracurricular excellence were distributed and the Junior Prom went off as in the past. Food service in the Todd Union--quality, quantity, prices--elicited stereotyped complaints; apathy reigned in student elections and the audience at college assemblies was so small that their abolition was strongly advocated.

To deepen knowledge and understanding of geographical areas that were not well-known, and hopefully to sustain wartime morale, the University organized a conference on the Orient (1942) and a second on Latin America (1943). Classroom sessions, luncheon discussions, and informal conversations were held on both college campuses and large evening meetings were staged in the Eastman Theatre. At the conference on "The Far Eastern Front," interest centered on China, its role as an ally, and the future prospects of the Asiatic colossus. Along with government experts, the Chinese ambassador, Hu Shih, and Wendell Willkie, author of the best-selling One World, filled speaking roles. Plans to hear talks by radio from Generalissimo Chiang-kai-Sheik and his wife went awry.

If anything, the Conference, on Latin America, on the same general pattern as the Far Eastern meetings, attracted wider community attention. Area educational institutions and scores of clubs were drawn into the enterprise; for over a month exhibitions, radio broadcasts, and moving pictures saturated metropolitan Rochester with information about the lands and peoples south of the border. As a high point in the conference, a doctorate of laws was conferred by radio upon Oswald Aranha, Brazilian foreign minister, whose acceptance of the honor came through with remarkable clarity.

Among the college conferences of smaller dimensions were a marriage clinic and a vital social problems meeting. Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt addressed students on the responsibilities of youth, and Professor Carl J. Friedrich of Harvard delivered a guest lecture. A crowded Strong Auditorium listened (1942) to a British and two Russian war heroes give accounts of their experiences.


Sigma Xi and Phi Beta Kappa carried on their functions at nearly pre-war tempo. Meetings of the former society were fewer than in peacetime, it is true, and almost all of them focused on military topics, but the annual Washington Birthday exercises continued without interruption; attendance at the lectures for "junior" scientists fell off. Initiations to the Phi Beta Kappa Society were held in the Welles-Brown Room or the University Club; since few members turned up for dinner meetings, they were abandoned.

Dramatic organizations produced plays, and the Glee Club in 1942 bested 140 college competitors in a national contest, the winning concert being heard by a capacity audience at Carnegie Hall in New York City. 17

If student interest in curricular clubs slackened, the Forensic Society carried on a fine series of debates over the radio and a Pre-Medical club was founded (1942). Despite a decline in active membership, fraternities showed little external change, and they applauded an administrative decision permitting the enlargement of sleeping quarters in the houses. Optimistically, the men of Kappa Nu pitched a tent on a tract to the north of the Delta Upsilon house, which had been allotted as a site for a future fraternity home. In 1942, though not in the following year, the annual Interfraternity Ball was held, featuring the legendary "Tommy" Dorsey.

In spite of the war, the winter schedule of intercollegiate athletics was carried out in 1941-1942, but spring sports were cancelled and not revived until 1944. The standing rule that first-year men were ineligible to take part in intercollegiate games was suspended (1942) for the duration of the war, though no one might play more than three seasons.

Coach "Lou" Alexander's "dream" basketball squad won every game in 1941-1942, an unprecedented achievement; indeed, until defeated by a spectacular University of Wyoming club on January 1, 1943, the Rochester five came out on top in twenty-two starts. Outstanding performers were Richard J. Baroody, 1944, John A. Baynes, 1947, Robert S. Erickson, 1942, and Glenn W. Quaint, Jr., 1942. The football team of 1942 recorded seven victories against one defeat--at the hands of Amherst. Scoring 232 points against eight for their opponents (James L. Secrest, 1945, ranked as the top scorer in the East), the gridiron warriors of 1942 were toasted as the most successful in the history of the University.

Coach of this team was Dudley ("Dud") DeGroot, who came to the University in 1940. An all-American choice at Stanford University and teammate with Valentine on the 1924 Olympic Rugby team, he had been elected to Phi Beta Kappa and had gone on to obtain a doctorate. His arrival started a notable upsurge in varsity football, and he was once introduced to a Rochester luncheon club as "the best find for the U. of R. since George Eastman;" the University Treasurer offered to classify the football coach's salary as investment, not expense! An undergraduate correspondent likened him to "a figure hewn on Mt. Rushmore and reanimated." DeGroot brought many innovations with him: a training table, better equipment, expert scouting of opponents, communication from the press box to the coaching bench, floodlights on the practice field, and frequent squad meetings. In 1942 the University and Hobart College celebrated fifty years of football rivalry at a memorable banquet with the surviving players from the two elevens who had competed in 1892 present. Just before the annual game of 1942, to President Valentine's irritation, pranksters from Geneva daubed "Beat Hobart" in gaudy red paint on the River Campus stadium.

University soccer and swimming teams also posted creditable records. Intramural games were hotly contested, and recourse to the gymnasium by "muscle-hardening Rivermen" nearly doubled after December 7, 1941.

Regularly the Campus came off the press in the format of Time magazine, varying in size from six to ten pages, and ordinarily carrying a cartoon dramatizing some aspect of the temper of the hour. Copies of the paper seem to have been mailed to every recent alumnus in the armed forces. Frequent stories told of the opportunities open to undergraduates in the military service and letters (or excerpts from them) written by Rochester men in the service were published. (Boxes of these communications are preserved in the Rhees Library Archives.)

Negotiations were resumed for a merger of the Campus with the Tower Times and this time they succeeded. On March 12, 1943, The Campus-Times, called a "war marriage," appeared; it was a sixteen-page paper, with smaller type than its predecessors, conventional in format even to an editorial page, and produced by separate staffs on the two campuses. It boasted several sprightly columnists, ran a section on doings at the Eastman School, a book review column, and more letters from service men. 18

Even earlier the class of 1942 at the two colleges started (1941) to publish a joint yearbook, known first as the Interpres-Croceus, then simply the Interpres. The pioneer edition, impressive in size, composition, and appearance, won first rank rating by the National Scholastic Press Association. The issue of 1943 (the class of 1944), sharply cut down in pages, took the war as its central theme.

In the meantime, the fourth literary magazine in a decade had been launched (1942) under the name of The Genesee. "In the midst of a world bent on destruction we have had the audacity to create," proclaimed the managerial board, drawn from the Geneseans, a group of men unaffiliated with fraternities. With Professor Kathrine Koller as adviser, the publication of sixteen pages printed twice a year contained essays, short stories, poetry, critiques of musical performances, and book reviews. Suspended from 1944 to 1947, The Genesee experienced a rebirth and lasted until superseded (1951) by the Prologue.


On Commencement day of 1941--the last really "normal" affair for six years--524 diplomas were handed out, nineteen of them Ph.D's. and ninety Master's. As the climax of the exercises, an honorary doctorate was conferred upon the British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, who accepted the degree by trans-Atlantic radio and in a dramatic ten-minute address pleaded for Anglo-American unity. "United we stand. Divided we fall. Divided the dark ages return. United we can save and guide the world," he declared. An enthusiastic audience applauded the remarks for quite as long as the incomparable Briton had spoken. If the degree to Churchill was the most memorable the U. of R. had ever granted, a second worthy of note was also bestowed in 1941 on George Washington Carver, distinguished Negro scientist at Tuskegee Institute; since illness prevented him from receiving the honor in Rochester, President Valentine graciously flew to Alabama and presented the diploma. 19

Commencement ceremonies in May, 1942, were somewhat simplified, and refreshments usually served after the Baccalaureate service were discontinued. A second graduation was conducted on a bitterly cold December, 1942, afternoon in Strong Auditorium, sixty-three men--mostly engineers and science majors--and twenty-nine women receiving sheepskins. In March of 1943 fifty-one M.D.'s on the accelerated schedule and almost all reserve officers, were graduated, and in May 140 College and Eastman School students were sent into the turbulent world. Except for a graduating student party at the Valentine home, festivities were virtually reduced to zero.

In his quality of Alumni Secretary, Charles R. Dalton, 1920, kept Rochester men in the national service abreast of University happenings by means of a biweekly newsletter. A revised plan of graduate giving, inaugurated in 1942, started off at a slow pace, but quickly gathered momentum. Meanwhile, in October of 1939 the two publications of the alumni and alumnae groups had been merged as the Rochester Review.

Footnotes for Chapter 29

  1. Campus and Tower Times, passim, 1935-1939.
  2. Campus, 1939-1941, passim. Alan Valentine, Dusty Answers, pp. 128-153. R D&C, September 18, November 1, 1940. On the New Frontiers Conference, see, New York Times, April 5, 1940, R T-U, May 5-13, 1940, Christian Science Monitor, July 19, 1940. Raymond N. Ball to Alan Valentine, May 11, 1940. Valentine Papers.
  3. The files of the Campus have been drawn upon extensively for this section. An informative contemporary account of the tremendous impact of the war on New York State institutions is provided in The Role of Higher Education in War and After (New York, 1944), by Joseph H. Miller and Dorothy V. N. Brooks.
  4. Faculty Minutes, XVI, January 8, November 5, 1942, January 4, 22, 1943. R D&C, Dec. 29, 1941, January 6, 1942. R T-U, April 3, 1943. RAR, XXI (1943), no. 2, 16; no. 3, 5. Alan Valentine to Janet H. Clark, April 19, 1943. Valentine Papers. Campus, passim, 1941-1943. On the project for a Cornell-U. of R. School of Business, see Edmund E. Day to Alan Valentine, April 30, May 8, 29, 1940, March 18, 1941. Valentine Papers. Valentine to Roth Clausing, June 21, 1940. Ibid. Donald W. Gilbert to Valentine, February 11, 1941. Ibid, Valentine to Day, May 27, 1941. Ibid.
  5. Campus, passim, 1942-1943. Harold W. Dodds, "Education in Uniform," Atlantic Monthly, CLXXI (1943), 41-45, Julius A. Furer, The Administration of the Navy Department in World War II (Washington, 1959), pp. 276-277, 286, 490.
  6. Brian O'Brien, "Report on the Institute of Optics Through the War Years," President's Report, 1946-1947, 31-33. O'Brien, "A Story of Science in Night Warfare," about 1951, ms. Rhees Library Archives, Anon., "A Brief History of the Institute," Special Bulletin of the U. of R., Institute of Optics, 1962-1963. Milton Silverman, "The Man with the Invisible Light," Saturday Evening Post, September 14, 1946, 22 ff. (O'Brien).
  7. Campus, 1941-1943, passim. R D&C, November 12, 1940. R T-U, June 5, 1941. Trustee Records, VIII, January 30, 1943.
  8. Tower Times, XXI, February 15, May 11, 1946. R D&C, April 27, 28, May 14, 1967 (Koller). R T-U December 9, 1957; New York Times, January 31, 1959 (Marshak).
  9. R T-U, May 21, 22, 1956 (Platt). Tower Times, XXXI , October 12, 1954 (Hopkins). R D&C, April 17, 1958 (Atkins). Tower Times, XXVII, November 16, 1951 (Bernstein).
  10. R T-U, April 9, 1957; Campus-Times, April 9, 1957; Educational Testing Service, 13: 3, May, 1966 (Wantman). R D&C, June 6, 1953 (Koos). RAR, XXIII (1945), no. 3, 13-14 (Wendt).
  11. Alan Valentine to J. P. Morgan, October 21, 1941. Valentine Papers. John R. Russell to Valentine, January 17, 1942. Ibid. Valentine to Belle Greene, February 2, 1942. Ibid. "Regulations for the Preservation of the Archives of the U. of R," Trustee Records, VIII, January 31, 1942.
  12. R T-U, August 3, 1939, July 9, 1940, September 1, 2, 3, 5, 1942. J. Lawrence Hill, Jr. 1927, "Swan Song of E.S.M.W.T.," The Rochester Indicator, XII, Summer 1945, 6-7.
  13. Trustee Records, VIII, January 31, May 9, 1942, January 30, 1943. R D&C, June 30, 1942. University Council Minutes, November 19, 1942.
  14. Trustee Records, VIII, January 30, 1943. R T-U. February 26, 1943. Raymond N. Ball to Alan Valentine, February 14, 1943. Valentine Papers. M. Herbert Eisenhart, "Some U. of R. Recollections" (1967). Rhees Library Archives.
  15. Raymond L. Thompson to Alan Valentine, November 19, 1940. Valentine Papers. Address by Raymond L. Thompson, April 24, 1941. Ibid. President's Report, 1939-1940, 3-4; 1940-1941, 171-190. Brighton-Pittsford Post, May 6, 1965. R T-U, January 2, March 1, 1965, June 6, 1966; College Management, August, 1967, 12-21 (Tripp).
  16. Executive Committee Minutes, X, December 16, 1941. Ibid., XI, June 8, July 12, September 10, 1943. R T-U, July 16, 1943. Harper Sibley to Alan Valentine, January 10, 1944, January 17, 1946. Valentine Papers. Valentine to Sibley, March 13, 1944. Ibid. Valentine to James Sibley Watson, June 27, 1947. Ibid.
  17. RAR, XX (1942), no. 4, 10-12.
  18. R D&C and R T-U, January 23, 1941. Raymond L. Thompson to Alan Valentine, October 17, 1940. Valentine papers. RAR, XIX (1943), no. 3, 16. Ibid., XIII (1951), no. 1, 5.
  19. New York Times, June 17, 1941. RAR, XIX (1941), nos. 5-6.