University of Notre Dame

The Story of Notre Dame
Notre Dame -- One Hundred Years / by Arthur J. Hope, C.S.C.

Chapter XXV

THE Provincial Chapter, during the summer of 1922, elected Father Matthew J. Walsh to the presidency of Notre Dame. It was so happy and popular a choice that Father Walsh's own humble hesitation only served to show him as worthy of the election. He had been Vice-President and chief counsellor for both Fathers Cavanaugh and Burns, and so, brought to the position not only the valuable experience of years, but also the gifts of solid judgment and exquisite tact, along with an unusually fine sense of humor.

Matthew Walsh was born May 14, 1882, in Chicago. His father, David Walsh, came from Mitchellstown, County Cork, Ireland. His mother, Joanna Clogan, was from Troy, New York. Matthew, the seventh of ten children, spent his early years in St. Columbkille's parish, Chicago. After one year in a public school he attended the local parish school, which was in charge of the Holy Cross Brothers from Notre Dame. Toward the end of the school year, in 1893, when the children were forming ranks preparatory to dismissal, Brother Marcellinus appeared on the scene. With him was a priest, a slightly rotund priest whose face looked tired and worn. As the children filed past the Brother and the priest, Brother Marcellinus beckoned to Matthew Walsh. When Matt stepped from the ranks and approached, the Brother spoke to the priest, "Father, this is Matthew Walsh." The priest patted the youngster's head. Did he perceive that here was a boy, of the same name, who would eventually fill his own position? For the priest was Father Thomas Walsh, President of Notre Dame. He was on his last journey to Milwaukee where, within a month, he would die.

After finishing the eighth grade, Matthew Walsh stayed on a year to attend the Brothers' High School. But in 1897 Matt had made up his mind that he wanted to be a priest. With his mother, he took the train for South Bend, climbed into one of Pat Sheekey's rigs, and drove to the University. In the rig was a little boy, going to the Minims, and smuggling beneath his coat Opie Read's Jucklins. When they drew up before the steps of the Main Building, a short, pudgy priest, hands in his cassock pockets, was standing on the porch. The coachman leaned out and called to Father Morrissey -- for it was he -- "These people want to see Father Corby!"

Without answering the implied question, Father Morrissey asked emphatically: "Where's that little horse of mine?"

"He's down in Sheekey's stable."

"If he's in Sheekey's stable, 'tis very little of Sheekey's oats he'll see!"

Only then did Father Morrissey tell Mrs. Walsh where she and the young boy might find Father Corby. Father Corby, the Provincial, was found in the Presbytery. He was an old man, with a kindly face, and long hair that fell to his shoulders.

"I'm just on my way over to the seminary to see Doctor Linneborn, and you can go with me." Doctor Linneborn, the rector of the seminary, was a native of Germany, and a rather stern task-master. He was one of the rare "doctors" in the community, and his title was spoken with reverence. Matthew Walsh was safely deposited in the seminary. Doctor Linneborn, who spoke with a heavy accent, put Matthew to work next morning, carrying mattresses down from the attic to the lawn for an "airing." The diminutive Matt struggled under the lead, bumping this way and that, down stairways and through corridors. He could hardly see where he was going, but at one stage of the journey he heard the voice of Dr. Linneborn saying to someone: "Look! Dot's a vine leedle poy under dot mattress. He's doing very vell, and he only came yesterday!" The person addressed by the Doctor was Mrs. Davis, who was bringing her son, Ernest, to enter the seminary.

Matthew had not yet finished his high school work, and Dr. Linneborn, in his own pontifical and somewhat arbitrary fashion, guided the studies of the young lad for the next two years. in 1899 he was ready to take up college work, and it was not an unpleasant task, for Dr. Linneborn had been succeeded by Father John Cavanaugh as rector of the seminary, a change that was welcomed by all. Father Cavanaugh's genial personality made the seminary a very different place. In 1903 Matt Walsh was graduated from Notre Dame.

Then there followed a year's novitiate under Father William Connor, after which Matt Walsh went to Holy Cross College, at Washington. While pursuing his theological studies there, he also attended classes at Catholic University. He was especially interested in American history and was the first student to enroll in that subject at that new seat of Catholic learning. In 1907, after finishing his dissertation, The Political Status of Catholics in Colonial Maryland, he took his doctorate. During the summer of 1907, he attended Columbia University in New York. In September, he enrolled at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore where he gave all his time to the study of Economics.

There was at Notre Dame at that time, a very popular and learned scholar, Dr. James Monaghan, who was teaching history and economics. Late in 1907 when Dr. Monaghan was induced to take a post in the consular service of the United States, Notre Dame was forced to seek a new teacher to take his place.

Matthew Walsh came over to Washington from Baltimore, and was ordained priest at the Apostolic Mission House on December 21, 1907. Then he entrained for Chicago, where, in St. Columbkille's Church, he sang his first solemn Mass on Christmas Day. After two days of vacation he was back at Notre Dame, weighed down by the thought of following in the brilliant steps of Dr. Monaghan. Along with his teaching duties, he was prefect in Corby Hall and later in Sorin Hall. Only four years after his ordination, Father Cavanaugh, who had become president of Notre Dame, told Father Walsh that he wanted him for his vice-president.

We have already spoken much of Father Walsh's experience in World War I. His absence from the University for over a year (1918-1919) was keenly felt by all, but by none more than Father Cavanaugh. He wrote often to urge Father Walsh to hasten back after the armistice had been signed. To Father Walsh's mother he wrote: "I want my vice-president back!" When he finally arrived, it was toward the middle of 1919, and, after the elections that summer, Father Walsh was continued in his post of vice-president under Father Burns.

There were already signs of an extraordinary expansion at Notre Dame. The applications of students far exceeded the capacities of the University. Never before had Notre Dame seemed so limited in its resources. Mention has been made of how Father Burns strove to increase Notre Dame's effectiveness along academic lines. But it must be admitted that Father Burns was either shortsighted or hesitant about the corresponding physical development of the University. It should be called to mind that during his administration Father Burns did not erect a single building at Notre Dame. There was a crying need for more class-rooms, more dormitories, a new laundry, and, above all, some new facilities for feeding the students. By the time Father Burns went out of office in 1922, over eleven hundred students were living in South Bend because there was no place for them on the campus. Moreover, there were only 135 students paying for their board at the University dining halls. All this meant a serious financial loss to the University. In fact, when Father Walsh took over in 1922, the University was $10,000 in debt. As Father Charles O'Donnell later said: "Father Walsh saved the community from bankruptcy." There are some who have thought of Father Walsh as a timid, hesitant person. Actually, he had a magnificent courage and a confidence that could measure well beside that of Sorin; but it was always modest, never demonstrative. It is this absence of ostentation that may have deceived some who were looking for loud words of forceful enunciations.

Father Walsh had not been elected President a week until he started vigorously to meet the material problem facing Notre Dame. "Bring the students back to the campus was the compelling thought in his mind; this seemed necessary, not only for financial reasons, but because the indefinable Notre Dame spirit was being lost. It was noted on every hand that the traditional comradeship between students and teachers, and even between students themselves, was in danger of dying out. In the old days everyone on campus knew everyone else, and greetings passed between them. Now, for lack of contact, they passed each other like strangers in a big city.[1]

Freshman Hall was immediately planned, a long, barrack-like structure, at right angles to the gymnasium, two hundred and seventy feet in length, forty-five in depth, and two stories high. It was ready in September, 1922, providing rooms for 176 students.[2] In the summer of 1923 the University erected a somewhat similar building which was called Sophomore Hall. It was built at right angles to Freshman Hall, facing the Gymnasium, and was three hundred feet long by thirty-seven wide, and two stories in height. Sophomore Hall was a bit more decorative than Freshman Hall, its wooden sides being treated with pebble-dash. By September it was ready to house 186 students. These halls were not elegant. Their temporary character made it unwise to expend more on them than was justified by the object in view, which was to get students out of South Bend. Within a year Father Walsh's plans permitted him to house 362 more students on the campus.[3]

More students required more class-rooms. After every available room was occupied at nearly every hour of the day, it was decided to add a section to the rear of Science Hall. This work went forward during the spring of 1924, and, although it may have ruined the architecture of Science Hall, it compensated for that loss by the addition of seventeen class rooms and seven new laboratories.[4]

This construction gave the administration a breathing spell, but only for a moment. The student body was steadily increasing, and if the policy of bringing the students to the campus was to continue, more residence halls must be built. Francis Kervick and Vincent Fagan, members of the architectural faculty, presented plans for three residence halls of a permanent character to be erected south and southwest of the library. In the summer of 1924 excavation was begun for Howard Hall.[5] When it was finished, it provided for one hundred and fifty students. The following year Morrissey Hall was in process of erection. It was the largest of the three buildings planned for this group, and would house two hundred and fifty students when completed. It was to have a central tower to rise considerably higher than the rest of the building, which would serve as a focal point for the entire group.[6] Late in the fall of 1925 while Morrissey Hall was still being built, bids were offered on another residence hall to be called after Professor Joseph Lyons. By November, Lyons Hall had been started. It would take care of two hundred students. Especially attractive features of the new building were the "Lyons Arch," through which a graceful vista opens upon St. Mary's Lake, and the chapel, with its pillared stair-case so suggestive of the catacombs.[7] As finally constructed, these new residence halls were among the most attractive buildings on the campus. For one thing, they had a unity and balance, particularly when viewed from the south, that enhanced their beauty. In Morrissey Hall two notable features are the lovely lobby and lounge, and the quite unique chapel. Morrissey Hall was ready to receive its students in September, 1926. Lyons Hall was finished about six months later.

In spite of all this residential provision, there were still too many students living in the city. The administration decided to limit the number of students which the University would accept. In the fall of 1925 the enrollment was limited to twenty-five hundred. Fourteen hundred and seventy-one of these were living on campus. When Morrissey and Lyons Halls were completed, that diminished the number of day scholars by about five hundred.[8]

Early in September, 1925, it was decided to enlarge the gymnasium. The interest in basketball justified this expansion, for it was impossible, without enlargement, to seat the number of spectators that sought admission to the games. The addition made it possible to seat six thousand patrons. Provision was made for a moveable basket-ball floor fifty feet by ninety. On November 20th, John McCormack, the Irish tenor, gave the new addition an auspicious baptism with his unforgettable concert.[9]

When the good Sisters used to do all the cooking for the students, there was the tendency among the boys to indulge in criticism of this sort: "The University makes as much as she can off the meals. That's why our food is so poor!" Father Burns tried to cure the situation by installing a restaurant on the campus where the students could take their meals and procure at least theoretically, what they wished. But the complaints still continued. Under a better management, felt Father Walsh, there would be no room for criticism. Accordingly, Olin Clark, who was in the cafeteria business in South Bend, took charge. There was a decided turn for the better.

There was considerable clamour among alumni and friends of Notre Dame for a stadium, but the administration announced that there would be no stadium until sufficient residence halls had been built, nor until Notre Dame had a great dining hall in which to give the students their meals.[10] This dining hall was one of Father Walsh's most important dreams. In 1924 Ralph Adams Cram, the foremost architect in the country, had come to Notre Dame to receive an honorary degree. In 1926 Father Walsh asked Cram to design the new dining hall. Cram came personally to look over the site, and finally drew up a plan with which he himself was delighted. It called for one large room instead of the two which ultimately developed. It was going to cost an enormous amount of money. But it was, as he had planned it, a thing of exquisite beauty. He described it excitedly to Father Walsh, saying: "It will be the finest thing in America, this gracious, gothic building in stone. And, Father, when it is finished, we will dedicate it with a mediaeval masked ball that will be the sensation of the country!"

The Provincial Council, which had to pass on the budget, thought it too expensive, and although Notre Dame got a beautiful dining hall, it was not as elaborate as Cram had originally planned. Cram was faced with the difficulty of devising a building that would provide for the simultaneous feeding of three thousand persons. The building, as finally planned and approved, resembled a huge square, in the middle of which were placed the cafeteria and the kitchen, flanked by two large dining halls. The two dining halls each measured 220 feet by 62 feet, and had a combined seating capacity of 2200. The floors were of terrazzo; the walls were of oak wainscoting; the ceilings were wood-beamed and insulated.

Between these two dining halls, at the north end, stretched the spacious lobby and entrance vestibules. Doors at either end lead to the cafeteria capable of seating 300. On the second floor was a beautiful dining hall intended, at first, for the lay faculty. One hundred and fifty could be accommodated there. Finally, the smallest of the dining halls, called the Lay Trustees dining hall, in which only a party of fifteen or twenty can be accommodated, was to be found directly off the lounge on the second floor.[11]

Work was begun in 1926. It was hoped that everything would be in readiness when school opened in September, 1927, but by early August it was apparent that the building would not be completed until November. Here, Olin Clark, the South Bend cafeteria manager, who had been in charge of the restaurant at Notre Dame for the past few years, made a magnanimous gesture. Of his own volition, coming to Father Walsh, he said: "You can have all my equipment, all my services, until such time as you are ready to move into the new dining halls!" It was a kindness that Father Walsh never forgot. Indeed, Mr. Clark had for years shown splendid generosity toward Notre Dame. This last act of generosity was one of special significance, for Mr. Clark well understood that he was losing a very profitable income through the erection of the dining hall.

While the building was in process of erection, Mr. Robert Borland, of Lakeland, Florida, was appointed the manager of the dining halls. His wide experience in the hotel and restaurant business was apparent in the way he equipped the kitchens and the dining halls. Tables, chairs, silver-ware, linens, porcelain, and all the other details were handled by Mr. Borland with efficiency and economy. When the new dining hall was finally opened to the students, Father Walsh got the bill. It had cost three-quarters of a million dollars.[12] Since he had taken office Father Walsh had expended for buildings on the campus the sum of $1,650,000.

To heat the new group of dormitory buildings involved considerable expense. Father Steiner, Dean of the College of Engineering, solved the problem by proposing that the conduits be placed in concrete tunnels, punctuated at convenient distances by manholes, which would enable workmen to get at the source of any possible trouble without tearing up the whole campus. While the trenches were being dug for the construction of these tunnels, the grounds presented a queer aspect, but as soon as the construction was finished it was a source of gratification that little more digging would have to be done.[13]

While the new dining halls were being built, Father Walsh's attention was also given to the question of a modern laundry. It was felt that he could not proceed with the building of a new laundry, but he was determined to install new machinery which, under new management, would make the work more efficient. The machinery cost in the neighborhood of $50,000.[14] Mr. James Ameson, who had supervised the laundry at French Lick Hotel for years, was asked to take charge of the laundry at Notre Dame.[15] At the same time, a dry-cleaning establishment was erected near the laundry.

The old Brownson Hall refectory was transformed into the University offices in the spring of 1928. Here, in one unified location, were to be found the offices of the Registrar, the Director of Studies, the Secretary of the University, and the Prefect of Discipline. Later on, room was made for the University telephone communications bureau.[16]

By the fall of 1927, the need of a stadium increased. The old stands in Cartier field had been enlarged to take care of 30,000 spectators,[17] but their condition was hazardous and always a worry to the administration. The Notre Dame Club of St. Joseph's Valley suggested an $800,000 stadium seating about 50,000 spectators. It was proposed that the new amphitheater would contain about 500 boxes that could be sold to patrons for $1,000 apiece, the boxes remaining in the name of the subscribers for a period of twenty years. This scheme alone would yield a sum of $500,000 and it looked very attractive. Father Walsh felt, however, that he had not studied the question with sufficient data in hand, and he left the construction of the stadium to his successor.[18]

Three other items in the material development of the University under Father Walsh's administration must be mentioned. On account of the increased number of buildings on the campus, so much water was being pumped from St. Joseph's Lake that that lovely body of water was in danger of drying up. To remedy the situation, a plan to pipe water from the state ditch which lies to the north of the University was studied. An alternative scheme was to search for a stratum of water to be reached by a well. This latter plan prevailed, and in the spring of 1926 a well was found to the north of Moreau Seminary which yielded 500 gallons per minute.[19] By June, the level of the lake had been raised forty-five inches.[20]

Mr. W. J. Burke, president of the Vulcan Golf Company of Portsmouth, Ohio, had become interested in the University, and had offered to build, at his own expense, a golf course for Notre Dame. It was understood, of course, that the University would furnish the land. The site chosen was the one on which the course is at present located, and which had hitherto been used for farming put-poses. Mr. Burke had his own engineers plan the course, but before it was completed, Mr. Burke died and his financial condition had been brought to a perilously low ebb. The University went ahead with the execution of the plan, and the course was ready for the golfers in 1929.

To honor the memory of Notre Dame students whose lives had been lost in the Great War, Father Walsh approved the plan of a transept porch to the east entrance of the college chapel. Professor F. W. Kervick drew the plans in 1923, and, as constructed, it proved a beautiful addition to the church. Since he had been an army chaplain, and one who had been so close to Notre Dame's soldiers, it gave Father Walsh great delight to say Mass there on the following Memorial Day. The Memorial Day Mass has become a permanent custom at Notre Dame.[21]

During Father Walsh's administration a remarkable physical expansion took place at Notre Dame. It would be a mistake, however, to think that the academic processes stood still. Dr. Charles Miltner, Father Walsh's able Dean of Arts and Letters, explained certain changes which were put into effect in 1924. First of all, it was felt that too many classes were required for the bachelor's degree. When Father Walsh took office, 174 credit hours were necessary for graduation in the College of Arts and Letters. This was reduced to 144, thus giving the student a better opportunity to absorb each subject with greater proficiency.[22]

Before 1924 seven degrees had been offered in the Arts and Letters College. Most universities were offering but one degree, at most two. With Notre Dame offering seven in the same field, there was a source of confusion. It was thought best, therefore, to do away with such degrees as Litt.B. and Ph.B. in Journalism, and to retain only one degree, the A.B.[23]

Reducing the number of credit hours made it possible to raise the number of electives, though it was made clear that in every case the student's electives must be closely coordinated with his required courses. It would have been impossible for a senior in the College of Arts and Letters to take an elective in Money and Banking, though he might be permitted to register for such a course as the History of Economic Thought.

On the Notre Dame faculty were many who saw with regret, the adoption of this new program. It became no longer necessary to have years of Latin and Greek to obtain an A.B. This was, to those traditional spirits, something of a heresy. But the change was much more in accord with what was being done in other American universities. And whether Notre Dame liked it or not, it was necessary to establish some sort of common understanding between Notre Dame and these other schools.[24]

The College of Commerce had its origin in 1913 with an enrollment of six students. It was not fully organized until 1920 when the great number (377) made such organization necessary. Its growth was so phenomenal that, in numbers, at least, it soon rivaled the college of Arts and Letters. In 1925, Commerce students were only one hundred less than Arts and Letters students.[25] The College of Commerce suffered from the fact that there was not a single building in which the classes might find some centralization. In 1924 there were over eighty-five classes being taught in the College of Commerce, and not nearly enough class rooms, nor enough professors. The Dean of the College spoke to the Alumni of these handicaps. In time, the complaints bore fruit.[26] What brought such a tremendous increase in the enrollment of this College? The explanation probably lies in the fact that it offered a course of instruction by which young men hoped to get "into business." More than anything else, this seems to account for the rapid growth.

In scientific fields, Father Nieuwland was gaining -- had gained -- a more than national reputation. He was a real genius in the field of chemical research. About this time he wrote:

In 1926 Father Francis Wenninger, Dean of the College of Science, formed the Notre Dame Academy of Science. It was strictly an honor society, its membership limited to upper-classmen of the College with a scholastic average of 85% or better. It constituted a group of serious young men, and under the terrifyingly serious guidance of Dr. Wenninger, it was, from the very first, a credit to the University.[28] During Father Walsh's administration the number of students enrolled in the College of Science was doubled.[29]

Notre Dame had been the first Catholic College in the country to have a school of engineering. It was started in 1873. In 1923 there were nearly four hundred students in the College of Engineering, distributed among the seven departments. By far the greater number were studying electrical engineering and civil engineering. For years, Martin McCue had been the guiding spirit in the College of Engineering.

As a young boy, Martin McCue came to Notre Dame in 1874. His was not exclusively a scientific mind. Almost any student in the Notre Dame of that day must, of necessity, fall under the influence of the classics, so Martin, the future Dean of the College of Engineering, learned not only to figure and draw, but to parse and compose. It was in the year of the great fire, 1879, that McCue got his first degree from Notre Dame -- a Bachelor of Science. Two years later he received his Master's degree in science, and a year later, 1882, his degree in civil engineering.

Almost at once, he became a member of the faculty. From that time until his retirement in 1928, Professor McCue, with the exception of one year, was a member of Notre Dame's faculty, a brilliant, resourceful, serious, generous teacher. He belonged to the old school of professors whose dignity and propriety commanded the respect and devotion of his students. He would stand outside his class-room until it was time for class to begin. At his entrance, he demanded silence and attention. One of the things he complained about in later years was that certain professors allowed liberties in this kind of matter, a sort of familiarity and chumminess with the students. McCue thought that was evidence of a decline in teaching.

He was master, a not unkind master, in his class-room. Although his interest in the boys was genuine and profound, he made them realize that their minds must be alert, attentive and respectful. Once, when he was asked to substitute for a sick teacher in the algebra high-school class, he found himself confronted by three overgrown oafs in the front row, whose hostile frowns made McCue surmise that they were about to challenge his pedagogical authority. His reaction was instantaneous. He clapped his book over the head of the first, took a neat poke (he was something of a boxer) at the second, and threw all three out of the class-room before they had a chance to demonstrate their impudence. Years later, one of his boys, returning to the University for a visit, sought out McCue and reminded him of the incident, to which McCue answered: "I had a suspicion that day that you were about to see if you could boss me around a bit." "That was exactly our idea," responded the former student, "but you worked too fast for us!"

Martin McCue had a thorough method of teaching, even though it was a bit slow. One might call it the argumentative method, borrowed from his scholastic logic, whereby no conclusion was to be reached except by the painful process of deduction. He would put his propositions on the board and, with his finger at one corner of his mouth, glance inquiringly from one student to another, as though asking for the logical sequence of propositions by which one might arrive at a solution. It may have been slow, but the hundreds who passed through his hands -- and none passed through lightly -- later testified to the thorough richness of his teaching powers.

For final examinations, McCue insisted on even greater formality. Generally, some outside figure was invited to interrogate the blossoming engineers, and the visitor would be introduced to the class with the utmost ceremony. After the examination had been finished, Professor McCue would conduct the invited inquisitor to the door, thank him, bid him goodbye, and return to the class to deliver what was called his "valedictory." It was a stirring, eloquent appeal to those about to graduate to keep their engineering on a high plane and never forget they had, too, a Christian heritage. From that moment, McCue's attitude changed. Hitherto, he had treated his students like boys; now, he addressed them as men.

Martin McCue was himself a thorough Christian scholar. Father O'Hara, when Prefect of Religion, said of him: "His cultivation of the life of his soul was as intense as his pursuit of mathematics. He hated sin with all the ardor of his spirit; he was child-like in his simple, eager pursuit of virtue, -- always without show and pomp, which he feared and despised. He loved to serve Mass, but he sought out a dark corner of the chapel to exercise this act of devotion. . . . It is too bad more students did not see him on the step of the altar, kneeling up straight as an arrow, although he was in his seventies. . . ."[30] In 1928, Martin McCue lost his brother, and thought he himself should retire from his position and go to live with his two nieces in Woodstock, Illinois. He thought, quite rightfully, that he could give them some solace in their loneliness. Father Steiner, who became acting dean of the Engineering College, tried several times to get McCue to return to Notre Dame, but all in vain. He would not even come for the dedication of the new Engineering Building in 1931. He wrote to Father Steiner: "Should I return to Notre Dame, even for a moment, and then depart, as I know I must, I would be the most sad and disconsolate individual imaginable."

Death came to him swiftly, as he sat reading in his home at Woodstock, on Oct. 10, 1932. So great had bren his solid piety, his unquestionable integrity, and his religious generosity that no one who knew him ever doubted that he had found a place within the mantle of her at whose University he had so lovingly labored.[31]

The Law School, or College of Law, as it became known, underwent a salutary revision during the administration of Father Walsh. In 1926 two years of college work were required for entrance and in 1928, three years college work was made a prerequisite. The school over which Colonel Hoynes had so long held sway was, in 1923, placed in the hands of Dean Thomas F. Konop. In the next few years the College of Law attained its greatest enrollment.[32]

The number of professors in the University was greatly increased during the twenties. Father Walsh had a faculty of about 90 when he took office; in 1928, he had nearly 175. The proportion of lay professors had grown rapidly and the question of adequate salaries for their services sometimes presented a serious problem for the administration. All in all, Notre Dame had every right to feel grateful to the laymen, who composed so large a portion of her faculty. There have been many instances in which the devotion and zeal of these lay teachers have kept them at Notre Dame when they might have gone elsewhere and found better financial arrangements. In various ways, the University had tried to show her appreciation for such sacrifice. The Alumni, too, largely through the instrumentality of Byron Kanaley, '04, registered their appreciation by proposing to raise a fund of $10,000, from which a prize of $500 should be awarded each year to a lay professor who had rendered distinguished service to the University.[33] The fund has never been completed, but the University thought the idea too good to abandon, and so has continued it from the year 1927-1928, when the prize was first awarded to Henry Froning, head of the Department of Chemistry [34]

The literary productivity of a faculty is, generally speaking, an excellent criterion by which to judge its worth. Certainly the administration of Father Walsh was notable by reason of the various publications of members of the faculty. Of first importance in this regard is the name of Charles Phillips. Father Walsh first became acquainted with Charley Phillips during the war, when Phillips was engaged as field Secretary for the Knights of Columbus. Of an amiable disposition, Phillips made friend everywhere and, in spite of his deafness, was the most sociable of men. Father Walsh invited him to join the faculty. He came in 1924. Besides his classes in literary criticism, he found time to direct a number of plays for the University theatre. His pen was busy, too. He had a wide interest in politics as well as in literature. He endeared himself to the Polish race by championing its cause. In two books, The New Poland and the Biography of Paderewski, he laid before his readers the great potentiality of the Polish people. Among his other works were a novel, The Doctor's Wooing, the Teacher's Year, and a book of poems, High in Her Tower.[35] When he died suddenly in 1933 he was mourned by the entire student body and faculty.

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