w ~ A F R"'-3- -
LSA%, Graduate and Professional Schools
Are Blocked Of f from Each Other by
ACADEMIC WALLS
By GERALD STORCH
TOO MANY students at the University
exist in a sort of academic vacuum.
At the present time, for instance, it
is entirely possible that a student in
one field of work may never meet and
get to know an individual within anoth-
er campus unit. A student enrolled in
the music school may be totally unac-
quainted with anybody in business ad-
ministration; .a girl taking courses in
the nursing school near the Hill perhaps
has never known an inhabitant of the
architecture college on Monroe St.; an
English major could have no idea of the
tribulations of a student concentrating
in chemical engineering. And contact
between graduate students and under-
graduates is rare.
This is a very serious problem. Sup-
posedly one of the aims of a University
education is to promote the broadening
of the student not only in the challenge
of new ideas, but also in the challenge
of understanding individuals who con-
vey the ideas.
THAT IS why administrators are
proud of the cosmopolitan nature of
the student body. That is why the Mich-
igan House Plan feels that residence
halls can be a significant part of a stu-
dent's education, because nowhere else
does he have the opportunity to meet
people of differing social, ethnic and
intellectual backgrounds.
Under the same principle, the Uni-
versity allows the student two years in
which to explore varied fields of learn-
ing. During this period, he is encour-
aged to take as wide a range of courses
as possible.
Part of this "encouragement" is the
schedule of distribution requirements,
which forces a student to become ac-
quainted with social sciences, litera-
ture, humanities, physical sciences and
mathematics. (Check this list) This pol-
icy starts to double back on itself, how-
ever, when the student enters his junior
year and is required to select a field of
concentration. Although about half his
course time is free for electives, the stu-
dent nevertheless is committed to tak-
ing a specified sequence of classes in
one area. The restriction abruptly be-
comes much greater if he goes on to
graduate school, where he is expected
to devote intensive and virtually total
effort to his field. A graduate student
can't afford to fool around like an
undergraduate can.
ALTHOUGH much criticism is leveled
at these course requirements,-at least
a good case can be made in their favor,
if we accept the proposition that stu-
dents graduating from the University
should be able to exist in society.
But the system that keeps the aca-
demic disciplines afloat and running
may at the same time muffle the social
oars, because many students meet other
students only in the classroom. This is
as true for the quadrangle and dormi-
tory residents, who many times couldn't
care less about their co-inhabitants, as
it is for the apartment dweller. And as
the classes and courses become more
and more specialized, it might be as-
sumed that the people in them become
more homogeneous, too. So if it is true
that a University community should be
socially cohesive as well as -academical-
ly-oriented, and if it is true that much
of the student body is segmented by the
disciplines themselves, then one might
logically inquire as to the effects of
this compartmentalization upon the
campus, and just what the University is
trying to do about it.
Answers to these questions come only
with great difficulty, and are based to
a large extent on subjective beliefs diffi-
cult to explain concretely. Some general
trends can be pointed out, however.
One can hardly help noticing first of
all the disparity between students in the
literary college and students in the other
schools. It seems to appear in three as-
pects: differences in career orientation,
extra-curriculur activities and intellec-
tual attitude.
MOST STUDENTS at the University
are extremely unsure about what
they want to do with their lives. It is
probable that many of these students
end up in the literary college. This type
of training is designed to provide a
broad framework for comprehending
facts and theories, not necessarily to
prepare the student for a specific niche
in society. Not all the political science
majors make a career of working in
government, and still fewer history ma-
jors become professional historians.
The opposite is true in the other
schools. There the education concen-
trates more on the student's future
rather than on his present mental well-
being. A student who goes through four
years of engineering school, for example,
is bound to become an engineer, and it
is likely that a graduate of the music
school is going to use that experience
professionally to some degree in adult
life.
A second striking dissimilarity lies in
student activities, which are almost
completely dominated by the literary
college clan. Student Government Coun-
cil has long been an LSA bastion, al-
though last year one student ran and
won because he was an engineer, reap-
ing a windfall of votes from East Quad-
rangle. But of SGC's 18.members, 14 are
from the literary college. The heavily
business-oriented Michigan Union has
been run by representatives from the
literary college during the past few
years.
T HERE IS, of course, an array of ac-
tivities designed. especially for the
students in other schools. Student coun-
cils in these schools work for better
relations between the students and the
faculty and help to keep up the school
lounge. Other activities such as Engi-
neer's Weekend or exhibits done by stu-
dents in the architecture college also
appeal directly to the members of that
particular college.
But of the campus-wide activities,
which are undoubtedly the most signi-
ficant in impact on the total University
leadership by students other than from
the LSA is scarce.
The third disparity is one which is
difficult to pinpoint. This is the differ-
ence in intellectual outlook, and in the
images LSA and non-LSA students may
have of each other.
Given the literary college context of
generalism (How many times in a lec-
ture course has something like "just be
sure to get the general points, don't
bother with the specific details" been
uttered?), plus the social pressures to
be "liberal," the typical LSA student is
apt to become somewhat of an intellec-
tual snob.
THE IMAGE he may project to his
peers outside LSA may be that of an
imperceptive "idealist," calmly observ-
ing the world with shallow pseudo-so-
phistication. He finds it respectable to
proclaim his love for Negroes. He proves
his superiority over the masses by in-
dulging in classical music or "appre-
ciating" art. He probably even reads
the New York Times.
The problem lies not in the pastimes
themselves, but in the attitude of smug-
ness which governs them. The student
who flaunts his liberal tolerance is apt
to be a wee bit snobbish toward people
who don't make a show of their inte-
grationist leanings, or of their classical
tastes, or of their libraries. The same
complaint perhaps could be made of
students In areas like the music school
or architecture college, as well as LSA,
but in general, the non-LSA people show
less of this tendency.
Students in the literary college in turn
are apt to regard their counterparts with
a slight hint of contempt. Engineers are
those people who don't know how to
write. Girls in the architecture college
are the artsy-craftsy type.
THESE three differences between stu-
dents inside and outside LSA are
easy to over-emphasize, and the idea
here is not to prove any hostility. It
is doubtful that a student's identifica-
tion with a school is very strong until
he becomes a graduate student.
A much more pronounced break oc-
curs between undergraduate and grad-
uate students. They seldom have the
chance to meet in a common class or
activity. Most of the graduate students
are married and working on either a
doctorate or a grant-financed research
project. They have neither the time
nor the inclination to associate with
still somewhat immature and gauche
undergraduates.
And so these are the academic-area
divisions that hold back the social
unity of the campus. The University is
making some effort to cohere the stu-
dent body in this respect, with partial
success.
THE ADVENT of inter-disciplinary
courses is one attempt. With faculty
members from a variety of departments
lecturing on a topic relevant to the
course, these subjects cut across aca-
demic boundaries and bring students
together in discussion sections not as
economists or historians, but, hopefully,
as students.
Cooperation and coordination between
the various schools is at an all-time
high. The new bio-engineering program
will combine instruction in physical and
medical sciences in the engineering col-
lege and Medical School. The pre-medi-
cal program may be augmented within
the literary college, with seniors having
the opportunity to take Medical School
courses while still completing work in
their major. The education school and
the literary college work closely togeth-
er, especially on the teacher certificate
program. The natural resources school
has established joint academic programs
with the public health and business ad-
ministration schools, and the political
science, economics, botany and zoology
departments.
THE CLASSES themselves may be
changing, but the situation outside
the classroom is not. Fraternities and
sororities offer some hope, for the per-
centage of non-LSA affiliates is approx-
imately the same as the non-LSA pro-
portion in the total student body: about
one-third. But students in private hous-
ing usually abstain from campus activi-
ties, and shut themselves off (perhaps
voluntarily) from the rest of the Uni-
versity. Many graduate students live in
professional societies, where they as-
sociate only with followers of the same
discipline. And in residence halls, where
there is a diversified student constitu-
ency, a feeling of belonging to a total
meaningful academic community is defi-
nitely lacking. Meanwhile, there is talk
in administrative circles of instituting
"specialized" housing, where students
majoring, say, in political science
would live together in one house, with
a faculty associate from that field serv-
ing as resident advisor.
The question implicit in all this is
whether the compatibility and congen-
iality gained by students of similar aca-
demic pursuits, either working or living
together, is more important than the
real education and understanding de-
rived from the clash of differing inter-
ests. But if we really do hold sacred and
desirable the notion of a University,
then the multitude of students and units
that comprise it should come to care
about the other relevant segments and
the other types of people on the campus.
Within the framework of the academ-
ic discipline, a unity somehow must be
gathered from the fragments and divi-
sions it produces.
Gerald Storch ha' covered the
graduate and professional schools'
activities in his capacity as a night
editor on The Daily. He is a jun-
ior majoring in political scence.
OF AN ARTIST
large light surface above the doorway).
Y-gut letters 'are an exaggeration in the
"orientalized" Droic capitals on columns
that face a balcony above. The ochre
of the stone harmonizes completely with
brick as the two change textures, smooth
to rough. Compare it with the entrance
to Bennett and Straight's Pharmacy
Building, the addition to the East Medi-
cal Building. Here everything is surface,
and beyond the personal preferences of
van der Rohe, Gropius and the other
big names, "surface" is still the experi-
ment of the young generation.
They use such devices as aluminum
mullions whose depth is artistically triv-
ial; plate glass strong enough to support
the building in appearance; although the
utter transparency is unjustifiable; evenly
distributed fluorescent lighting, ruining
any natural perspective, and the primary
blue surfacing of elevator doors.
THIS WITNESSES the modern notion
that buildings weigh too much; that
they should seem to float; that rather
than mass, there are only thin surfaces;
that rather than play of light and
shadow, there is usually unjudicious os-
streamlining them. In any event, today's
architects shove stairs into closets (like
Thomas Jefferson did at Monticello, or
Frank Lloyd Wright did continually) like
the one in Burton Tower. The rank bore-
dom of Burton's staircase does not justify
its "exhaustive" stimulus. If stairs are
to accommodate great modern crowds,
they are the main arrangement of "util-
ity cores" like the UGLI's. The beauty
of low rise and wide tread is about lost.
Bannisters are for safety. Stairs say
nothing of rising or decending or of a
graceful sweep.
THE NEW -SCHOOL disdains decora-
tion. Only recently has the architec-
ture of University of Pennsylvania's
Louis Kahn or France's Le Corbusier
furnished an excuse for over-beefed
window frames and other Baroque ten-
dencies. Albert Kahn proved his facility
in the West facade for Angell Hall, taking
suggestions from the Greek. The great
interior entrance hall is, sparkling pieces
of compost decoration and, play of light,
all for only sheer delight. Minoru Yam-
asaki of Detroit has taught us the meas-
ure, the necessity of delight. Contrast
Angell Hall with the lobby of Haven
Mason. In the latter the light fixtures
serve as decoration. Shadows splash ap-
parently randomly. Everywhere the single
surface collects dirt in unintended places.
This, then, is what I see when I look
at the buildings on campus; but it is
"microscopic" regarding each structure
by itself. Make two general observations
as you view them together: the absolute
excitement of organic growth, and the
exhilarating spaces between them. Stand
at the Main Library's south wall. There
is a 19th century buttressed book stack
growing from a 1916 book stack, capped
by a 1958 addition. Or, notice the con-
trasting intervals between buildings; the
walk between the Chemistry Building and
Waterman Gym, which is too narrow.
Consider the norm, that the distance
between buildings should be 2.5 times
their height . There is fantastic deviation
from this standard on campus, which
makes for great enjoyment. Spaces too
big, the spill of tree shadows on walls
and lawns, parasols of branches and
leaves, the hide and seek of an other-
wise monotonous wall pattern plays with'
a tree's arms. The granite foundation of
most campus buildings, furthermore, are
left exposed through the undersides of
trees.
These are, all of them, apparently little
things. The imaginative soul compiles
them unconsciously. Through creative ex-
pression, they become poetic things.
Staircase and arch, West Phys
cillating between exterior and interior
space.
The qualities of "functional fit" are
exclusively notions of the new school.
The wood truss in the Economics Build-
ing, for example, (room 102), rudely
cuts through a classroom space, whereas
the UGLI's column spacing is perfect to
fit 6000 students per day under optimum
candlelight conditions. The brick arches
in West Physics, beautifully proportioned
as they are, are cramped into the space
of the corridor. Since some of the notions
of major historic figures of architecture
became convention, furniture no longer
occupies space as Victorian semi-
statuary. It fits, and it usually keeps the
void purely rectangular. Imagine the old
teacher's tables in West Physics for
example.
The old school counters the attack
against lack of fit. It asks consideration
of human motion through a building.
One example of the concept is the stair-
case in West Physics, built by the Chi-
cago firm of Pond and Pond in 1905.
Modern architects seem somehow to have
forgotten the beauty of changing floor
levels. Elevators killed the beauty of
stairways by offering a more luring
alternative; functionalism killed the art
of Victorian elevator cages by utterly
Joseph Wills, who graduated
from the University last year, is
presently studying architecture at
the University of Nebraska.
Side wall, Undergraduate
The hospital stands apart.
Angell Hall entrance hall.
THE MICHIGAN DAILY MAGAZINE