Holy Experiment

For a while, Cecil Hinshaw seemed to be just the right man to head the tiny, Quaker William Penn College in Oskaloosa, Iowa (pop. 11,000). He was a Quaker himself, had a doctor's degree from the Iliff School of Theology, and had been professor of religion at Friends University in Wichita, Kans. Besides, he was a stubby, kindly man with simple tastes. He liked to have everyone call him by his first name, and he refused to wear a tuxedo "as a matter of principle."

But after Quaker Hinshaw took over the president's job five years ago, it turned out that he had some other principles Oskaloosans liked less. He wanted to turn coeducational William Penn into a "truly Christian college" where people of all faiths and races could come. Oskaloosans approved of his "holy experiment" in theory; its practice was something else again.

Some townsmen objected when he hired a Negro woman professor and rented a house for her in a white neighborhood. Others disapproved of seeing white and Negro students strolling down the street arm in arm. They deplored the fact that William Penn was becoming a haven for determined pacifists, that Henry Wallace had spoken there, that eight students had been sent to jail for refusing to register in the draft. To top it all, Hinshaw had steadfastly refused to grant any athletic scholarships, and last year's William Penn football team lost every game.

Even the 30-man board of trustees (named mostly by the Iowa Yearly Meeting of Friends) began to see objections to Hinshaw. There were girls in shorts and slacks, professors without ties; the familiarity between the sexes struck some as unseemly. But the protests did not budge Hinshaw. "I can see nothing wrong with couples on campus showing a little physical affection," said he. "It is better than having them out in cars some place."

Hinshaw finally realized that his experiment would fail unless he cut down the power of the Yearly Meeting. At first, he seemed to be winning the battle, for he did get one pro-Hinshaw man elected chairman. Then he launched a campaign to get the number of Meeting-appointed members reduced from 15 to nine. Though he had already said he would resign in June, he threatened to leave two months earlier unless the board approved his new plan. The board, however, had had quite enough of the "holy experiment," voted the plan down. Last week, Hinshaw and eight of his professors had resigned. As far as Oskaloosa was concerned, it was good riddance. Now, cried the Oskaloosa Herald, "William Penn should regain and maintain its oldtime popularity."

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