By
Dr. Sam Junkin ’51,
Schreiner president emeritus
Slowly
the gears of memory mesh and the Parade Ground comes into view, that
area now occupied by the Cailloux Campus Activity Center, the Elaine
B. Griffin Welcome Center and the dining hall. It is
Sunday, about 5 p.m., some Kerrville folk are parked along the street
in front of what is now Delaney Hall. The Corps of Schreiner cadets,
in their dress uniforms, march to the beat of Souza’s “Washington
Post,” being reviewed by campus leaders and special guests. Spectators
respectfully stand for the flag and the national anthem. Then the battalion
marches toward the armory, rifles and band instruments are secured,
and cadets hurry to dinner and, at least for some, an evening of study.
In so many ways that day seems like another place, maybe even somewhere
else. There was a different name, then, Schreiner Institute, worn proudly
for 50 years. But, the predominate maleness, the required military training,
the high school division, the two-year college program—were these
a part of a proud history, or parts of some other life, relics to be
consigned to the sometimes stuffy attic of history?
Lots of life in those days was solemn, business-like, aimed at instilling
personal discipline: close-order drill; the bugle sounded “reveille”
to
awaken students and “taps” to indicate lights out to end
the day; inspection of uniforms and rooms; required presence in classes;
no student-owned automobiles on campus; punishments meted out directly
for infractions of rules, most often by hours spent marching around
the “bull ring”; required attendance at chapel and each
Sunday at local churches.
Much
of that early life was lived in midst of, or the shadow of, the
Great Depression. The campus had few paved roads, more frame buildings
than brick, a library that struggled to accomplish its task. Making
fiscal
ends meet demanded that much of the needed food be grown on the campus:
many of the vegetables, the milk from cows in the dairy, bacon
and ham from Schreiner’s own pigs. Much of the work of that farm,
keeping dorms and classrooms clean, serving and cleaning up after meals,
was done by “working boys,” somewhat equivalent to today’s
“work-study students.”
As challenging or solemn as that community was, there was, to be sure,
that other side of life: a donkey penned up one night in the dean’s
office; the president’s car pushed off into Quinlan Creek; a greased-pig
chase as a halftime show at a football game; sneaking out of the dorm
or barracks after lights-out to meet cute Kerrville girls; some hazing
of first year students; the plotting to see who could figure a way to
shoot out Big Jim’s Moon; ingenious means of getting around the
church attendance rule; finding ways to experience the night life in
Bandera and Fredericksburg, sometimes getting away with it and often
being caught and paying the price; water fights and trashcans rolling
down the dorm
stairs—curiously, no one was ever sure how those started. In some
more recent years the memories flee to the hard decisions made to concentrate
on the college division, respectfully to lay the military program to
rest, with a mixture of fear and bravery to embark on the journey to
baccalaureate, and now masters, levels. These years, however, have also
been decorated with the picture of the Student Senate president streaking
across campus one night at a pep rally;
Andy Edington’s so-informative and fun Bible classes; marvelous
ways to
decorate the fountain; parties at the dorms or at Flat Rock; love affairs
that blossomed and often faded when girls were legitimately invited
to live on campus.
If one “fast forwards” from distant memory to current reality,
and is
embraced by a beautifully modern campus, three times more students
than there were 50 or 75 years ago, equal numbers of males and females,
baccalaureate studies, a library linked to most of the great libraries
of the
world, almost as many cars on campus as there are students and staff—is
there any commonality between what was and what is?
From the beginning there has been a commitment to academic integrity.
What happens in the classroom, laboratory, and library (now including
cyberspace) has always been of central importance. Somehow Schreiner
has been able to carve out its space alongside the Oxfords and Harvards
and Rices of the world, making sure that students and faculty are together
a teaching-learning community, living out the current conviction that
“all teach, all the time,” implying that “all learn,
all the time.” One need only listen to older former students who
testify about their varied experiences here, especially those who continued
their studies in other contexts, to get the message: academics first,
both challenging
and life-building.
From the beginning there has been a commitment to the growth of personal
faith. Surely the means of approaching that challenge have
changed, but the goal is the same: Schreiner intends that students leave
more spiritually mature than when they arrive, that they know what they
believe and why, that they are committed to continue to grow spiritually,
and that they have some appreciation for the varied relationships humans
have with the creating, redeeming God. From the beginning physical growth
has been taken seriously, not just because it happens, but because with
discipline it can happen healthier.
Surely there are public relations dimensions to an inter-collegiate
sports program, and lessons to be learn therein about personal commitment
and essential teamwork. But combine those with an extensive intramural
program, health education, and exercise opportunities and one begins
to see the possibility of fulfilling the intent that students are healthier
when they leave than when they arrived, and that each is committed to
finding ways to continue to grow more healthy. From the beginning Schreiner
has taken seriously the consistent tension to grow as individuals and
as “community.”
Education is not aimed simply at the fun, growth, and amazement—
and wealth—of each student, but also at the invitation to join
others, contributing personal skills to the tasks of living together
in the world and making the world a better place. Again, one need only
listen to former students talk about the lessons learned here, about
how seriously they were taken as unique individuals, but also how each
learned the lessons of the give and take of teamwork and friendship,
lessons that have been lived out after days on campus, in homes, work
places, faith gatherings and neighborhoods.
And, now, that prediction: should anyone attempt to imagine what Schreiner
will be like and look like 80 years from now, the outward
contrast will likely be as great as the student of 1923 would perceive
when beholding the Schreiner of 2003. However, one gets the feeling
that though the “clothing” may be changed, the backbone
of
Schreiner’s educational philosophy, grounded as it is in the Christian
faith, will remain unchanged.