ANNE FARRAR WILLETT October 29, 1996 — Mame Warren, interviewer Warren: I'm at Lookout Mountain, Tennessee, with Anne Farrar Willett. You go back a long way with Washington and Lee. Willett: 1952, I think. '51? Warren: My first question to you is, I just want to get myself straight. You went to Randolph-Macon. You grew up in Lynchburg and went to Randolph-Macon. Were you and Jim dating when you were in college? Willett: No. I would go to W&L with boys, one good friend in particular, and met Jim at the Delta House. I suppose it was in 1949. We dated all during that spring. He was the class of '49, which, of course, was the bicentennial year. He graduated in '49, then went to Columbia to graduate school, but we continued to see each other until we married in November of 1950. So my life has really been Washington and Lee starting really then. Warren: So you did have the experience as a college girl. Willett: Oh, yeah. Warren: Coming over to Washington and Lee. Willett: Oh, yeah. Warren: I want to hear that, because I haven't talked to that many women from that time period. And the bicentennial year, that must have been really special. Willett: Well, it was, except that, you know, you're such dingbats when you're that age and all you're really thinking about is all the fun and what we're going to do. 1 Warren: Well, that's what I want to hear. Willett: But I do still have the stamp. You know, Jim wrote me. His father was an alumnus, and I suppose our romance thrived because my mother remembered his father, for example, back in her days of going to parties at Washington and Lee, and one or two of her friends had known him. They were particularly interested in this nice Farrar boy who was Jid Farrar's—his father was known as J-I-D, Jid. You know, and how that would be. They said, "Well, can you believe this is Jid Farrar's son coming to Lynchburg to see Anne Scott?" So it was sort of only-in-the-South kind of thing. [Laughter] Anyway, Jim was called back in the Marine Corps. That was the result of—so I'm told, I don't think I was there—a big party in front of the Delta House. Everybody sitting out in the yard and all these boys were vets and all. He'd been in the Pacific. He had finished Choate and matriculated at Yale, knowing that he would turn eighteen that summer and go straight in the Marine Corps. But Washington and Lee being his father's college, he came back to W&L rather than to go on to Yale. Frank Gilliam was an old friend of his father's and had always thought a lot of Jim as a student. And so when he rushed out and reenlisted, he reenlisted, as a bunch of them did, in the Marine Corps Reserve. I'm told they'd all been drinking beer that afternoon and thought it would be a good idea to go across the street to the post office in this sudden burst of patriotism. And, of course, the recruiter said, "Oh, you'll never be called back. I mean, this is just a—" So Jim was the only one in the crowd who was a sergeant. All the rest of them had their commissions. So he signed up and, of course, along came the Korean War, nd he was called back in as a sergeant. So after that year of servitude and great frustration for him, because he had expected to be at Choate teaching by that time, he was out and there was a telegram from Frank Gilliam saying, "I would like you—" something to the effect of, "Call me. Need help." You know, in those days, a kind of message from 2 Western Union. So he came to help Frank Gilliam out for a few months, and he stayed forty-two years or whatever it was. Warren: That's the Washington and Lee way. Willett: Yeah. So our earliest memories of W&L, at least mine, had to do with going over the mountain, and it was spring. Of course, rowing, crew, was a big sport then, and going over to the James River at Glasgow to watch the boys row and the competition. In retrospect, I realize now what a lovely, carefree, laid-back time and how much fun we had, because it was very intimate and probably still is. But, I mean, you know, all the Phi Deltas. One prominent feature of those times, the closeness, the Jewish fraternities. There were two Jewish houses. Warren: Tell me about that. Willett: Our most intimate friends, several of them forever were in the Jewish fraternities, ZBT and Pi. I can't think of what it was, the other one. PEPs we called them, Phi Epsilon Pi. The PEPs. Just great friends. We had very strong, outstanding young men were part of the Jewish student group. Of course, obviously that sort of thing has past. We don't have that anymore. But I think we were enriched by our Jewish constituency at that time. Frank Gilliam had a lot to do with that. He had a lot of ties, a lot of people who would recommend. I feel almost hesitant to talk about it. It sounds so sort of prejudiced to talk—maybe that's not the word. But, anyway, that was the situation. There were two strong Jewish fraternities. Very fine boys. Those who are now obviously grown, middle-aged men and many gone, felt that Washington and Lee had sort of failed them, I think, in this tradition. They were distinguished families. One comes to mind because they're a Lynchburg family, the Schewel family. All the Schewel boys went to W&L and remain our pride and joy. I mean, the younger ones are still coming. So we've lost some of that. 3 Warren: Why do you think that's happened? Willett: Well, I think it's part of the times. There's much more integration of—the separation of Jewish boys, students, just wouldn't happen today. It's all mainstream. Warren: Now, do you mean that there are still Jewish students there, but they are not staying in their own fraternities, or do you mean that there aren't Jewish students there? Willett: There are not as many Jewish students. I don't think we make an effort. I think the Jewish students—now, I'm talking about back now in the forties, Southern— well, you go back to Stephen Birmingham to read about the Jewish people. And in the South, you know, the financial houses now in New York, many of them were founded, you know, in the Alabama, down in Mobile. We're very strong in New Orleans. Very distinguished Jewish families from the South sent their sons to Washington and Lee. I never thought about it at the time as being tolerant. It just wasn't. We were just all the same and great friends, and there wasn't any thought about—at least to me nor to Jim, because these were our best friends, and they were distinguished citizens in all their community. I think it must have had something to do with the Southern tradition. But then there were doctors. You know, the distinguished professional men, they went from Washington and Lee into medicine, into law, and were outstanding. I think now maybe Jewish students would not feel and don't choose to come to Washington and Lee. In the first place, there's no synagogue. There's no life for them, and they probably prefer to be in an urban area where there is more Jewish life. But there was that strong tradition years ago. Warren: When do you think that changed? Willett: Well, I've forgotten the date. The PEP house was there where—we had house mothers, too, and the house mothers loved—I recall how the Jewish boys felt. They were so lovely to their house mothers. It was a gentle way of life. I just don't think that that tradition—I think the changes in the South, I suppose, and the 4 population. I don't know. It just seems to me that it sort of went—I'm about to say something that I don't have any idea whether it's true or not, to say that more Jews live in urban areas and choose large universities. But I don't even know the numbers of Jewish students now at Washington and Lee, but I dare say that it's gotten smaller and smaller and smaller over the years. Again, I come back in my own mind to Frank Gilliam. And it's true, he almost hand-picked. He had friends who would say, "This is a really fine boy." And he would be much more interested in accepting that boy than a Jewish boy whom he didn't know. Again, I'm feeling really badly talking about this, because I think it makes Washington and Lee sound as if it were prejudice or very picky. But back in the thirties and forties you could be. It was a very family—you know, So-and-so would get on the phone and call and say, "Frank, this is a fine boy. I want you to take a look at him. He'd be just right for W&L." There was much more of that than there is now. Obviously, those times are gone. Warren: That was one of the things that we've alluded to a couple of times in our conversation. It's like there's a profile for a Washington and Lee student, that a certain kind of person goes to Washington and Lee and is successful at Washington and Lee. I don't want to put words in your mouth, but would you go along with that? Willett: Yeah. I think that's true. I think that we are now a national constituency. That's easy to understand at a time when we were fairly regional, to use a term, we owned, as it was, we owned New Orleans or Baltimore. By that I mean we were strong in certain cities. Of course, I think that young people coming along now, girls—but at that time, earlier, it was just men—students came along and admired people in their community who were outstanding, and wanted to emulate them. They were drawn to a place. It was a lot of family. For example, I did a lot of research once on the—oh, Lord, anyway, I'll think of it in a minute, the family I wanted to specify. The Lykes family. And if you really go 5 through the records, I think at that time—this would have been about five years ago— more members of the Lykes family than any other family had over the years come to Washington and Lee. Now the girls have made such outstanding records. Joe Lykes, for example, was a contemporary of my father-in-law, class of something like '14 or whatever it was, and on the board for years and years, and his sons came and their sons came, and now the granddaughters are coming, you know. So there are some families—and that happened to be the Lykes were New Orleans at that time but now Jacksonville, you know, Tampa families, the interests have spread and grown and grown. So there was a lot of that, which kind of maybe, as you say, a profile of the Washington and Lee man, now "person" with women. Leadership has a lot to do with it, don't you think? We take such pride. I try to explain to people all the time that Washington and Lee, to me, I can almost get very emotional about it, the outstanding pre-professional education, which has turned out lawyers, teachers, the professions, and that's what we do best. We can't do everything, but we do that and we do that best. Now, that's always been our strength, and don't you think that has attracted the kind of young people who seek to be lawyers or doctors or aspire to that, and here's a place that does it and does it so well? And, of course, that was Lee's plan. I don't have to go on about that, because you already know all that, about establishing these professional schools so that there were journalists. I don't think the world fully appreciates that and what it meant, at first to the South and now to the nation. Warren: Talk to me about that. Willett: About pre-professional studies and what Lee did to— Warren: Well, what Lee did. Willett: Well, the South was devastated, and his first thought—he wasn't thinking about—in those days it was very different. It was survival. He had remarkable vision that there was a need for men who wrote well and who could influence others, 6 journalists, in other words. There was a little law school in Lexington, of all places— I've never quite understood how that happened—but he incorporated that into the curriculum. The first journalism courses taught in any undergraduate institution in the country were at Washington and Lee—it was Washington College at that time— because of that. Law was the same. Engineering. These professions, when he saw such a need out there after the Civil War, and that's what he thought his mission was, was to produce these leaders. Then medicine, all these things grew. The only program, I think, that he did not implement during his time was agriculture. I think he envisioned some sort of agriculture program. But, you know, that's pretty remarkable, and people just can't—and business, the first business courses. I love to tell my prosperous friends who think they're such hotshots from important business schools that the first business courses at the undergraduate level were taught at W&L. They just can't believe that. Not that little place, that little college there in Virginia. But it's a powerful thing when you think about it. Warren: It is. You're the first person to talk about that. Willett: Really? Warren: I've done the research and I know what you're talking about, but you're the first person to talk about that. Willett: Oh, I just take such pride. We were a classical academy until then. Of course, science was taught, which gave us the base for all that's happened since then, but I don't think people realize what leadership early on Washington and Lee—without their doing pre-professional education—and the result has been the distinguished people that we all know about. And it continues. Warren: And Lee made a lot of changes socially, too. He brought the speaking tradition. Willett: Oh, yeah. Civility. 7 Warren: And the honor system. Willett: Oh, yeah. Civility and all the things. I think older alumni, time is passing, so that those who lamented the passing of the speaking tradition are few and far between these days, and our students today would find it sort of, I'm sure, quaint that there were such strong feeling about that. But there was very strong feeling after the war when all of a sudden everybody didn't wear coat and tie. There were many alumni who felt that was a honor offense, that that kind of thing was just unimaginable. If you were a gentleman, which all, of course, Washington and Lee men were [clears throat], they, of course, wore a coat and tie, and they spoke to everybody whom they passed. Then, of course, the McCormick—didn't the McCormick legend, that's that how come McCormick became interested because he was spoken to by a student? Warren: Doremus. Willett: Was it Doremus? Warren: Doremus. Willett: Well, I was close. Doremus. [Laughter] Warren: They were within spitting distance of each other. Willett: Yeah. But, anyway, that was such a strong tradition that alumni just couldn't believe we could possibly exist and still turn out gentlemen if we didn't dress properly. God knows not I, a woman. [Laughter] Warren: Well, now, I want to pursue that little clearing of the throat there for a minute, and I think this will probably take us back to how we started, back in your student days, in your dating days. Were they all gentlemen? Willett: Well, let's put it this way. I thought even the wildest party—and wild in our day was not all that wild—but I thought they were far more gentlemanly at Washington and Lee than at that other university across the mountain in Charlottesville. Now, it may have had something to do, do you think, with the fact that 8 I was very interested in somebody at W&L. But your question was were they not gentlemen or were they? Warren: Were they gentlemen? Willett: Yeah. Warren: You cleared your throat. I just— Willett: I think I meant that, well, you know, there were plenty of times. I go back to the times when discipline problems were settled, and settled fast, on Monday morning in the dean's office with the faculty member who had gotten the call, let's say, in the middle of the night from a friend in the community saying—Dr. Bean, for example, history, and a very straight, handsome, distinguished man who took no foolishness, and Dr. Dickey [phonetic], who taught math. They would be in Frank Gilliam's office Monday morning at nine o'clock reporting that the Betas or the whoever had partied all night and had disturbed Miss So-and-so, who had called and said, "Gleason (that's the doctor), you must do something about the—" Or maybe even the local law enforcement. But it was settled, and it was settled by that afternoon, and the IFC, the Interfraternity Council—I don't know what it's called now—was told to do something about it, and usually by their Monday night meeting it was done. Students knew what to expect. They knew it would be settled. So there were a lot of changes of that sort over the years. Suddenly we had no house mothers, you know, all that fraternity deal was quite different, fraternity life. But the presence of house mothers made a big difference in those years, from a girl's point of view. When you were there dating, there was a certain decorum. Warren: Tell me about that. What kind of decorum? Willett: Well, for example, my mother-in-law, Jim's mother, just found it hard to believe when she would come to whatever and we didn't have—I don't think there was Parents Day—but in those days come to graduation, and that the house mothers were 9 expected to put on a lovely party for the parents and the young ladies who were there dating, and they had nothing to work with. So she gave the Deltas, I remember, a beautiful silver punch bowl and silver candlesticks, because she thought that was the proper way to do things. She just couldn't believe—we used to die laughing about it, which, of course, she was right. She just couldn't believe that some of the boys from the South whose, parents whose father owned big mills, didn't supply towels or sheets or things that made for nice, gracious living. [Laughter] Well, I don't think there were many like that and certainly not these days. You just don't worry about it. But you understand that I'm just saying it was a way of life, and she just thought that if Miss—I think her name—oh, what was her name? Miss Bramley [phonetic] is what I want to say. That isn't quite right. The Delta House. Who was a charming Army widow, just a lovely person, and how could she possibly function if she didn't have the tools such as a silver punch bowl? I might add, that disappeared. Warren: Oh. Really? Willett: And I didn't feel free to go, as I should have, and put my foot down and tell those boys, who, after all, were only boys, that I would keep it for them, and whenever they wanted it, it would be in my attic or wherever. Warren: I wondered about that. Willett: I did retrieve the candlesticks. I just felt that at that time in the seventies, nobody was entertaining with silver candlesticks. Warren: So it was in the seventies that the punch bowl disappeared. Willett: I assume it was the seventies when those, you know— Warren: So it lasted quite a long time. Willett: A lot of going and coming. Yes, and the boys are very proud of it. The house managers liked that. They know the nice way to do things. But there were years there when things were pretty loose. I would say that it was in the late seventies. I 10 think the last time I saw it was I borrowed it to use it at Jimmy and Kitty's wedding, as a matter of fact. Took it to a party we were going to have, and then very conscientiously returned it to the Delta House. I have since regretted I did that. [Laughter] But, anyway, it was there. She had given it to them. How did we get to talking about the gentlemen? I think the breakdown kind of came in the sixties and seventies, when things changed everywhere. Warren: How does it manifest itself at Washington and Lee? Willett: When the Cambodian issue and Nixon and all that? Well, my clearest memory of it is driving one morning. At that time, I was working at the VMI library, and I dropped Jim off at his office at W&L and went on down by the president's house down Washington Street and to [unclear]—I think there's something that maybe he hadn't gotten—at any rate, we were both stunned to see a mass meeting and students marching in front of Lee Chapel. It was the time during that crisis where students, you know, felt so strongly about—I mean, there was total disruption of classes and all that. I remember, though, going over to the campus and sitting out there on the front campus and hearing Bob Huntley, who was then president, address the students. We, both Jim and I, were so proud of him that he took the stand and, of course, the board behind him, that Washington and Lee was not going to close down and that they would be required to go to class. You know, student were leaving. It's even fuzzy in my mind now. They were leaving. They didn't want to go to class. They were all going to go do something to express their frustration with the government and the things that had happened, Kent State and the Cambodian bombings and all that. I do remember Jim getting a call from a parent. I've forgotten now who it was. And he was saying, "Dean Farrar, I want you to call John (or whatever his son's name) in there, in your office, and I want you to tell him that he is—" Oh, I've forgotten now his phrase. He said, "He's lost his mind if he thinks I'm going to pay for him to leave." 11 Something to the effect that, "He could leave if he wanted to. He could resign from Washington and Lee if he wanted to, and I would have him committed to the insane asylum." [Laughter] I mean, there was such a surge of feelings, parents calling. "What's going to happen if my son leaves? Will he fail?" You know, "Will he flunk?" Those who have better memories about the academic situation than I will recall how we handled it. I think they had to have a certain grade. They had to take the exam. They would have to come back. I think, the more I talk about it, the more I think it was decided that if a boy was so disturbed about the situation he felt he had to leave school to go do whatever, he got an incomplete, and he would have to take the exam in order to pass. There was no freebies. Bob was very calm about it all. I remember we were terribly concerned about what they—there was so much—UVA and there was damage going on. Students were really on the rampage, and I remember that many things of value were stored then in the ROTC building down there on the lower level, the whole collection of porcelain. The Reeves Collection was down there. And students themselves volunteered to guard that building. Because there was a lot of feeling that there was outside—and no doubt about it—agitators from coming over from Charlottesville and other places, wherever, were stirring up a lot. Because we were, you know, a little off the beaten track. But concern that there would be major damage. Somehow we got through that. I think sane, quiet heads prevailed and faculty and Bob Huntley in the leadership role assuring students and families that Washington and Lee was not closing down, and they would be expected to meet their obligations as students, and was very reassuring to families. And we were all very proud of W&L at that time. 12 Has anyone talked to you about—speaking of that. I'm reminded of a time when we weren't so proud, when the board decided that Martin Luther King [Jr.] would not be allowed to speak? Warren: Please talk about that. Willett: And the invitation was withdrawn. It's hard to imagine these days. It just was a sad time, in our view. Jim felt very strongly about that. Warren: Was the faculty and administration— Willett: Oh, the faculty was awful through all that. Warren: Tell me. Willett: Well, we had a very conservation board, extremely conservative. Now, when I say that, understand that these were men who were committed to their college, their university, and felt strongly, I'm sure, that they were doing the right thing. But they were from certain states and backgrounds, and this whole integration thing was just anathema. They were just dead-set opposed. It depended on your vantage point, I guess. It was the law of the land, and the fact that we were private didn't mean we could ignore that forever. Our peer institutions, you know, Davidson—well, that was a coed. They co-educated ten years before we did. I've forgotten now the years there in the fifties and early sixties when we were—Fred Cole was president, trying so hard to do the right thing, struggling with a board who just would not hear of black students. My husband was dean of admissions. Anyway, it was finally decided that—I wish I had all of the documentation in front of me. and I don't, because Jim has done—somewhere we'll find it. I have put all my materials of that sort away. Nothing was lost. It may be on file in John Elrod's office, because he was very interested in the fact that Jim had done this. But the time came when we were to accept black students. I always have taken great pride in the fact that no black student was ever accepted under any kind of formula at Washington and Lee. There was never, "We're going to have X percent in 13 next year's class of black students." We just didn't do that. It was so personal. The same policy, the same rule was applied. Could—these days we're talking boys. Could the boy be a success? There was no remedial work. Could he succeed? And that was the way it was. And, of course, if you look back at the numbers, I want to say to you, and if I only had it to—I need the support, and I'll get it for you at some point—there was no attrition. They all graduated in that early class. Of course, this would have been probably about the class—oh, I've forgotten now. Warren: The first two came in in 1968. Willett: Yeah. I was going to say about the class of '74 or '72, along in there. And their records since then are perfectly—just wonderful. Warren: Tell me about that process. Tell me what went on. Willett: Well, I can tell you. Jim would go out to recruit, and I remember his recruiting at high schools in Philadelphia, and they were locked. That happens to be one—I remember him coming back and telling me, "You go to those schools and it's tough." And the schools were locked and feeling was very high. Imagine going to, for example, Charleston, South Carolina, where we have very distinguished alumni, and the private school there always sent Washington and Lee such fine boys. He would be recruiting and talking to those boys and then literally going across town to the black high school to talk to those. And the feeling among the alumni and people, it was a time of a lot of passion and concern. This was a whole new thing. But it was happening, and it just happened that Jim was hardly an agitator or hardly—what would you call it—agitator keeps coming to mind. By that I mean pushing integration for the sake of integration. But he believed in his heart it was the right thing for Washington and Lee to do. And the argument that General Lee would oppose this just never felt that was the case. Who knows? But he was a man of vision, and he was—it's been a long time since I've read Byrd's [phonetic] 14 book of the later years, but I think in there, as I remember it, there was reason to feel that he would have known that this was the thing to do, and that the future was going to require black leadership. And who could do it better than we? So he did it and he did it so well. He had a great gift that I felt some of the others, people who were concerned about the problem, didn't really understand. He had no self-consciousness at all in talking to or in his ongoing relationships with black students. He never thought of it that way. Warren: He, Jim? Willett: Yeah. So I think he succeeded in bringing black students to Washington and Lee who did succeed because he had a God-given ability to communicate with young people, and it didn't matter who they were, whatever their background. He had that gift. And I think nothing was a greater source of pride to him than their success, ongoing success. You've interviewed a number of them, so you know even more than I know just how successful many of them are. And they, of course, have strong feelings about W&L, both ways. It was tough for them, very tough. At the same time, I think they're very proud of their accomplishment, and it is their university just as much as it is anybody else's. I think now that's being realized. Now we have second-generation students. Before you know it, we'll have third generation, you know. That is just thrilling. It just thrilled him that they got through their years, those tough years of being minorities in a very affluent climate and cared enough now to send their own children. Warren: Tell me about why it was tough. Willett: Well, socially, for example. Why, what social life could a young black man possibly find in Lexington? There was nothing. There were some who were aware of that and, for example, made it possible for them to have transportation down to Hollins. There were a few black students at Hollins. 15 I think we were all caught up at that time in the feeling that much could be achieved by being educated together, black students and white, the integration process. Bob Huntley, for example, did not want the blacks to have their own meeting place. They wanted a black headquarters. There weren't fraternities for fraternity men. And that was resisted not to deprive them of anything but just, I think, driven by the idea that to achieve integration successfully, that was not the way to do it. But, in retrospect, I think all of us would agree that that was wrong thinking. If you are one of a handful and you had no place to go to talk to your—it's just human nature. Jim and I learned first-hand when our son was an exchange student at Chung Chi. This would have been his junior year at W&L and he was class of '76. So that academic year he learned what it was like to be tall and very blond and blue-eyed, very fair, in a world of Chinese students, and he stood out like a sore thumb. He traveled all through Asia when his school term ended. Well, we died laughing because he used to tell us he was known as the Bill Walton of Chung Chi, the basketball player, because all of them were much smaller physically than he. He learned in a hurry what it was like to see very few of your own kind and to get a sense of what it's like to be a minority. You know, we have no conception of that. Arnold Toynbee, during his years of lecturing at Washington, his year of lecturing at Washington and Lee—it was really a spring term when the Encyclopedia Britannica underwrote his presence. He'd been a collaborator, a colleague of Dee Meyers [phonetic], who taught philosophy, and Dee had formed a friendship with him when he did an index, I think, of some sort. He helped with the study of history, the multi-volume history that Toynbee was known for in those days. Dee had known him in England or somewhere. Anyway, they had formed a professional relationship and a close friendship. So he came to W&L and he gave a lecture, a public lecture, every Friday, and Encyclopedia Britannica underwrote the expense and taped and published his lectures. 16 But he's talked to American audiences. This would have been in the late fifties, and we were still fresh from having won the war and we were, you know, we were the top of the heap. And he reminded American audiences, not just the W&L audiences but everywhere he spoke, the State Department. I was with him and remember the shock on some of the faces when he said, "You know, the U.N. is not a private club, and we white, Caucasians, whatever, are in the minority. That is there are far more Chinese than there are—" And it was a whole brand-new thought to us. Warren: I need to turn the tape over.