Progress Report

There was nothing unusual about the 127 young men, except one thing. Their entire college education had consisted of studying the 100 Great Books. They were the alumni of tiny (present enrollment: 231) St. John's College in Annapolis, Md., where twelve years ago a former University of Chicago professor had started a small academic revolution.

As president of St. John's, stocky Stringfellow Barr had abolished electives, survey courses, standard texts, and books about books about books. By the time he left in 1947 (he tried and failed to start another St. John's in New England), his Great Books curriculum was the most talked-about experiment in U.S. education. Ever since, educators have been waiting to see just how Barr's St. Johnnies would do after graduation.

Last week, the Baltimore Evening Sun made out a progress report based on a survey the college had just made. Two of the 127 were dead, killed in World War II; the survey found that the survivors seemed perfectly normal and apparently well equipped for life beyond college. The most unusual thing about them was that an unusually large number (55%) were taking postgraduate work in universities around the world, preparing to be doctors, ministers, or professors.

Since the oldest alumnus of the Great Books course had been out of college only eight years, none had yet become rich or famous in his own right. Some had chosen business careers--there were an insurance underwriter, an adman, a financial analyst for the Ford Motor Co. But many of the St. Johnnies who had gone to work seemed to have offbeat tastes. One alumnus was producing Chinese films; another had become a ballistics expert; three were fanning in Maryland. There were also an able seaman, an organizer for the International Ladies Garment Workers' Union, a professional Marine Corps officer, and a researcher for the State Department's Voice of America program.

Had the 100 Great Books been a help or a hindrance in bringing worldly success? Apparently, the 127 had found them to be neither. But St. John's felt reassured on one point: there seemed to be no regrets. No one indicated that if he had it to do all over he would not start right in with Homer, happily read on up through Bertrand Russell again.

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