History major Owen Bagley ’13 has returned to campus as an admissions officer. He and his wife Lauren Bagley ’13 are expecting their first child in July.
History major Owen Bagley ’13 has returned to campus as an admissions officer. He and his wife Lauren Bagley ’13 are expecting their first child in July.
My proposal for a heraldic coat of arms (and thus seal) for Reinhardt was not taken up, and I’m actually glad about it. The biggest problem, in retrospect, is having three lines of text on the book in the chief. That is simply too much! Also, the eagle looks too Germanic, and although the bird has a distinguished heraldic pedigree, at Reinhardt it’s the sports mascot, and a university is always more than its athletic program.
But I’m also glad that they did not select this other proposal:
This is a mess – it’s like you’ve stumbled across a jumble bin at a flea market. The open book is fine, but then why have a scroll over it? Why not just put the writing on the book itself? Then there is a lit torch, acting as a bookmark [!], and a cross, tucked in at a rakish angle and further impeding one’s ability to read the book. The Latin is a nice touch, but on the whole this composition looks like the earnest efforts of some Bible academy, where the love of Jesus trumps any consideration of good design.
So allow me to propose a third option:
The lamp of learning is retained from Reinhardt’s current seal. I have since found plenty of instances of universities employing this device (e.g. Ryerson University, the University of Michigan, or Birkbeck College); it’s not necessarily the mark of a high school (and in any event serves as a memento of the time when Reinhardt was a high school). The lamp is not setting the book on fire; it is being used to illuminate the book so that we may read it, and the writing is placed on the pages, where it ought to be (viz. the arms of Oxford, Harvard, or Yale). Thus the lamp and the book, both symbols of learning, are in scale with each other and relate to each other in a coherent manner, and overall it’s a clean, simple design. In all other respects the seal is identical with Reinhardt’s current seal. There is nothing on here that symbolizes Reinhardt’s location (whether Waleska, Cherokee County, Georgia, the South, or the USA), but at least our town and state are written out along the exterior, and frankly I would rather have nothing at all than an arrowhead – I repeat my observation that Reinhardt was not founded by or for the Cherokee, who were removed long before 1883. In an age when Americans have become sensitive to issues of cultural appropriation, it might be time to quietly drop this symbol. This proposal does not feature any explicit statement of Christianity, but the motto – “do all the good you can” – is certainly a Christian sentiment and derives from a statement attributed to John Wesley, the founder of Methodism.
My thanks to Huitt Rabel for his design skills.
I enjoyed Susan Naylor’s farewell concert at Flint Hall in the Falany Performing Arts Center yesterday. Susan has been on the Reinhardt faculty since 1975 and retires at the end of this academic year.
Any formal study of religion or religions must begin with a clear understanding of the subject matter, namely, what religion is. And and yet this task is not as easy as it seems because in any society the meaning of words is not absolute or fixed; it is as fluid as its interpretations and applications.
Although the majority of the population of the world continues to identify themselves with a religion, on the basis of some implicit and unmeasured understandings of religion, especially when it comes to answering polls, over the years religious scholars have struggled with the meaning of the term religion, or even with the essential, common traits that would lead them to classify individuals or groups under that label.
Adopting different points of view and using methodologies of analysis that embody different human experiences, many scholars have concluded that a single, definitive definition of religion is neither possible nor advisable. Since it is a social construct that reflects diversity of perceptions and thoughts, it is up to any person to decide what it means and for others to try to understand these definitions in their corresponding contexts. And yet a work-in-progress definition of religion is possible, necessary, and desirable, at least to name the subject matter and start a conversation that would elicit a wide range of qualifications, exceptions to the rule, and even critiques.
Recognizing that there is no such a thing as value-free, final definition and that, at the same time, religion is something that average people primarily experience or live and hardly ever stop to formally define it, much less to take into account the ideas of others to see where they all coincide, how could we, then, define religion?
Read on at the link.
Reinhardt’s VPAA Mark Roberts informs us that the university has a new trustee: Reinhardt graduate Jerome Dobson, Professor Emeritus at University of Kansas and former President of the American Geographical Society. Roberts draws our attention to a speech of Dobson’s entitled “Geography: Use it or Lose it,” which he gave in DC in 2010:
Geography is to space what history is to time, and I think very few people think of it that way. Geography is a spatial way of thinking, a science with distinctive methods and tools, a body of knowledge about places, a set of information technologies, old and new, contrary to a lot of ‑‑ a lot of people think it’s just a new thing we have GIS, but geography has always led in technology, from Eratosthenes measuring the earth on forward. People think of it as place-name geography, but if you look at the deeper parts of the iceberg, spatial thinking, place-based research, scientific integration, GIS and so on, not just place-name geography.
Geography is about understanding people and places and how real world places function in a viscerally organic sense. It’s about understanding spatial distributions and interpreting what they mean. If we look at the specialties of American geographers, a lot of people outside geography think of it as a physical discipline, but as you see here only 10 percent of geographers claim a physical specialty. Far more, about well over half, claim some sort of human geography as a specialty. And, one-fifth, more than one-fifth, claim geographic information science as a specialty.
Interesting stuff. Reinhardt does not have a geography program but we in history are proud to sponsor HIS 210: World Geography. Perhaps the new trustee will inspire us to deepen our course offerings in this area.
Reinhardt’s most characteristic building has been designated the Burgess Building ever since president J.R. Burgess retired in 1974. This fact was generally unknown, however: the entire time I’ve been at Reinhardt people have simply called it the Administration Building. Here is what it looked like back in 2006:
The plaque to the right of the main doors was the only public acknowledgement of its true name:
This afternoon Reinhardt, in the presence of Burgess’s daughter Martha Burgess Blanton, rededicated the building to President Burgess, and unveiled a new inscription on the entablature:
Portraits of Dr. and Mrs. Burgess were rehung in the main foyer:
If Dr. Burgess is known for anything it is for the planting of many varieties of tree on the Reinhardt campus. The main strand is known as the Burgess Arboretum and is one of the things that makes Reinhardt’s campus so attractive. From the 1960s, here is Burgess’s master plan of all the trees he wanted planted on campus:
The audience heard from Reinhardt’s President Kina Mallard, VP of Advancement Tim Norton, President Emeritus Floyd Falany, Board Chairman Billy Hasty, and History Program member Professor Ken Wheeler, whose remarks are reprinted below, by kind permission of the author.
Brief Remarks on the Importance of James Rowland Burgess, Jr., and Martha Stallings Burgess in the History of Reinhardt University
This place, Reinhardt and Waleska, appears different from how it looked in 1944, when Rowland Burgess came here to visit Reinhardt and consider becoming its president. Oh, the road to Waleska from Canton was made of beautiful concrete, but once a person entered Waleska the car started to slip and slide in the mud and loose dirt of the town—which had no paved streets. And as Rowland Burgess toured the campus, it was not inspiring. Dobbs Hall was closed in need of repair. It had 55 broken window panes, and Burgess said the wooden steps leading into the building were so rickety as to be actually dangerous. Reinhardt housed the elementary school, had a high school, the Reinhardt Academy, with 40 or 50 students, and as for the college, Reinhardt had 16 collegiate students. But Burgess took the job, and he and his wife Martha and their children moved into the president’s home, which is today our Admissions House. Livestock grazed across the street, and the Burgesses walked across the campus, which was covered in old stumps, privet, and invasive honeysuckle. The place needed a lot of work.
The Burgesses knew education. Martha had had two years at a teacher training college in Athens, Georgia, before she married Rowland. And Rowland knew Methodist higher education. He started his undergraduate years at Young Harris College, overseen by two Reinhardt graduates, Joe and Ella Sharp, and Burgess finished his undergraduate years at Emory. Rowland had Christian conviction—a sermon in his youth emphasized that “the harvest is truly great but the laborers are few,” which convinced him that he wished to “labor for the master.” Rather than go into parish ministry, he went into education and became a school superintendent for several years before coming to Reinhardt in his late 30s.
The work was not glamorous. Rowland Burgess ordered blocks of ice for the cafeteria, which had no refrigerator. He personally opened sewer lines that clogged. And while presidents today read The Chronicle of Higher Education, Burgess subscribed to the Guernsey Breeders Journal in an effort to improve the quality of the herd of cattle on the college farm. That farm included crops of cotton, corn, sorghum, Irish potatoes, sweet potatoes, various vegetables, and of course hay. They had hogs in addition to the cattle. A farm manager kept up with all of it, assisted by students whose job it was to plant, hoe, harvest, milk, bale, and so on. Everything that could be eaten in the cafeteria was eaten there, which kept costs low. But Burgess always had to drive to Atlanta at the end of each year and visit Mr. Dobbs to ask for a check to cover the annual deficit, a check that was usually grudgingly written. Reinhardt College had no endowment; it ran on a shoestring.
Over time, though, the college did well. The end of World War II brought veterans who had the G.I. Bill. One was my old next-door neighbor in Canton, R. J. Chastain. He was a Ball Ground boy who volunteered and wound up as an infantryman in Europe. After the war, Chastain rented an apartment in Canton with some other vets, and they would carpool up to Reinhardt. He had not yet graduated from high school, so he finished his high school diploma here, and then stayed for a couple of quarters of collegiate coursework. He represented a trend, and enrollments grew.
While Rowland presided over Reinhardt, Martha kept taking college courses. She finished her bachelor’s degree, obtained a master’s degree, and by the time the Burgesses retired from Reinhardt in 1973, Martha had taught here for 25 years, retiring as a professor of the behavioral sciences.
These were eventful years. Rowland Burgess had a certain genius for publicity. In 1949, Burgess got a federal grant to hold a “Conservation Field Day” at Reinhardt. The college bought some additional acreage, and in one amazing day tens of thousands of people came to the campus, cleared and improved the new acreage, and enjoyed the highlight, a visit from Harry S. Truman’s vice president, Alben W. Barkley. There are still some old-timers in this area who recall coming to Reinhardt as young people to participate in the biggest “work day” in the school’s history.
These were the years, too, when the Waleskans built an elementary school off the campus, and in the middle 1950s the Academy closed, so that Reinhardt became, for the first time in its existence, a purely collegiate institution. The Burgesses did not miss the high school. Some students had been local, but others boarded here, and many times they came to Reinhardt because they had been kicked out of some school system elsewhere. Rowland Burgess wrote in his memoir that “Years later . . . a lady called to ask if we still took ‘juvenile delinquents.’ I was happy to tell her that we didn’t. She said, ‘Well, I’m glad. You took my niece once and she’s still no good.’”
The Burgesses were shaped by the times. In 1954, the Supreme Court’s unanimous Brown v. the Board of Education decision shook a segregated South. At Reinhardt, one trustee insisted this was why they had to keep Reinhardt open—the public schools would be forced to integrate. When powerful trustees over the next several years said that Reinhardt would never integrate racially, Rowland Burgess would not agree or argue, but just say “We’ll see.” When, in 1966, the federal government wrote to Reinhardt and said federally subsidized student loans could go only to integrated schools, President Burgess created an integrated Reinhardt. He went to Canton and talked with Mr. Bell, the principal of the black school there, and asked about who would be a good student to come to Reinhardt. Bell said Burgess wanted a young man named James T. “Jay” Jordan. Burgess and Bell talked with Jordan and his parents about Jay coming, and he entered Reinhardt in the fall of 1966, Reinhardt’s first African-American student. President Burgess took a strong interest in Jordan’s acceptance by students and everyone else on campus, and in fact things worked out very well. Jordan was a friendly person, a good athlete, a capable student, and he wound up having a good two years at Reinhardt. Other African-American students followed in succeeding years, and so the Burgesses, in their understated way, led Reinhardt into a positive future for the school and its students.
The world changes, and Reinhardt has changed. Our president no longer subscribes to the Guernsey Breeders Journal. The streets of Waleska are paved. Reinhardt has not only survived but thrived and done well. And in all of that, the Burgess influence is still here. One can see it in this very building, which serves our campus. One can see it in the library, which Burgess built. And, of course, one sees it outdoors on a beautiful campus, a good portion of which was planted by Rowland Burgess. The privet and the stumps are gone, replaced by trees and shrubs and flowers that create an inspiring environment in which to read, and study, and learn. Time and again, when people visit me from other schools they remark how uplifting this campus is.
The Burgesses wrote poetry, and published some of their poems. In one poem, reflecting on her teaching, Martha Burgess wrote, “How can she know where her influence begins/ Much less tell where it has its end.” I would argue that that influence has not ended. It goes on in the students of Reinhardt from that time, who are still living out their lives, and the spirit of the Burgesses is still here on this campus—it is a spirit of unselfish service, of long devotion and faithfulness, of Christian generosity, of personal warmth toward people and good humor about life. It is a valuable inheritance, and we can all be grateful for that gift.
Burgess, James Rowland, Jr., “Three Times Ten: My Thirty Years at Reinhardt College (unpublished ms., Box 2, Burgess Papers, Reinhardt University)
Flashing Eyes, Trilliums, and Trees: Personal Poems and Verses of James Rowland Burgess and Martha Stallings Burgess (Reinhardt College, 1982)
Hinson, Tyler B., “Laboring for the Master: James Rowland Burgess, Jr. and the Birth of Modern Reinhardt” (unpublished paper, 2010)
This promises to be good!
Last evening the New Student Induction Ceremony took place in the Falany Performing Arts Center here at Reinhardt. I always like this one: it is a serious occasion, but a good vibe tends to prevail. Students take the Reinhardt Honor Pledge, and sign a large poster of it, which gets hung in the Lawson-Tarpley atrium. For the record, here it is:
I believe in this, and not just because I was on the committee that devised it some twelve years ago now. I cannot claim that I have never indulged in cynicism or irony, but there are times for moral exhortation and aspiration, and I am glad that we sponsor this one.
We also sang the University Anthem, which was unveiled at Dr. Mallard’s inauguration last year. The original music is by Ken Berg, and the lyrics by Michael Berg and Reinhardt’s VPAA Mark Roberts:
Reinhardt, Reinhardt, O place of honor!
Beacon of learning may you shine
Through all the days of your sons and daughters
Guiding in wisdom throughout our lives.
May you be strong and bold,
We sing to the blue and gold.
By your lead and faith enabled
To take flight as one whole heart.
Finding within our learning passion
Purer science, deeper art.
This I also like – it certainly compares very favorably to Reinhardt’s Alma Mater.
After the ceremony, all students got on the stage for a group photograph, taken by Jeff Reed ’16, who has been hired as the University Photographer this year.
Longtime Reinhardt art professor Curtis Allen Chapman II died on August 7 in Asheville, North Carolina (obituary). History professor Ken Wheeler has penned a moving reflection on his life and career:
The recent death of Curtis Chapman has me thinking about who he was and what he meant to Reinhardt during almost four decades of full-time work. I know that others at Reinhardt knew him far longer than I, but his friendship was important to me and I wanted to pass along a few impressions.
Reinhardt Junior College was a small school when Curtis Chapman, who had just graduated from LaGrange College, was hired onto the faculty in January 1966. Lacking a car, Chapman took the bus to Cartersville, where he was picked up by President Burgess and driven to Waleska along roads that made Chapman think his new job must be at the ends of the earth. The college housed him in an old sharecropper’s cabin located where the post office stands today.
Waleska may have seemed isolated, but Curtis introduced students to a world of art in his classes. And almost as soon as he arrived, he began taking students on international trips where they could view up close some of the art and architecture available on the slides in his projector. In fact, the way I knew Curtis best was because as soon as I came to campus in 1999 he immediately recruited me to join a trip to Italy for the following summer. That led to a trip to Paris and the south of France, followed by a return trip to Italy.
Curtis was exuberant on these trips. His gleeful, spirited eagerness to learn rubbed off on his students, and he made sure that everyone saw and did everything they could. He encouraged people to try things, to visit museums they did not expect to enjoy, to sleep after the trip had finished. I remember being in Paris late at night after a full day of visiting churches, museums, and the Eiffel Tower. Curtis was proposing walking a few miles to see something more. I felt embarrassed at being run into the ground by a man my father’s age, but I finally had to say I’d had enough, it was time for bed.
Not all of the trips were international. After the deregulation of the airlines in the late 1970s, cheap airfares were available, and Curtis and his students would catch a Saturday red-eye flight from Atlanta, spend a full day in the world-class art museums of New York, see Central Park, and then take a late flight back to Atlanta that night.
These experiences were profound for so many of his Reinhardt students. Even in my few trips, I saw first-hand the changes—students who changed their major, and the trajectory of their lives, after visiting the ruins at Paestum or the art of the Uffizi in Florence. One student who went to Italy with us had not only never flown in an airplane, he had never been inside an airport. These were experiences that students remember all the rest of their lives, and no wonder—they were educational in so many ways. Many people have worked hard to internationalize Reinhardt’s curriculum; Curtis Chapman pioneered those efforts again and again and again.
Whether in Waleska or abroad, Curtis was an encourager, and he helped make art accessible to everyone. He was not elitist, never snobby or forbidding. And it was clear that art could be made by anyone, anywhere. Routinely Curtis would lunch in the cafeteria with a large plate piled high with a salad—and every time the salad was beautiful, just arranged with such… well… artistry.
In conversation with Curtis he would sometimes say “Teach me something,” and then ask me about what I thought about some incident or issue. It was so striking to me that this senior colleague of mine, instead of setting me straight, was asking me what I thought. “Teach me something.” I want to make that spirit, of inquiry, of respect for and interest in others, part of my own intellectual posture.
I’m thankful for what Curtis meant to me, to other people he worked with, and to thousands of Reinhardt students as he dedicated his working life to educating them during decades of great changes. He had a great love for Reinhardt, and for life. I miss him.
I second Dr. Wheeler’s thoughts. My career at Reinhardt overlapped only briefly with Curtis’s, but even in that time I found him to be a warm and generous colleague.
• Congratulations to Wyatt Dean, 2015-16 history program student of the year.
• Congratulations to Associate Professor of History Anne Good on organizing another successful CultureFest on April 13th.
• Jonathan Good, in one of his last acts as Faculty Senate chair, carried the new Reinhardt mace at the inauguration of President Kina Mallard (from 7:52), and gave some words of encouragement (at 29:00).
• Anne Good has received a short-term fellowship for research at the University of Minnesota’s James Ford Bell Library. She will be traveling there in May.
• Anne Good was accepted to participate in a seminar entitled “Sight and Sound in Renaissance and Baroque Europe,” to be held at Atlanta’s High Museum in June. Jonathan Good was accepted to participate in a seminar on the Histories of Herodotus to be held at the Center for Hellenic Studies in Washington DC in July. Both of these seminars are sponsored by the Council of Independent Colleges.