In the spring of 1966 I’d applied to Caltech and nowhere else, assuming that I’d major in physics, or perhaps math. I had no interest in going to the East Coast (why?), and that left Caltech or perhaps UC Berkeley as my choices. But then I got a recruiting package from New College, an upstart liberal arts college in the middle of its second academic year. No graduates, no accreditation, and located in Sarasota, Florida, for God’s sake.
Part of the package was a small (80-some pages) paperback book, styled the “Bulletin of New College”. I read it, and I was hooked. I applied, was accepted, jilted Caltech, and headed for Florida.
Here’s Brud Arthur’s description of the publication, from his history of New College.
The college’s first full-scale catalog had emerged from the creative hands of Barton and Gillet, the firm that had crafted the original, and successful, student recruiting materials.
Determined that its catalog, as with its academic program, should be innovative, the college agreed with a suggestion from the design firm, adopting a format of the increasingly popular pocket-sized books. The reasoning was based on the recognition that there was little enough material about the college and its programs to provide enough bulk for a standard-sized catalog and, what proved to be a correct guess, that prospective students—even then adopting the wearing of blue jeans by both men and women—would thrust the catalogs into their hip pockets where they could be noticed and shared.
Repeating as themes what had helped attract the first and second classes of students, the catalog emphasized: faculty and staff would counsel as colleagues but only the student could dictate what his or her rate of progress would be; students would not be made to perform routinely, but would be asked to act responsibly and try to think non-routinely. No one, at that time, seemed to grasp in those statements the idea that inflamed students’ minds: academic as well as extracurricular life would be areas for which each student was individually responsible. This interpretation was thrust again and again into the faces of the faculty and the administration when attempts were made to require specific academic activities or to leash student conduct.
That first catalog was intended to describe a new but stable institution and to be good for two years. It failed on both counts. The catalog listed the names and photographs of numerous faculty and administrators who would not be present in the fall of 1965, let alone a year later.
The small book did contain one portentous phrase and one figure as outdated as the faculty list: “The curriculum will evolve continually and it will change in emphasis and structure under the influence of individual teachers and students during its charier year;” the enrollment goal continued to be pegged at 1200 students. By the time the third class arrived there would indeed be changes in the curriculum with many more to come. What had already changed was the goal for student body size. This number had been scaled back by trustees, bowing to the reality that without a massive infusion of capital for building, the college could not realistically provide housing or other facilities for more than about 250.
Recently, visiting a classmate in California, I found a copy of the Bulletin, which he kindly allowed me to scan. Not the greatest scan, but good enough to get a flavor of the thing. It was really well done, and served its purpose admirably—not just with me. This copy presumably originally belonged to Steve Marsden (peace to his memory), what with his name written in it. Download it here.
Appeal: if someone would like to sacrifice a copy of the Bulletin (any date) in the interest of a better scan, drop me a note in comments.