By Arthur J. Bellinzoni Professor of Religion, Wells College 

It was a cold day in February of 1962 when the phone rang in my room at 42 Perkins Hall at the Harvard University Graduate School of Arts and Sciences. The voice at the other end was loud and clear: "May I speak to Arthur Bellinzoni." "This is Arthur Bellinzoni," I replied. "Mr. Bellinzoni, this is L. J. Long, President of Wells College. You've been recommended for a teaching position in the religion department at Wells, and I would like you to visit our campus for an interview."

Never having heard of Wells College (after all, I came out of the all-boys network: a boys' preparatory country day school in Brooklyn, New York, and then Princeton and Harvard), I was not really connected to the women's colleges. "May I call you back later this afternoon President Long?" I uttered as I rushed off to Harvard's Widener Library to find a Wells College catalogue. Thank God I had access to the Harvard library. I liked what I saw, phoned Dr. Long, and flew to Syracuse a few days later.

I had already scheduled an interview at Bangor Theological Seminary in Maine for the following week, but the trip to Aurora would come first. Wells driver Frances Weber got lost driving from the Syracuse Airport to Aurora, driving almost to Rochester on the New York State Thruway, but I reached my destination and had a full day of interviews. I met first with Dr. Long, had lunch with then Instructor in Religion Chalmers MacCormick, and interviewed with members of the auspicious Faculty Advisory Committee: Professor of Sociology Carter Woods, Professor of Mathematics Evelyn Carroll Rusk (Wells Class of 1920), and Professor of Romance Languages Robert Marshall. At my exit interview, President Long offered me the position of instructor in religion at a salary of $6,000 per year. I asked for $6,500, and Dr. Long countered with $6,350 and asked for an answer on the spot. I negotiated for five days grace, enough time to allow me visit the Bangor campus a few days later.

Wells had most of the things I was looking for in a first teaching position. It was a small, prestigious liberal arts college in my home state of New York. As an only child, I would be only five hours from "home," my parents' home in Brooklyn, which I considered home base for many years to come. I was not really sure about teaching at a women's college, however, and I would be teaching courses in areas of religion well outside my special interest in Biblical studies.

Bangor, on the other hand, was remote and far from Brooklyn. I would, however, be teaching Biblical Greek and New Testament studies to graduate students. I wondered about that, however, because Bangor educated non-traditional age students, who had received their callings to the ministry later in life. The students I met at Bangor were all older than I, who was at the time (and this may be hard to believe) a rather shy and ingenuous 26. I was also not sure that I wanted to prepare people for the ministry. I knew that I would rather teach in a liberal arts setting, even if it was at a women's college. When Dr. Long had asked me the key question: "Why would you want to teach at a women's college?" I blundered out something like, "I've never thought about teaching at a women's college, but I suppose it's no different from teaching at a men's college." With such an answer in today's climate of political correctness, I'd have flunked the interview on the spot.

In those days of innocence we all knew that single-sex education was better than coeducation; the prestigious colleges and universities were virtually all single-sex. Even among the Ivies there was a pecking order, and the single-sex institutions were all better than those that were coeducational, or so we at Princeton and Harvard were led to believe. It took several years of living in Aurora for me to really believe that Cornell was quite okay. And so I accepted the offer at Wells, convinced that this would be a fine first job.

Years later I asked Dr. Long how he had found me at Harvard. He answered that he had had an application for the teaching position in religion from a doctoral candidate at Duke University. One of the candidate's letters of recommendation came from a Duke professor who had been my major professor at Princeton. I had written my yearlong senior thesis under his supervision, and he was responsible for my being accepted into Harvard. I had been the first student ever accepted into the Harvard Ph.D. program in history and philosophy of religion directly out of an undergraduate institution. Professor W. D. Davies had urged Harvard to accept me. After all, he argued, I had already majored in the premier undergraduate religion program in the country and had studied four of the six languages required for the Harvard Ph.D. in New Testament studies. In any event, President Long told me that in his glowing letter of recommendation for the Duke graduate student, Professor Davies had added a P.S.: "If, however, I was hiring someone to teach religion at Wells College, I would hire Arthur Bellinzoni, a former student of mine at Princeton who is now completing his doctoral studies at Harvard." Dr. Long told me that in all his years as a college president he had not seen a glowing letter of recommendation that in a final sentence recommended a different candidate for the position. He made up his mind even before he saw my credentials and interviewed me on campus that he would hire me. In retrospect I knew that I should have held out for the $6,500.

And so began my love affair with Wells that has lasted 38 years. This "fine first job" would prove to be my only job. But I was not so sure about Wells or Aurora after those first weeks of the late summer and fall of 1962.

I arrived in Aurora at the end of August with my mother, my friend Attilio Rezzonico (who had decided to join me here), my personal belongings, and lots and lots of books. I remember the car piled-high with books! Attilio and I were to live for the year in Professor of Physical Education Pat Klocke's unit in Lake Apartments. I didn't realize that Dr. Long had taken the radical step of putting us into an apartment building that was reserved for faculty women, or so people claimed. But before we could move into the apartment, we checked into the Aurora Inn for a few days to have a base from which to get settled.

The inn's manager, Mr. Bentley, gave us a nice suite of rooms on the second floor and then told us two days later that we would have to move into other rooms because Mrs. Zabriskie had arrived, and we were in her rooms. I couldn't understand how we could be in someone else's room, especially since we had booked weeks earlier, and the Aurora Inn was otherwise totally empty. But I had not yet learned the meaning of the Zabriskie name at Wells College and in Aurora.

Mr. Bentley was also very thoughtful to tell us on our second evening at the inn that he had noticed that the three of us had Italian surnames (even though my mother came from Scottish stock and had the white skin, red hair, and freckles to prove it). He told us that he would be willing to turn the TV on for us that evening since he was sure that we would want to watch "The Untouchables" or "The Italian Hour," as he referred to it. My Scottish mother was not amused. I was more puzzled than offended, since I had never had a strong Italian self-identity, and Attilio is actually Swiss and not even Italian.

It was a few weeks later that Attilio and I discovered another "curiosity" about Aurora. At the time we communicated primarily in German and French. He spoke little or no English, and I spoke little or no Italian (his first language), and so we resorted to second and third languages for communication. He arrived in the apartment one day quite puzzled that he had seen a woman walking in town with some unusual animal on a leash. Well, he didn't know the word for the animal in French or German, and when he found it, I didn't recognize it in either language. But the multiple dictionaries we relied on for full communication proposed that a woman was walking through Aurora with a pet raccoon on a leash. I insisted that couldn't be the case, but sometime later I learned that another beloved icon of our community, Susan Crandall "Tudi" Kenyon '52, did indeed have a pet raccoon. I was becoming more and more convinced that Aurora was a curious kind of place.

Let me share with you just one more early memory of the fall of 1962. The ladies of Lake Apartments decided that there should be a get-together to introduce their two male "intruders" to Aurora society. Our much beloved Director of Admissions Alice Burgess Hinchcliff '25, Professor of Mathematics May Kelly, and Assistant Professor of English June Sprague accompanied Attilio and me to the home of then Director of Public Relations Velma Van Buskirk. Velma greeted us at the door with a tablecloth wrapped around her waist (we obviously should not have been surprised - after all it was a formal occasion) and proceeded to serve us a dinner that consisted of nothing but baked Boston beans. These curiosities might by themselves have given us cause to consider the sanity of the community, but our concern grew even more when, following dinner, the four ladies pulled out cigars and smoked their way through coffee. The sophisticated gentlemen from New York and Lugano, Switzerland, wondered whether it wasn't truly time to pack and leave town while we were still ahead.

I tell you these stories to let you know something of both the charm and curiosity of Aurora in the fall of 1962. Being liberally educated, I was already at least a closet liberal, but Aurora and Wells College posed challenges I had not anticipated. I knew, however, that I loved my classes and was impressed with the quality of my students.

I taught a wide range of courses over my 38 years at Wells, and that added significantly to my own liberal arts education. In many ways I've learned as much at Wells as I did at Princeton and Harvard. Having few colleagues in religion, my colleagues have come from disciplines across the curriculum, and I loved learning from them all. I have an intense curiosity about virtually every subject and could feed that curiosity with knowledge I picked up in the classroom, in faculty committee meetings, and at morning coffee - still one of my favorite Wells institutions after 38 years.

Although certainly no less intelligent than students today, many women were at Wells in the 1960s for what we called affectionately the MRS degree. They were here to meet and marry the right men so that they could assume their proper places in the home and in their communities. They worked, but in those days they were largely unpaid volunteers. Once the impact of the second wave of the women's movement set in, that would all change.

The administration of Dr. Long (1951-1969) was a time of remarkable growth and strength. It is tempting to look back with nostalgia on the relative serenity of those years. Faculty numbers grew from 34 to 58. Enrollment went from 305 in 1951 to a record 631 in the centennial year of 1968. That proved to be a blip rather than a trend. What we did not yet understand was what would happen to Wells and most women's colleges when the Ivies opened their doors to women. We were not fully prepared. When we proceeded to act as if it was "business as usual," we saw the application pool shrink and our numbers decrease dramatically. Few of the women's colleges were unaffected as many of the best women opted for Princeton and Dartmouth, Hamilton and Colgate. We had lost the guaranteed constituency of women who had heretofore been denied access to the best of academe.

John Wilson succeeded Dr. Long and presided from 1969 to 1975 in a period that witnessed greater upheaval than we had ever witnessed in higher education generally and at Wells specifically. It was a time of social unrest, student protests, the Vietnam War, and profound questions about everything that was happening in society. The Wilson administration witnessed additional growth in the college's physical plant, even as enrollment was declining. Clearly one of our very brightest presidents, Wilson, a Rhodes Scholar, was not able to rescue Wells from the downward spiral of applications and college revenues into which she was thrown. I'm not sure anyone was properly equipped at that time to deal with these issues. There was no information or data to fall back on for the kinds of challenges that faced Wells in those years. There had never before been such a dramatic change in higher education. Added to the challenge of coeducation was the additional challenge of extraordinary development in the State University of New York, which would prove to be our toughest competition. Although many, perhaps even most of the women's colleges chose coeducation, Wells did not. I think even in retrospect that we made the right choice. We claimed that we did not have the financial resources that would have made coeducation a viable option, and alumnae seemed for the most part bent on retaining Wells as a liberal arts college for women.

Sissy Farenthold brought new life to the college from 1976 to 1980. The first woman to be named President of Wells, Sissy was a Texas lawyer and a politician with few formal credentials in academe or college administration to qualify her for the challenges she faced. Sissy likes to remind us that when she arrived on campus we were down to our last $238,000 before we would have to go to court to invade the principal of the endowment, a move that would have signaled the demise of the institution. Farenthold eliminated the college's deficit and brought the cause of women's issues to Wells and to the country. She gave Wells a national profile. Although Sissy's liberal politics offended many alumnae and cost us dearly with some of our major donors, it was she who breathed new life and vigor into the institution. She helped Wells to redefine what it would mean to be a women's college in the last quarter of the 20th century. I dare to say that until the administration of Sissy Farenthold, Wells was a college for women who could not find a suitable education at the best all-male institutions. Sissy, an unabashed feminist, sought to transform Wells into a college that would prepare women to take positions of leadership in the nation and in the world. Many of us bought slowly and even reluctantly into an agenda that we thought diluted and politicized the traditional liberal arts. I was initially slow to buy in, but I was so overwhelmed by Sissy's intelligence, integrity, and commitment to women and to women's education that I quickly became a believer. Although enrollment increased and Wells developed a national image because of Sissy's high profile, she stayed in Aurora only four years. Sissy Farenthold was absolutely the right person at the right time. She brought to Wells a clear vision of the future role of women in our society that would give focus to the college's mission into this new century.

Patti McGill Peterson served from 1980 until 1987. She built on some of what Sissy had started, but enrollments once again declined as Wells sought to redefine her mission as a liberal arts college for women. We went from 521 students in 1980 to just 370 in 1987, a loss of 151 in seven years, balancing the budget every year along the way. We took our first venture into technology under President Peterson's leadership and reintroduced some of the academic requirements that were tossed out virtually nationwide during the late 60s and early 70s. It was from 1981 to 1983 under Patti that we had our last capital campaign. With a goal of $7 million, we worked to the last day of December 1983 to reach that goal and then added in some last minute planned gifts to announce our success at raising $10 million. As a volunteer on the major gifts committee, I had spoken throughout the campaign about the need to develop a program in planned giving - bequests and life income arrangements, such as trusts, annuities, and pooled income funds. Just as I thought my message had fallen on deaf ears, Patti called me into her office sometime in 1984 and told me that she had heard my plea and had decided to appoint someone director of planned giving. I was delighted until she told me that she wanted me for the position. I refused categorically because my heart was with my courses, my students, and my scholarship. Patti ultimately prevailed, and I took on limited administrative responsibilities in development at the expense of one course each semester.

Wells lost time and momentum after Patti Peterson's resignation. Patti was followed by Acting President Roald Bergethon and from 1988 to 1990 by President Irene Hecht, who after a short and rather tumultuous tenure resigned following votes of no confidence from the faculty and staff. Many of us wondered whether Wells would survive into the 21st century.

Bob Plane's tenure as president was a turning point for Wells. As Jane Dieckmann states in her excellent history of Wells: "He was in effect coming out of retirement to put Wells College, a place with a sinking enrollment and rising costs, a disappearing endowment, a recent leadership crisis, and a commitment to what many considered a lost cause back on her feet." Serving from 1991 to 1995 he revived self-confidence in Wells among her alumnae and even among her faculty and staff. In her 125th year of 1993, Wells opened with the largest first-year class in a decade and a total enrollment of 415 students. The spirit on campus was cautiously optimistic, although the enrollment figures would slip again in the next few years.

Bob Plane stepped down in February 1995 to make room for Lisa Ryerson, his heir-designate. Bob had said from the outset of his tenure as acting president that his most important job would be to find the right successor and that that person should be someone who was already a part of the Wells family. Few expected that he would find that person in the dean of students, who rapidly rose through the ranks until she was named director of the Leadership Connection, executive vice president, and ultimately acting president, when Bob took an extended trip to the west in the winter of 1994-95. On a snowy weekend in February 1995 the Wells Board of Trustees named Lisa Marsh Ryerson, Wells Class of 1981, as president and Bob Plane as president emeritus.

Lisa is the first Wells alumna and the youngest individual ever to hold the office. The last five years have been the most exciting in my 38-year tenure and perhaps in the entire 132 year history of the college. Wells has witnessed a marked increase in enrollment, greater visibility, the enormously successful Campaign for Wells College, significant improvement in the physical plant, extraordinary enrichment of campus technology, and perhaps most importantly a renewed sense of pride in the college among students, faculty, staff, alumnae, and friends.

Lisa's work has just begun, and I promise you that much more exciting news lies ahead as she works on a master plan that will transform the physical plant, academic spaces, and the beauty of our campus. The first component of that will likely be a new science facility, once you have contributed the additional $11 million still needed to complete the project. In addition, the newly formed Wells College Mission Committee, composed of trustees, faculty, and administration is currently working with the Wells faculty on curriculum reform in accordance with specific recommendations from the report of the Commission on Higher Education Middle States Association of Colleges and Schools.

I dare say, "Wells College's best years are still ahead of us."

What has Wells meant to me? On an obvious level, Wells has been the whole of my 38-year professional career, not just the fine first job I thought it would be when I came to Aurora in August of 1962. This has been a career that has also been a love affair. Not only have I taught religion at Wells for the past 38 years and not only have I worked in fund development for the last 15 years of that tenure, but I have also learned at Wells and have taken away so much.

I have learned about friendship - from friendships that began in classrooms with students with whom I still have a meaningful relationship. I have been deeply moved with the dozens of letters and emails I have received in the last few months from alumnae who have learned about my June 30th retirement. They have written to thank me for the difference I have made in their lives, but they have no way of noting the difference they have all made in my life, because I have taken away so very much from this fine institution.

My students have taught me about the unique value of women and the special privilege that comes from educating a class of people who have waited so long to win recognition for their contribution to our lives. I have taught women who are now teachers, doctors, lawyers, businesswomen, politicians, administrators, housewives, mothers, and just fine people. I have taught women who came from great wealth and women who came from abject poverty; women who are white, African-American, Hispanic, Asian-American, Native American; women from Poland, Holland, Germany, France, Morocco, Israel, Egypt, Japan, and who knows where else; women who are straight, gay, and bisexual. And I've even taught a few men along the way, drawn from that handful of male special students who from time to time find their way into a classroom or two. I've learned from them all something of the uniqueness of the human condition, something of what makes women different from men, even as they are very much the same.

My own liberal arts education and my personal life have been enriched by my Wells experience. I admit that I had a privileged start. But in my work, especially in development, I have traveled the country, often with President Ryerson, to meet Wells women in their homes, in their places of work, in clubs and restaurants, and wherever else they will meet us individually, in small groups, in larger forums. Let me tell you this: you are a very special breed, and I am proud to have had longstanding associations with so many of you. I have learned to respect the Wells of past generations through my contacts with women who were here long before I ever heard of Wells College. You are an intelligent, gracious, committed, and generous constituency. And speaking of "generous," it's amazing that any of you still speaks to me: amazingly Wells women still open their mail and still answer my calls, even though they know that I am usually there with my hand out - again. It's always been easy for me to ask you for money and for more money for Wells, because I believe in this fine college and in its special mission. I am convinced that Wells College must continue to prepare women for the increasing responsibility and challenges that women will have in the 21st century.

Some of my lasting friendships are with faculty and staff at Wells, and they will stay with me into my retirement. Neither can I fail to acknowledge the many friends of the college, many of them with no formal connection to Wells, who have served as trustees or who have otherwise made significant contributions to the college. It is worth noting that the largest gift ever to the college came from such a friend, indeed from a male friend of the college. These people are true friends, because they have chosen Wells often over their own alma maters as the beneficiary of their loyalty and generosity.

In closing today I want to pay tribute to a special friend, one of the people from whom I have learned so much. Lisa Marsh Ryerson is not only an extraordinary president, she is a loyal and dear friend. She is extraordinarily intelligent, energetic, and committed. Some of the great joys of these last six years at Wells have come from my very close personal association with Lisa. I trust that will continue.

My own personal commitment and love for Wells does not come to an end on June 30, 2000 with my retirement. July l is a new beginning on a journey that is not likely to take me very far from our "beloved Wells."

Now at the age of 64, I recognize why my career has often been fraught with pain and yet crowned with satisfactions that scholars who live by conformity and compromise never know. I have sought the truth wherever I found it and followed it wherever it led me. Good fortune led me to Wells College, and I stayed all these years because I have believed in Wells College and in her mission to provide women with an excellent education in the liberal arts.

My professional life and my personal life have been long on naivete and short on the "political correctness" that so often prevails in the halls of academe. My teaching, my research, and my work are often unconventional, and I love it! Indeed, well--meaning and well-disposed members of the Establishment often advise me to join the mainstream. But their counsel has been of no avail. I've been driven most of my life to swim upstream, often to take unpopular positions I have thought were right, both personally and professionally. I've become a more open and more public activist in recent years and hope to devote more time in my retirement to areas of human liberation. I like to believe that I have served the cause of truth as I saw it and understood it, without compromise and without counting the personal and professional cost.

Wells College has been a most supportive environment in that regard, and I am grateful to Professor Davies for adding that P.S. to his letter and to L.J. Long for acting on it, and to all of the rest of you who have so enriched this one man's journey.

(Delivered Friday, June 2, 2000, in Main Building's Chapel on the Wells College campus)