It was his beauty that had ruined him, his beauty and the youth that he had prayed for. But for those two things, his life might have been free from stain. His beauty had been to him but a mask, his youth but a mockery. What was youth at best? A green, an unripe time, a time of shallow moods, and sickly thoughts. Why had he worn its livery? Youth had spoiled him. [link]
Of a morning in Yellow Springs, Ohio:
It is 9:30 on a sunny Monday morning in October, a time, day, and month when most college campuses bustle with activity: students hurrying to class or relaxing between classes on library steps or tree-covered lawns. Here, on the 200-acre campus of Antioch College, a 155-year-old liberal-arts institution best known nowadays for a campus culture that long ago drifted from the progressively liberal to the alarmingly radical (people still talk about the anti-date-rape policy that required a separate verbal consent for each step of an amorous encounter, famously parodied on Saturday Night Live in 1993), the phrase “bustling with activity” is not what comes to mind. […]
There are plenty of trees on Antioch’s historic campus in Yellow Springs, a town of 4,600 about 20 miles east of Dayton in rural southwestern Ohio–soaring oaks, walnuts, maples, and firs, many likely more than a century old. And there are plenty of buildings–dozens of residence halls and classroom facilities, along with a library that has seen better days and a turreted Victorian-era main building designed by James Renwick Jr., architect of the Smithsonian Institution’s landmark castle in Washington, D.C., and St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York. As for Antioch students, however, there are none to be seen this morning, except for an occasional shadowy figure moving silently among distant trees like one of Ohio’s long-vanished Miami Indians on a solitary hunt.
The beautiful campus and stately trees of Antioch College are the face of Dorian Gray, while the managerial, financial and educational disaster detailed in Charlotte Allen’s Death by Political Correctness, are the horrifying portrait hidden under a sheet in the attic.
On June 9, 2007, the trustees of Antioch University, an adult-education offshoot of Antioch College that now dominates the college administratively, financially, and in terms of overall student population, announced that Antioch College would suspend operations on July 1, 2008, with a possibility of reopening in much-altered form in 2012, and that its entire faculty, including tenured professors, would be laid off. The reasons for the shutdown given by the trustees and by Tulisse Murdock, Antioch University’s chancellor since 2005, were many: years and years of incurable deficits, this year totaling $2.6 million on an annual college budget of $18 million; an extraordinarily low endowment of just $36 million (neighboring Ohio liberal arts colleges Oberlin and Kenyon boast endowments of $700 million and $167 million respectively); and a chronically low student enrollment that topped 600 only once during the preceding 25 years (compare that with Oberlin’s enrollment of nearly 2,900) and has declined precipitously since 2003. During the 2006-07 academic year, for example, only 330 full-time students were enrolled in Antioch’s bachelor-of-arts and bachelor-of-science programs–once so highly regarded that Antioch could boast that it had more graduates who went on to obtain Ph.D.’s than any other college in the country. This fall, after news of the pending shutdown decimated the incoming freshman class, there are just 220 Antioch College undergraduates left. That represents a decline of almost 90 percent from the 2,000 or so young people who attended Antioch during its peak enrollment years of the 1960s and early 1970s.
Read the whole tragic tale of the long, slow suicide of Antioch College here.
Inside, in the servants’ part of the house, the half-clad domestics were talking in low whispers to each other. Old Mrs. Leaf was crying and wringing her hands. Francis was as pale as death.
After about a quarter of an hour, he got the coachman and one of the footmen and crept upstairs. They knocked, but there was no reply. They called out. Everything was still. Finally, after vainly trying to force the door, they got on the roof and dropped down on to the balcony. The windows yielded easily–their bolts were old.
When they entered, they found hanging upon the wall a splendid portrait of their master as they had last seen him, in all the wonder of his exquisite youth and beauty. Lying on the floor was a dead man, in evening dress, with a knife in his heart. He was withered, wrinkled, and loathsome of visage. It was not till they had examined the rings that they recognized who it was. [Ch. 20]
Trackposted to Nuke’s, Outside the Beltway, Perri Nelson’s Website, The Virtuous Republic, Rosemary’s Thoughts, Allie Is Wired, Woman Honor Thyself, Right Truth, The Populist, Pirate’s Cove, The Amboy Times, Dumb Ox Daily News, High Desert Wanderer, Right Voices, Pursuing Holiness, The Yankee Sailor, and Gone Hollywood, thanks to Linkfest Haven Deluxe.