18

A Trip and a New Awareness

Prior to 1941 the only foreign countries I had visited were Mexico and Canada. My first opportunity for extensive travel abroad came when I was invited by Hubert Herring, the executive director of the Committee on Cultural Relations with Latin America, Incorporated, to participate in the Institute on Inter-American Affairs, which traveled throughout Latin America from late July through mid-September, 1941. The trip was organized so well that I gained an amazing amount of information about Latin America in a relatively short period, but, more importantly, the experience enlarged my perspective in a way that was to have a profound influence on my view of Indiana University’s province. All at once I became conscious of the world scene.

People were beginning vaguely to perceive Latin America at this time as of much more significance to the United States than had previously been recognized. Rumors of the Nazi infiltration in Latin America were rife, and suddenly, because of the war pressures, we began to realize the importance of Latin American raw materials such as rubber to our own economic health. As a result, attention focused on Brazil, which was in the process of developing rubber plantations.

Hubert Herring was an authority on Latin America, had written several books about it, and in the course of his many travels there, had become acquainted with the outstanding personalities in nearly every field—journalism, government, education, business, the military, and the intelligentsia. His reputation was so well established that he was able to arrange conferences for us with the most important people in each of the countries, that is, people who could give us the best insight into and interpretation of their particular country in relation to what was happening overall in Latin America. Herring had invited to go with him as a part of the seminar group eleven others, selected to represent journalism, labor relations, education, business, religion—in fact, the whole gamut of the social and political concerns within the countries.

Part of the group assembled in Miami and it was joined by the rest in Panama, our first stop. I had my initial view then of the little country that has been so much of a factor in the political arena from that time to this because of the Canal and its real or imagined strategic importance to the welfare of our country. Although I described in the log I kept of the trip the Hotel Tivoli and my impressions of a drive through Old Panama, previous experience still formed my frame of reference:

There are many Oriental shops run by Indians and other types of Orientals. The contents of the shops are not so good as those in Mexico City except for the food stores, but the general effect is one of much greater well-being and cleanliness than any place in Mexico except the fashionable portion of Mexico City.

From there we went to Bogotá, Colombia, and began our intensive study of that country. Among others we had a long session with Spruille Braden, the U.S. ambassador to Colombia. He stressed the danger of the Nazi infiltration into the political life and economic structure of South America, which he believed and, as we discovered later many others believed, was intended eventually to place the whole of Latin America under a Nazi-oriented leadership that would be both an economic and a military threat to our country’s safety.

In Colombia we began a schedule that was replicated as we went from country to country. We met successively the U.S. ambassador and leaders of various professional and political groups. We were briefed by the ambassador and entertained at the U.S. embassy for dinner. Hubert Herring always arranged to have us briefed also by any members of the embassy staff whom he considered particularly outstanding; for instance, if the commercial attaché in a country was especially acute, he too would brief us. Also, in each country, if the ambassadors from other Latin American countries were of a very high quality, Herring arranged for us to see them as well. Often, to cover various conferences in a city, we divided our forces along the lines of our individual interests and exchanged information when we reassembled.

I might mention that we had recently become somewhat interested in encouraging foreign students to enroll at Indiana University. Prior to leaving for South America, I had been authorized by our Board of Trustees to award fellowships to two South American students of my choice, and several fraternities had agreed in principle to house the holders of these fellowships once they were selected. Everywhere I was besieged by eager young scholars hoping to come to this country. In one way or another I was able to facilitate the migration of several to Bloomington, a few more than the two to whom I could offer fellowships. In fact, Hubert Herring jokingly called me a pied piper and asked, after I returned, just how many students had followed me out of Latin America.

In Bogotá I observed the beginning of a trend in Latin America that has since spread, namely, the movement of the national university from the middle of the city to the outskirts, drawing faculties scattered throughout the city into a single location known as the cité universitaire, or “university campus.”

From Bogotá we went to the beautiful, provincial city of Cali—the city of eternal spring—a place that has lingered long in my memory. It probably has as desirable a climate as any city in the world, and I remember also the exuberance of the architecture—part Mediterranean, part Spanish Colonial, and part pure modern experimental. We next flew to Quito, the capital of Ecuador, departing from Cali at 6:oo A.M., an hour typical of our morning flight schedules. As airports at that time were not yet well developed and were without lighting, flights to nearly every country had to be made in daylight hours. Since Latin Americans entertain and dine quite late, there would be only two or three hours between our last social engagement and the scheduled time for us to leave for the airport, usually set two hours prior to flight departure because of the red tape to be undergone and the distance from the hotel to the airport. Quito was the most picturesque of the old colonial cities, fortunately little touched by time. It seemed almost like a museum, with magnificent churches and monasteries, which we visited, some of them filled with treasures of artwork and old manuscripts, wonderful library materials about the explorations and settlement. The buildings were Spanish Colonial. In Quito especially and in other west-coast cities, I was impressed by the omnipresent music of the church bells, everywhere church bells, the beauty of the eucalyptus trees, and the distinctive fragrance of smoke from eucalyptus wood being burned for heating and cooking.

I had been struck by the poverty I saw everywhere, the number of beggars, for instance. Late one night in Quito, as I went for a walk, I met a mother and a little boy. Her face was pinched and she wore a dark ramboso over her hair. He was a nice looking boy. They were searching for food in the gutter, but a dog had gotten to it ahead of them and left very little. I gave them some chocolates and I keep recalling the lad’s cry of exultation as he ran to his mother: “Dulce, dulce, dulce”—candy, candy, candy. But they did not eat it immediately. Trying to get ahead of the dog, they kept on looking for food in the gutter. I called them back and gave them a coin. At that, they went happily chattering away, she limping slightly. The beauty of Quito and its opulence contrasted dramatically with the poverty of this mother and child.

In Quito I met for the first time a great figure, Galo Plaza, who had been born in our country when his father was ambassador to the United States. Galo Plaza was then a young, handsome, bright leader, much interested in scientific agriculture, which he had studied at the University of Maryland. He had already held a number of high government posts. Everyone thought he was destined to have a great career, a perception that proved to be accurate. He became president of Ecuador, ambassador to Washington, director general of the Organization of American States, an active figure in United Nations affairs, and chief of a number of international missions. One of the delightful excursions that we had and also one of the most illuminating was at the invitation of Galo Plaza. Arrangements were made for us to go from Quito into the high Andes to Otavalo, a provincial city with a famous Andean market. Galo Plaza’s great hacienda, or cattle ranch, was our destination, as I recounted in my diary:

Saturday morning. Left at 5:oo A.M.for Otavalo, a high Andean market, 25,000 Indians participate. Enroute stopped at a lake for a second breakfast brought from his ranch by Sr. Galo Plaza. Huge bowls of cereal with cream and scrambled eggs. [Galo Plaza had arranged this breakfast with considerable thought knowing that we would by this time be hungry for cereal, which we would not have had in any other circumstance nor would we have been served cream. The cream came from his own dairy.] The market was magnificent, and the mountain drive beyond description. Afterward we drove to the hacienda of our host for lunch. The buildings were erected in 1600. Farm of 4,000 acres, 400 families of Indians. Paid ½ sucres for five-day week, 17 cents. He furnishes chapel, school building, each Indian five to ten acres, and they can have grazing land for their stock and also medical and dental care. He also loans them money without interest and sells them stock at a discount. The house was a charming place with thick walls. Lunch was very simple and informal: sliced tomatoes and cold meat, potato cakes made with cheese with peanut sauce and avocados with hot sauce. Then Heinz beans and hot dogs because the cook thought we should have some American food, and the host humored her. Had bananas and cream for dessert.

He raises cattle, 2,000 head of sheep, some hogs, has a dairy. The milk is made into cheese and he also grows wheat and corn. They farm right up the mountainside in an incredible fashion. The soil is very deep black loam and seems inexhaustible. There was a high wind and much dust. The sight of farm life in the high Andes far far away from civilization was unforgettable. The Indians were pleasant, quiet, simple little people that seemed to blend into the landscape with their flocks of sheep and cattle. . . .

In Quito we attended the Rotary luncheon. Wherever possible, Hubert Herring had arranged for us to attend Rotary or Kiwanis luncheons, which gave us easy and informal contact with the area’s business and professional community. We also met Rene d’Harnoncourt, the famous anthropologist and expert on Indian art, later to be for a time director of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. He was arranging an exhibition of Indian art for the museum at the time we saw him, an exhibit that was to win enthusiastic reviews. On occasion I have since then discussed problems of the development of Indiana University’s art resources with him.

Our next stop, in Peru, provided an unusually rich experience, as revealed in a letter to my parents:

We had an amazing time in Lima. It is a very beautiful city. Broad avenues filled with trees and flowers notwithstanding the fact that it is winter—there are flowers everywhere—and they are magnificent. Everywhere the embassies entertain for us and everybody else wants to follow suit. We never have time to sleep, but it doesn’t seem to matter for I am feeling exceptionally well.

Yesterday we did the world-famous Inca and Pre-Inca museums, then went to the site of one of the excavations with the famous archaeologist who is in charge. The contents of the museums are so remarkable that I believe they alone are worth a trip to South America.

I was referring to Julio Tello, a friend of several Indiana University faculty members in zoology. Dr. Tello was one of the most respected scholars in all of South America. The Inca museum of which he was the director contained a sequestered section of erotic art that was later to be tapped in Alfred Kinsey’s research. Dr. Tello was generous with his time and in helping us understand the complex nature of a continent with so many natural geographic barriers that it would be difficult ever to unite it.

Dr. Tello arranged for our pleasure a typical Peruvian feast: a pachamanka—a type of barbecue said to be derived from the Incas, and Indians are always the cooks when the modern version is offered. The pachamanka is done in this manner: Stones are heated in a fire until they are red hot. Meanwhile a big pit is dug. First a layer of stones goes in, then a layer of banana leaves, next a layer of whatever meat is available at that particular time and place—such meats as pork, beef, lamb, chicken, goat, and various kinds of game—another layer of banana leaves, and then vegetables—corn in husks, onions, and the local vegetables that are available. The entire procedure is repeated until the pit is filled, when it is covered with a mound of straw and dirt to keep the heat in. The cooking goes on for some hours.

In due course the food is pronounced done, the pit is opened, and the food is brought out and served on large tables out of doors. While preparing the food or at the time it is served, aji, the red hot spice of the highlands, is used liberally. As aji induces a desire for something cold to drink, pisco, the local homemade beer, flows plentifully. We enjoyed tremendously this taste of an allegedly good reproduction of Inca cuisine.

In Peru I met for the first time Dr. and Mrs. Virgil DeVault. A highly successful surgeon and alumnus of the Indiana University medical school, Dr. Devault was treating in his British-American hospital patients from all up and down the west coast of South America. He had been the surgeon for one of the oil companies earlier, but then had set up an independent practice in Lima and was more or less the head of the Hoosier group there. He left Latin America to become the medical director of the Foreign Service in the U.S. State Department, establishing the clinics abroad that are now attached to our embassies. More recently he has been the international secretary general of the International College of Surgeons.

We also visited picturesque San Marcos, the oldest university in the western hemisphere. To have missed it would have been like visiting a head of state and failing to visit the tomb of the unknown soldier. Although San Marcos is unique in its antiquity, age has not benefited it as it does wine. San Marcos was modeled after the medieval University of Salamanca in Spain, which, along with the early French universities, influenced the structure and objectives of many older Latin American universities. By the time of our visit, however, ideas for modernization and reform inspired by the example of our North American system were beginning to be heard. Some educational leaders were advocating greater democratization of the system of admissions and a greater curricular emphasis on technical and vocational subjects in order to equip the institution and its graduates to contribute to nation building. Most of South America at that time was economically dependent on a feudal agriculture and on mineral mines operated by foreign companies. At every one of our meetings with educators and cultural-institute groups, the subject of university reform was introduced. The ensuing discussion usually involved a spirited comparison of the strengths and weaknesses of the United States system versus the French, German, English, or modern Spanish system as a pattern for the future of Latin American institutions. Day after day, therefore, I found myself defending our system and extolling its virtues. It was a good exercise in the comparative analysis of divergent systems of higher education, a subject to which I was to devote considerable attention in future years, during my ten years on the Executive Board of the International Association of Universities, while participating in many personal and Indiana University-Third World technical-assistance efforts, and in the course of my several years as chairman of Education and World Affairs.

Our visit enabled me to renew my acquaintance with a chap whom I had known as an undergraduate, Alberto Arca-Parro. He had directed the first census of Peru in modern times and had come to be one of Peru’s most respected social scientists. Later he was to serve in the Peruvian congress, where he won equally high esteem.

Arca-Parro was one of the most distinguished of those who came from Latin America to gain their education at Indiana University and then returned to serve their country.

To illustrate the range of the kind of people we met, I think it important to tell the story of our meeting with Victor Raul Haya de la Torre, who was the principal spokesman for the Peruvian Aprista Party, founded in 1931. He had been active on the political scene since about 1924. The Aprista Party came to be called the “Party of the People” because it purported to represent a “United Front of Manual and Intellectual Workers,” that is, the workers, field laborers, students, professionals, merchants, proprietors, and so on. The Party considered itself democratic, antifascist and anticommunist. Haya de la Torre thought of himself as a Peruvian Franklin D. Roosevelt. When we were there, the Aprista Party had been banned, as I recall, and Haya de la Torre himself was in exile. But it was a pleasant form of exile: he could hide out in the suburbs just as long as he did not surface. No one was supposed to know he was there. But, of course, Hubert Herring was aware of his whereabouts and arranged a meeting with him and his cabinet for about midnight. We were led through a long, circuitous route down back streets and alleys, up hill and down dale until we finally arrived at his hiding place. For an hour or so he poured out his heart, giving us the opposition’s view of the regime in Peru at that time. He particularly wished us to carry the message to President Roosevelt that he was a liberal, antifascist, anticommunist force trying to bring about in Peru the same kinds of reforms that Roosevelt was initiating in the United States. He wanted help from the United States if he could get it.¹

In Peru we met still another memorable figure, the Honorable Moises Saenz, the Mexican ambassador to Peru. His name was frequently mentioned in the world press during that period because of his remarkable achievements as Mexico’s minister of education. He had originated a program called “One Teach One” that by then was quite famous. Each literate person was asked to teach an illiterate person. The program was so successful that the rate of Mexican literacy increased dramatically in a single decade. He was a delightful host, a charming man who had a keen perception of Latin American affairs, and we were fortunate to be able to spend time with him. From Lima we traveled to Arequipa in order to take the train up to Cuzco. Arequipa is the most important southern terminal for the railroad line that runs from the Pacific coast to Cuzco in the highlands. It is a beautiful city, its buildings constructed for the most part of white volcanic rock with magnificent Mt. Misti, an inactive, snow-covered volcano, as a backdrop. Arequipa is the center of a thriving agricultural region served by an irrigation system that had been developed at the time of the Incas. It grows some of the world’s finest alfalfa, which is pastured green year round. At the time of our visit, American industrial enterprise was making its first inroad with a Carnation Milk plant in the process of construction.

Our host at Arequipa was Carlos Gibson, rector of the University of Arequipa and second vice president of the republic, who met us at the airport. He was a descendant of one of the old Scottish immigrant ranching families, which through the generations had developed a factoring enterprise that stretched throughout the whole of southern Peru. It included commercial installations serving the farmers and ranchers, banks, and many exporting and importing operations. Rector Gibson, who was eager to develop his university, asked many questions about universities in North America as he conducted us on a tour of his facilities. It was my first view of a provincial Latin American university, and I was startled by the meagerness of its resources. We were accompanied by the rector’s son, who was a graduate of Cambridge and Harvard.

We were delightfully housed at a famous hostelry, the Quinta Bates. In the early years of the century an adventuresome girl from Missouri had married a Britisher and migrated to Peru. The husband turned out to be ineffective, but his wife, forced to struggle for a living, gradually developed a unique hostelry famous throughout all of the west coast of South America. It was the preferred stopping place, not only of Peruvian VIPS and political leaders, but also of international travelers. The establishment was known for its great food. Tia, or Auntie, Bates ran the place with an iron hand. She accepted only guests of whom she approved and woe to anyone who stepped out of line, for she was noted for the most profane vocabulary in the region. A shrewd businesswoman, colorful, warmhearted, childless herself, she adopted in the course of her lifetime twenty-seven children of various races and nationalities, and reared and educated them. No one who had the good fortune of meeting her will ever forget her.

Our trip to Cuzco had to be made by train; no plane service could then fly into Cuzco because it was so high in the Andes. In fact, at the highest point we had to put on oxygen masks because the air was so thin. Since I was young and inexperienced, the landscape and the activities everywhere made a vivid impression upon me, as the following passage from my diary illustrates:

Friday by train to Juliaca. At the top of the climb we were nearly 15,000 feet. There were no trees. The houses all of unplastered adobe with thatched roofs. The native[s] look definitely Oriental. There are no trees so they burn a sort of dried cedar brush. At a stop along the way, all the passengers got off for lunch. The women of the village had wide tables and sold soup, chicken, bits of beef heart cooked on a spit over a little brazier.

The scenery was magnificent, snow-capped peaks, mountain lakes, and on the plateaus, herds of sheep, llamas, alpacas, and occasionally cattle always attended by shepherds, usually women or boys, and of women always spinning by hand. Everywhere they are, the spinning never ceases. At the high altitudes, they grow beans, a type of mustard that has a quality like oatmeal, and other types of grass crops. A little lower between Juliaca and Cuzco, they have eucalyptus trees and a more diversified agriculture. Everywhere their methods are most primitive. They thresh with oxen or even with flail, plow with primitive wooden plows and oxen.

Costumes vary, but in general they wear homespun. The men wear neutral trousers with a gay poncho in beautiful red with magnificent Oriental design. The women wear several layers of homespun skirts, frequently blue, ornamented blouses, a bright-colored bundle or baby sack, a funny, high-crowned straw hat, or a hat with flaps hanging down from the sides. The men frequently wear rude sandals, and the women generally are barefooted, though occasionally they wear old-fashioned high-top shoes.

A private car was added to our train when we left Juliaca that morning. We did not know who was in it, but we were told by the train crew that it was the private car of the president of Peru and that some distinguished visitor was on board. At each station, as my notes mention, he was greeted and generally a band played; then there were speeches back and forth while the train waited. Occasionally a woman got off with him, and in due course we learned that the mysterious passengers were Axel Wenner-Gren and his wife. He was, at that time, at the height of his power and prominence as one of the Swedish matchkings and owner of a number of important enterprises throughout the world including Servel at Evansville, Indiana. He had just founded the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research, Inc. Mrs. Wenner-Gren was so exotic-looking I immediately imagined her as coming from a romantic background, perhaps that of a Balkan opera singer.

Wenner-Gren was making this trip as the start of a scientific expedition into the upper Amazon region, which reaches into Peru, and so the Peruvian government was eager to facilitate his trip in every way. We had gone to Cuzco, not only to see the magnificent old Inca city, but also to visit the ancient university there, particularly its wonderful library filled with antiquarian treasures. To our surprise, several of us received invitations to attend a convocation the following day at which Mr. Wenner-Gren was to be given an honorary doctorate. In Latin American terms I was a visiting “intellectual,” that is, a person connected with a university, and was due the courtesy of an invitation. The next afternoon at six, which is the standard time for such ceremonies in Latin America, I and two or three others of our party went to the university—a beautiful old colonial quadrangle—and witnessed an impressive ceremony. The rector spoke and conferred the degree; Mr. Wenner-Gren replied appropriately. After that we adjourned to the magnificent Great Hall, which is a feature of every Latin American university for use on formal occasions such as this. There we enjoyed champagne and biscuits while a band played intermittently. As I started down the reception line to be introduced to Mr. Wenner-Gren, I kept trying to dredge up some French phrases out of my memory, hoping that French would be a way to communicate with his beautiful foreign wife. Wenner-Gren, who spoke good English, as almost all Swedish do, greeted me cordially, adding, oh yes, he knew of Bloomington because he owned the Servel plant in Evansville, and they went there frequently to have a look at it before going to French Lick. Then he said, “I want you to meet my wife.” I was still groping for the elusive French phrase when, in the broadest Midwestern twang I have ever heard, the subject of my desperate effort exclaimed, “Why, you are from Indiana? From Bloomington? Well, I am from Missouri, St. Louis.” She went on chatting amiably about living most of the time in the Bahamas and invited me to stay with them when next I visited Nassau. I cannot remember having had before or since a flight of my fancy so disappointingly grounded.

Our next destination was La Paz, Bolivia. It had a good American school, the American School of La Paz, and some of the brightest students in the school were assigned to us to be guides. One of these was Peter Fraenkel, a high school sophomore or junior, whose father had emigrated from Germany to escape the Nazis. When I visited the faculty of the school, one or two drew me aside to tell me that they thought Peter Fraenkel was a lad who deserved a better education than was possible at the university in Bolivia, and they urged that I find some kind of aid to enable him to study in the United States. As it turned out, he did come to Indiana University on a scholarship, completed his work here, and his career was coincident with mine for many years, as recounted in chapter 20. It was really a very fortunate meeting for me.

At Santiago, the capital of Chile, we had the privilege of visiting with Ambassador Claude G. Bowers, who entertained us at the embassy and who was most helpful. Bowers, a Hoosier, had been the ambassador to Spain before being assigned to the Chilean post, which he occupied for another decade, and he was a noted author of historical narratives as well. We also met the rector of the University of Chile, Juan Gomez Millas, whom I came to know better through the International Association of Universities, and Salvador Allende, who became president in 1970.

Chile at that time was certainly the most advanced of the west coast countries. It was vital and progressive: it had the best school system on the west coast, a relatively low rate of illiteracy, a well-developed university with forward-looking leadership, and a firmly launched program of technical education. Especially Chile and the Argentine, but all the rest of Latin America as well, had the problem of a concentration of wealth in the large estates. The landowning groups still represented the backbone of the conservative opposition, and any criticism of the current order was automatically labeled communism. The German influence was very strong there at the time of our visit and was later evidenced by the fact that Chile did not declare war against Germany until the closing months of World War II.

We were entertained in Argentina by Victoria Ocampo, editor of Sur, one of the foremost literary magazines of Latin America. She was a rich woman and an intellectual in every respect. She lived in a beautiful family mansion with magnificent grounds, and she presided there over a sort of literary salon. She entertained people in whom she was interested from all over the world as they traveled through Buenos Aires, and she corresponded with many of the major literary figures of her time: Albert Camus, Virginia Woolf, T. S. Eliot, Stefan Zweig, Marcel Proust, George Bernard Shaw, Archibald MacLeish, and many others.

We visited not only the University of Buenos Aires, but also the University at La Plata, which was reputed to be the most liberal in Latin America, its rector, Risieri Frondizi, being a socialist senator and a superior man. Over the years our paths continued to cross, especially in connection with the activities of the International Association of Universities which he helped to organize.

I wrote in my diary:

On return [from Buenos Aires and La Plata] stopped at a large estancia—37,000 acres of deep, rich black soil. Four huge mansions on it. Enormous truck farms, carpenter shop, blacksmith shop, electric generating plant, etc., 500 to 800 employees. Most of it in pasture that is green year-round. Lots of it is in alfalfa. The young bulls were the finest I have ever seen, and they are reared like children. A record of their monthly weight is kept. The estancia also has sheep and fine horses. Drive from the gate must have been two miles anyway. Acres and acres are developed and kept in park-like fashion around the house, trees from all over the world, flowers in profusion, beautiful green lawns, well-kept roads, and a large, private chapel. Large supplies of fowl are raised, and many bees are kept, and a few hundred acres are in garden, fruit, and forage to supply man and beast on the estancia.

Here I learned that beef cattle were fattened solely by grazing rich, green alfalfa year-round. I was told a top-grade steer could be produced in this manner for four cents per pound. I found the quality of the beef at least as good as our top-grade, grain-fed cattle. The Argentinians were convinced that United States legislation banning the importation of fresh Argentine beef, ostensibly to prevent the spread of hoof and mouth disease, was in fact passed because the high quality and low cost made Argentine beef too competitive with our own. Since agricultural products were Argentina’s principal exports, the ban was bitterly resented.

We had the privilege while we were in Buenos Aires of attending the opera, which probably was the best in South America, and hearing a very good Figaro with Kipnis singing the title role in fine form. Since we were going to entertain the Metropolitan Opera at Bloomington in the spring, I made a note in my diary that I might use my experience of Kipnis in Buenos Aires as a publicity story to stimulate sales of tickets as he was to sing the role of Figaro again in Bloomington.

From Buenos Aires we went to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, where we were to have another rich experience lasting more than a week. Rio is considered one of the world’s most beautiful cities. Its reputation derives in part from its incomparable setting. In 1941 its natural beauty was being enhanced by man. Young architects were beginning to design some imaginative new structures that attracted international attention. The broad, tree-lined streets with beautiful old Spanish Colonial buildings on either side contained many plazas and fountains. Adding to the beauty were its incomparable beaches. It was a gracious, relaxed, happy city of great charm. On a recent visit I was saddened to see most of the lovely colonial structures replaced by modern skyscrapers: a forest of concrete, steel, and glass with little breathing space remaining. While based at Rio we made a trip to Sao Paulo and its progressive university, which at that time was receiving substantial Rockefeller help and was internationally acclaimed as the leading university in Latin America. In Rio I had a notable meeting with the under secretary for foreign affairs, Mauricio Nabuco, head of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for Brazil and recognized as one of the most perceptive diplomats in all of Latin America. He later was ambassador to the United States and earlier had held other ambassadorships. When I had my conference with him in September, 1941, he spoke to me very earnestly, saying:

You must know that I am very favorable toward the United States and the West. I was educated in the United States, my father was ambassador to the United States. I am very favorable to the West in this struggle that is now going on. I want to make a prediction [Remember, this was before we were in the war!]: when this great European war now raging is over, there will be just two powers in the world. England will be spent, France will be devastated, Germany will be wrecked, and the two major powers remaining will be Russia and the United States. If the West is to survive, it will depend upon the leadership of the United States. As much as I admire and love the United States, this worries me because I am not sure that the United States will have the resolve to fulfill this mission, and, furthermore, I am not sure that the United States has learned that the making of foreign-policy decisions must stop before the precinct level. Foreign policy cannot be made at the precinct level to serve local political ambitions and purposes.

I have thought of this remarkable prediction many, many times since and quoted it again and again. I am sure few other men at that time had his vision.

After a memorable stay in Brazil, we went by way of Belém (with its glimpse of the Amazon jungle) and Trinidad to Caracas. There we were entertained by the rector of the university as well as by the U.S. ambassador and others. The rector of the university was in the midst of moving his university from downtown to a new, suburban campus, an example of the same phenomenon that I had observed in Bogotá at the beginning of the trip. Several persons inquired about Meredith Nicholson, Hoosier author and diplomat, who served as envoy and minister to Paraguay, Venezuela, and Nicaragua successively from 1933 to 1941.

From there we went to Trinidad and on to Barranquilla to catch the flight to Miami, arriving on September 16. I stayed in Miami a few days to get my bearings before returning to Bloomington and the pace of the new school year.

Strenuous as the trip had been, it had given me an uncommon opportunity to learn much about South America in a short period of time. In fifty-odd days we must have met, talked with, and had conferences with hundreds of leaders in government, economic life, education, and cultural activities. In addition, we had visited universities, schools, industries, public institutions of all kinds. In each country we had met with the United States’ highest-ranking officers, an able diplomatic corps, as well as with high-ranking nationals. We had talked with labor leaders, and, wherever possible, we had spoken with peasants. It remains to this day the most culturally and intellectually rich experience abroad in a comparable period of time that I have had.

Since I had done so little traveling before, the whole trip seemed to me incredibly colorful and picturesque. We had visited every republic in South America except Paraguay, and I have long wished to remedy that omission. The trip demonstrated to me what I have observed again and again in my travels: with an effort at serious inquiry and with arrangements to make contact with intelligent and well-informed observers abroad, one can come back: enriched in understanding, not only of the country or countries visited, but also of their countrymen’s perception of us and of the problems and relationships evolving between their country and ours.

From this venture I gained great enthusiasm for enlarging the international dimension of Indiana University, a new conception of the strength and values that international studies might offer us, and a determination to continue encouraging our foreign-student program, bolstered by the several Latin American students who came to Indiana University as a result of my contacts during the trip.

Despite the mound of work that had accumulated on my desk, I was able to speak on South America to a total of almost four thousand people around the state in the two months’ time following my return. By sharing my experience in this manner, I hoped to broaden the benefits of my trip. Thereafter it became part of my general philosophy about international travel and exchanges that the persons involved should undertake to be cultural ambassadors, extending understanding of our country abroad and, upon return, of foreign nations among our various constituencies.

SOME OBSERVATIONS ON THE TRIP

Besides being my first extended trip abroad, this trip was my introduction to countries other than Mexico that constitute what we call the Third World, that is, countries characterized by political immaturity and by a dependence upon agriculture and extractive industry such as mining and timber for exports. The social pattern was colonial with the wealth concentrated in the hands of a few. The rigid class structure consisted of a dominant oligarchy of wealthy landowners, a very small middle class—except in Chile and Argentina—and a large, poverty-stricken lower class. There was a great deal of underemployment as well as true unemployment. I was impressed by the vast gulf between the very rich few and the indigent multitudes. Here I observed for the first time certain economic, educational, cultural, and political characteristics that I was to find in other sections of the world in the years following World War II when Indiana University became involved in technical assistance for educational development in Third World countries in Asia, Africa, and Latin America.

The universities had certain characteristics in common, varying in degree from institution to institution and from country to country. A major factor in Latin American universities was the different pattern of faculty service as compared with American universities. A large majority of the members of the faculty spent a minimum of time devoted to their university duties. They attended mainly to their personal affairs: the practice of their various professions, property management, business, or similar activities. They maintained personal offices away from the campus and could usually be found there. The excuse was the low pay of university professors, but the pay was offset by the high prestige that society accorded a university professor, a real advantage. However, faculty in general had little time for pure research, and they were fairly inaccessible to the students for counseling, guidance, or individual tutoring.

I was impressed by the richness of the university libraries and the archival holdings of rare colonial manuscripts and books in the older universities. Each was typically a treasure house that made me realize the poverty of Indiana University’s library in this respect. Since then we have acquired the magnificent Mendel collection and have benefited from a vigorous program of Latin American accessions.

Unfortunately, the Latin American libraries were totally disorganized with much of the material uncatalogued and unavailable for use. They had very little staff, and what staff they had considered it their function to guard the collection from usage. Modern librarians believe their function is to promote the materials in the library and assist the scholar in their utilization. (Rumors had it that the books were so valuable that they disappeared from the libraries and reappeared in the rare-book market. In this respect, maybe the protective attitude was justified.)

The universities were strong in the humanities and classical languages, and weak in sciences. Technical and vocational education in such fields as engineering and agriculture was nearly nonexistent or just beginning, with the exception of Chile, Argentina, and Uruguay.

I was awed by the richness of the formal reception halls or senate chambers of the ancient universities. In these quarters formal university affairs were transacted, distinguished visitors received, and important convocations and receptions held. The rooms were a joy and added great dignity and impressiveness to formal occasions. I was struck on the other hand by the absence of student amenities. The classrooms and laboratories were very poor—and there was a paucity of restrooms, study areas, and rooms for social gatherings. Practically no provision was made for student recreation or exercise. In most of the Latin American countries other organizations, including municipal and government agencies, sponsored both individual and spectator sports. Much of Latin America, even at that time, had huge stadiums for soccer, adaptable for other kinds of sports. They were among the largest in the world. Most of the countries had beautiful race courses, some with pavilions of strikingly modern design. Of course, there was always a handsome jockey club for the elite. And everywhere flowers, flowers, flowers.

Here I first became aware of the presence of “professional students,” that is, students who made much of their life work attending the university, taking a minimum number of courses, but devoting themselves to agitation and the organization of demonstrations on behalf of one group or another, frequently on public issues. It was alleged that most of these students were paid and supported by various political parties.

Another phenomenon that made it possible for professional rabblerousers to be effective was the fact that the university charters made the university premises off limits to the police and army personnel, therefore making university authorities solely responsible for the maintenance of order on the campus. It was the lesser of two evils, and I sometimes think it might be a good policy for us.

A matter of pride—the personal signature of the president on every diploma.

A working session with Alfred Kinsey and George Corner, chairman of the National Research Council’s sex research committee.

A contest with Governor Schricker at the Sigma Chi Melon Mess held annually in Dunn Meadow.

A painful moment for the spectators during a football game.

John Foster Dulles presents commissions to Irene Dunne and me as delegates to the Twelfth Session of the United Nations General Assembly.

Selecting the background music for a party in Woodburn House.

Celebrating James Whitcomb Riley’s birthday with some young friends, October, 1947.

With Irene Dunne and other members of our delegation at the United Nations General Assembly, 1957.

Table decorations ranked with the sandwiches and cookies in importance as we prepared to receive our numerous guests.

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1. Haya de la Torre died August 2, 1979.