Viking_Yearbook_68

In the Uris year 1966-67 Timothy Leary visited Portland State College, selling his particular brand of snake oil and a three-step guide to happiness ; turn on, tune in, drop out. Most stu– dents listened, some took him literally, and dropped Western Civ., listening in– stead to the "two-billion year evolu– tionary history" of their own cells– especially the hair follicles. But by the end of spring term Mr. Leary was all but forgotten, and most of those who didn' t want to rush back to the Establishment adopted a new hero, one Sgt. Pepper whose message could be played by the hou~ wherever the alienated chose to meet. But even the Beatie's masterpiece grew scratchy and hum-drum by the end of summer '67. Everyone got by with a little help from. friends but there was need for a new anti-establishment "hero" for the 1967-68 chase. For Portland State stu– dents one, indeed, emerged. His name, already well-known, is Branford P. Millar, president of the college. Dr. Millar announced to almost everyone's surprise that he, in effect, was " dropping out. " Not moving to a more prestigious position-at least not immediately-nor resigning under fire, but just retiring from the grinding de– mands of the academic executive in order to devote time to cherished per– sonal and scholarly pursuits that gen– erally must be forgotten as a man moves up from faculty to administration. In an interview he summarized his reasons with a characteristically wry smile, "Like a whale, I need to surface now and then, get some fresh air." Throughout his presidential tenure here- almost ten years-Branford Mil– lar has been noted for his wit which ranges from folksey, ironic anecdotes to understated but effective sarcasm . Over-inflated speakers, most recently Robert Kennedy, are likely to be subtly needled as introduced by Dr. Millar. Interviewers for television, newspapers -and college yearbooks- are often frustrated by the constantly changing pace of his rhetoric. A question on the progress of the college brings an intricate five-minute reply. The following question-how his family reacts to the drastic shift in his plans-brings a smile and one word, "Fine." This is characteristic of the man. He is enormously proud of the college and of the achievements of the past ten years. Yet his personal life has a sanctity-and separation-of its own . Minor health problems entered into his decision to step down. Though again, it was his need for privacy and a growing fear of "becoming a typical, thoroughly insti– tutionalized college executive" that prevailed. Dr. Millar quickly illustrates the changes in the college during these ten years: in 1958 it was a college of 3500 with a library of 30,000 volumes, a state allotment per student only one-third that of the downstate campuses, and a reputation as a school for Eugene and Corvallis flunkouts. Degrees were given to few, for most transfered elsewhere. Even the degrees given were limited to divisional majors-Social Science, Hu– manities or Education. The Division of Business Administration didn't even exist as such . In 1968 it is a college of near 10,000 with a library of 230,000 titles, a state allotment per student still not equal but approaching that of the state's campus schools, and a reputation of having an undergraduate program as challenging as any in the state. A range of academic majors is now offered, and almost a full range of master's programs. A strong start has been made toward doctoral programs and university status. Each of these programs, unlike the prefabricated academic booms in Cali– fornia and elsewhere, had to be fought for all the way; virtually forced upon a legislature and a State Board of Higher Education dominated by people highly suspicious of urban education. It has been a challenge for Dr. Millar fraught with potential disaster. As late as 1964 there was still talk of moving PSC to the suburbs or drastically re– stricting it. But reason prevailed and publicity, including the nationwide im– pact of PSC's record breaking College Bowl team. ("My greatest personal achievement in office," jokes Millar, " Winning the College Bowl.") Now he can laugh off the rigors of the ten years, saying, "I 've had my fun, I'll leave the real work to my successor. It's been interesting. I've had it; on to some– thing else." 55