(See Cover)If a nation expects to be ignorant and free . . . it expects what never was and never will be.
—Thomas Jefferson
Autumn after autumn, the dream has persisted, in alleys and wood lots, mansions and tenements: every American could rise by education. Ben Franklin nourished it with self-improvement primers. Jefferson gave it philosophical reasons. An unlettered people scrambled for skill and knowledge. "Your government will never be able to restrain a distressed and discontented majority,'' warned Britain's Lord Macaulay. "This opinion," retorted President-to-be James Garfield. "leaves out the great counterbalancing force of universal education/' The focus of a European town remained the cathedral; the focus of an American town became the high school. By the 20th century, quipped Britain's Historian Denis Brogan. U.S. public education was a "formally unestablished national church.''
Virtuoso Instrument. By any description it could boast of remarkable achievements. It homogenized waves of immigrants, inculcated morality without religious affiliation and boosted brainpower across the nation. From an eighth-grade education in 1940, the median schooling of adult Americans has risen to 10.8 years (and will be 12.2 by 1965). Against 95,000 graduates in 1900, U.S. high schools this year produced 1,500,000, and half of them are going to college. And out of public schools in every corner of the land have marched armies of the nation's future leaders.
The size of the enterprise is staggering. From less than 16 million in 1900, enrollment has jumped to 36 million. From less than $215 million in 1900, the annual cost has soared to $14.4 billion (about 3% of the Gross National Product). Of all U.S. families, 40% have one or more children in public school.*Of all living Americans, one out of five is a public-school student.
How can anything so vast be excellent? It has no leader, no philosopher, no hand on the tiller. Public education is a headless wonder. The problem: to give its body—the citizens—faith and direction. Few men have tried with calmer good sense to work to this end than James Bryant Conant, 66, volunteer Inspector General of U.S. public schools.
Splendid & Shameful. The outstanding feature of James Conant's long (1933-53) reign as president of Harvard was his interest in education—notably public schools. Among besieged educators, he was well known (and trusted) long before he became U.S. High Commissioner and Ambassador to West Germany (1953-57). Among plain citizens he has won towering respect since The American High School Today (McGraw-Hill; $1) was published early this year. This fall Conant embarks on a second study: the junior high school. Nobody has already done more to convince Americans that high schools can improve—"with no radical change.''