It so happened that fate had played upon poor Provost Smith a cruel prank. Some forty years ago there lived in Philadelphia a truly liberal capitalist, who in his will left six hundred thousand dollars to found the Wharton School of Finance at the university. He laid down what the school was to teach as follows:
The immorality and practical inexpediency of seeking to acquire wealth by winning it from another rather than earning it through some sort of service to one’s fellowmen.
The deep comfort and healthfulness of pecuniary independence, whether the scale of affairs be small or great.
The necessity of rigorously punishing by legal penalties and by social exclusion those persons who commit frauds, betray trusts or steal public funds, directly or indirectly. The fatal consequence to a community of any weak toleration of such offenses must be most distinctly pointed out and enforced.
And then the shrewd old rascal, evidently knowing his business associates thoroughly, added this amazing provision.
The grantees covenant that these things shall be done, and that the failure to comply with these stipulations shall be deemed such a default as to cause reversion in the manner hereinafter provided.
Now, you understand that the first principle of the interlocking directorate is never to let go of money on which it gets its hands. It is accustomed to misappropriating funds, and turning public funds to its own uses; a little thing like a deed of trust would not stand in its way. What it failed to realize in the case of this Wharton trust was the uncomfortable amount of agitation and publicity which would be involved. If the trustees of the University of U. G. I. had realized what was coming to them, they would have made up that six hundred thousand dollars by raising the price of gas in Philadelphia.
For the effect of the deed of trust was to bring in a number of ardent young teachers who took seriously the words of the dead founder, and believed they had rights in the place. They shamelessly attacked the U. G. I., as I have narrated; they attacked other interests of the interlocking trustees in the same reckless way. For example, Professor Thomas Conway proved how the street railways were being plundered and ruined. He was unanimously recommended by his faculty for promotion, but this recommendation[recommendation] was held up for three years by the trustees. During these three years the trustees were engaged in selling a street railway at an inflated valuation to the New Haven, and were putting through another “deal” of the same sort in Indiana!
Or take the case of Dr. Ward W. Pierson, who showed before the public service commission how the coal companies were charging $1.70 per ton transportation charges on coal, whereas the actual cost was only 55 cents; and here was our university, with two-thirds of its trustees interested in the mining and transporting of coal! Here was a coal operator about to give a large sum of money to the university, and withdrawing it! Dr. Pierson also was recommended for promotion, and waited three years, and meantime the scandal bureau of the interlocking directorate was put to work on him, and he was charged with a grave offense. His colleagues investigated the charge, and proved it to be absolutely without foundation.
Next came the case of Scott Nearing, who had begun his career as secretary to the Pennsylvania Child Labor Committee. At this time Pennsylvania had more working children than any other state in the union. For example, there was Helen Sissack, a girl of twelve working in a silk mill, walking three miles from her home to start work at six o’clock at night, finishing work at six in the morning, and walking three miles back. Nearing became an instructor at the Wharton School, but went on opposing child labor, and the president of the Pennsylvania Manufacturers’ Association attacked him, and the dean of the Wharton School was instructed by the provost of the university to instruct Nearing to stop his child labor talks. The university was scolded by a newspaper belonging to Joseph R. Grundy, woolen manufacturer and political boss, and this sent the provost into another panic.